#I hope I just have to add oil or replace a part or two

[blackbrrytea]

Teehee found out the stupid hard way that changing the oil on your car ^^ is important actually!!! Wow

Who could’ve guessed

[oftenwantedafton]

stay - dave miller x female reader

words | 3k

rating | explicit

cw | sex, breathplay, implied/referenced abortion

ao3 link

They call it La Verkin Motel, but the residents living there call it Last Chance Motel, because that’s exactly what it is.

The last place the unwanted dregs of society end up, the last stop on the road to hell. You don’t think it’s entirely fair you’ve ended up here because of one mistake, one error in judgment made in your youth, but that’s the way the world works and you’re mature enough to accept that now.

Your next door neighbor in the cheap housing is a man named Dave Miller; at least, that was what he calls himself. You think it’s an alias, like most of the names the folks around here use. Still, that’s the one he’s chosen and that’s what you address him as, when you have the occassion to, but that doesn’t come right away.

The man keeps odd hours, sometimes working during the day and sometimes in the middle of the night. Nothing too unusual about that either. It’s an expensive life, even for one as cheaply priced as this. Many of you work two jobs, minimum. You divide your time between waitressing and cashiering at the local mom and pop grocery store. Dave is employed at an auto body shop and pulling security duty at the restaurant one town over, that children’s place with the creepy robot animals that could talk and sing and move. It’s closed now, after so many kids had gone missing on the premises. A lot of people in that Southern Utah community seemed to think the owner was behind it, even though no evidence of foul play had ever been found. Not a single trace, just like all those children who had vanished into thin air. It doesn’t entirely make sense, paying someone to look after a shuttered building, but apparently the guy who owned it just wasn’t willing to part with it. You don’t have much of an opinion on it either way. You’d never been there. Now you never would.

You first speak to Miller not at the motel, but at the mechanic’s. Not everyone living at Last Chance is fortunate enough to even own a car, so although yours is no prize, at least it’s transportation. Unfortunately someone had hit it while it was in the parking lot outside the grocery store you work at. You’re not fussed about cosmetic damage, but there are other things that need mending, namely the shattered headlight and the bumper that has been partially knocked loose.

You watch the man run his hands over the damaged vehicle and it strikes you how large they are, yet how elegant his fingers look, even caked in motor oil. The estimate sounds reasonable and you agree to the price. At least your insurance was footing the bill.

Dave pulls out the more minor dents and fills the larger ones, repainting the touched up spots. The bumper is repaired and the light replaced. More than you’ve asked for, but you’re not charged any extra. The job is so neatly done you can barely tell anything untoward had ever occurred. There’s a flicker of pride in the man’s eyes when you return to pick it up, taking the city transit to get there. That’s when you first have the sense that this man, this tall, slender creature with his dark messy hair and piercing gray eyes, had been something more once; much more.

“I heard you work at Freddy’s, too,” you say by way of making small talk as you pay at the register, the envelope of cash from the bank just picked up on the way over after you’d cashed the check from the insurance company. Miller’s eyes lift and he studies your face. You feel yourself scrutinized so intently it actually makes your skin itch and burn.

“Yes,” he replies. He punches some keys on the cash register and the drawer slides open.

“They say it’s haunted. Is it true?”

“People say a lot of things.” He drops your change into your waiting palm and shoves the drawer shut. “Only by me,” he adds, answering your second question.

***

It’s hot in La Verkin; hot and dry, like everywhere else in Utah.

You sit outside at night after work, hoping for a breeze, for something to cool you down after a soak in the tub. Your neighbor is home this evening, wearing long sleeves despite the weather. This has become a routine of sorts for the two of you. Sometimes you’ll sit and have a drink or smoke a cigarette. Dave doesn’t talk much, so it’s on you to keep the conversation going. More often than not you just sit in amicable silence.

You can’t tell it when he’s wearing his work clothes, but his regular ones do not fit him well. They are overly large, baggy. You think he must have lost a considerable amount of weight. He was certainly thin now, with that sharp nose and chin, those gaunt cheeks and lean frame. Was it poor finances that had unintentionally aided him in shedding extra pounds? He looks like he could do with a good meal. Many good meals. Perhaps you’ll offer to cook for him, one of these nights.

You’d brushed his hand by accident once, passing over a cigarette, and he’d actually flinched like a whipped dog expecting to be beaten by a cruel owner. Unused to human contact. Or shunning it. You understand. You’d changed, too, after you’d given up…you don’t want to think about that tonight. No maybes to consider. You’d made your choices; made your bed and now you’re lying in it.

But old habits die hard. That curse of your species, the need to seek companionship, still taints you. Someone had left behind a case of beer in one of the rooms before they’d moved out (or gotten evicted, more likely) and that’s not the kind of free gift you squander. Dave clearly isn’t accustomed to drinking this much, or perhaps it’s because of his new physique that he’s more of a lightweight. In either case, the man becomes a lot more talkative. He loses the southern drawl and you hear a different accent layered beneath. He mentions being married once, having children. He says their names and digs the heel of his hand against his eyes. A bit weepy. You scoot closer. There is no patio furniture here. It’s the cement slab you both occupy, cracked and dusty like every other miserable thing here. Broken, like this man sitting beside you.

Your hand settles on the middle of his back, finding it damp with perspiration. You can feel the actual outline of his vertebrae through the thin material of the shirt. He’s wearing long sleeves as usual. He doesn’t push your hand away, just looks at you with those intense, pale eyes, and you find yourself lost in them, drowning, welcoming that descent into the abyss.

Then he lurches to his feet and returns to his room. You tip your head back and sigh. You’d crossed a boundary you shouldn’t have.

Back inside your own room, you’re reminded of just how stuffy and sweltering it is. There is a soft knocking at the door. You’re in your pajamas now. Camisole and shorts. Faded and threadbare. The cheap fabric pilling. Not something you’d normally choose to have someone else see you in. You crack open the door, the chain restricting it from opening all the way.

It’s Dave. One arm is braced against the outside door frame. “I wanted to tell you,” he begins. His voice is very soft. You have to strain to hear it. “What this is, and what this isn’t.”

You shut the door and slide the chain across, then reopen it and step back, gesturing for him to come inside. He shuts the door and locks it. No one living here would dare leave their doors otherwise. Too many thieves. Shady, unsavory people. You fold your arms across your chest, waiting for him to continue.

“I haven’t…been with anyone in a long time,” he begins hesitantly.

“Neither have I.”

“I don’t want to feel…don’t want to hurt you…” The words come out in fragments, his thoughts splintered. It’s difficult for him to express his feelings, you think. Not just stumbling because of the alcohol. He’s not used to confiding in anyone. Trusting anyone. What happened in his past, to make him this way?

“I don’t have any expectations. You’re not obligated to say or do anything you don’t want to.” You respect his privacy. You won’t push him to reveal his secrets. You don’t want to divulge yours, either.

You hear him sigh, a heavy, relieved sort of sound. He’s made no movement once he’s locked the door. It’s up to you to close the distance between you.

His hair is greasy and he smells like sweat and that unmistakable masculine tang of musk that stirs a memory you don’t want, pushing you closer than you might otherwise have moved. You touch his pale cheek, tracing along the arch, following it down to the corner of his jaw. There’s a kind of stark beauty in his features, as harsh and sharp as they are. Something almost otherworldly and ethereal in his aura. His generous lips compel you to stroke them, your thumb dragging across the plump bottom of that pairing.

His head bends and you stretch to meet him, suddenly on tip toes, a little off balance until his arm curls around your waist to steady you, dragging you against him. Your mouths greet each other politely, at first, tentative kisses that grow more confident, more heated. He tastes of ash, the sour tang of fermented hops. There is a needy sound in the back of Dave’s throat that plucks at your core.

He pushes and you pull and he ends up on top of you on the bed. Lying horizontally, but you don’t think it matters much. There is still weight to him, a heaviness from being male, naturally comprised of more muscle, pressing along your soft curves. You like the crush of his body, of his mouth on yours. His hands fumble beneath the waistband of your shorts. He does not linger on your sensitive bud, instead seeking your entrance. Searching to see how prepared you are for him, how wet. Perhaps not quite slick enough. You’re nervous.

He slips his fingers—the same pair that has just been teasing the opening of your pussy—between your lips, urging you to suck, to coat them with saliva. They taste like metal, like the oil he seems to be permanently stained with. They reach far back across the carpet of your tongue, nearly gagging you. His eyes never leave yours, watching you work your mouth over his offering. In a joint effort you manage to shove your shorts and panties down, leaving them dangling from one ankle in your haste while he unfastens the fly of his pants. You try to divest him of more of his clothing, reaching for the buttons of his shirt but he halts you, pinning your wrist near your face. At last he withdraws his saliva coated fingers, smearing the clear fluid over his cock—you’ve only caught a bare glimpse from this angle, and it looks large, intimidating—and then he wedges that same hand between your legs, indicating he wants them parted, opening yourself up to him.

He thrusts inside of you in one go, slamming right to the hilt in a single breath stealing push. You have not been filled in a very long time, and never this full. Dave stretches your canal, reshaping it, forcing it to accommodate his prick. You pant, little punches of air expelled from your lungs each time he thrusts, mercilessly driving back inside over and over. His eyes are still locked with yours. It hurts, yet it feels good. Mingling somewhere on that pleasure-pain border. You feel raw. Aching. You’ve never orgasmed from intercourse before but you know you’re going to now. His hands shove your thighs back further and he somehow manages to penetrate you even deeper. He grinds you into the mattress and you roll your hips along his. Your nails dig into his shoulder. There is a vein standing out at his temple, pale blue and kinked, pulsing beneath the skin. “Where do I…”

You somehow understand what he’s asking. “Anywhere. I can’t get pregnant.” His lips dip to capture yours in what almost feels like an apology, an exhibition of sympathy, a tenderness at odds with other parts of his body. He keeps kissing you, each one wetter and wetter until it’s like a dam bursts inside of you. You shake violently, a shallow cascade of fluids leaking out of you. The briefest look of surprise, Miller’s lashes lifting before his fingers clamp like a manacle around your wrist at his shoulder, shoving it towards the midline, to the throat exposed above his fastened shirt collar. He grits his teeth, growling until you comply with his request, the fingers pressing into yours guiding you, demonstrating what he desires. You squeeze around his neck with no further prompting and his hand falls away. You feel the struggle of the cartilage beneath, the wad of spit he’s attempting to swallow unable to travel down his esophagus, hear the harsh whine of air that whistles through his compressed trachea. The hand still clenched around your wrist pinned to the bed mirrors your movements, growing tighter and tighter. You think it might snap, your bones shattering into splinters. There is a thin trail of saliva leaking from the corner of his mouth. You want to stop choking him, and yet you can’t. You can’t until he finishes; until he fills you up with that same fluid that ruined your life all those years ago.

Miller’s eyes roll back and he bites his bottom lip and he cums, hard. You feel the blast of it, molten, a great quantity of it, shot deep inside. Your fingers instantly loosen their grip, aching and cramped, and he inhales deeply, like a drowning man seeking air after being submerged underwater. You’d thought him damp before but it’s nothing compared to the sweat that soaks him now, saturating his skin and clothing.

There is that awkward moment that comes immediately afterward, when the merged intensity experienced moments before suddenly shifts into hasty withdrawals, into regretful partings. At least, that had been your previous experience. Dave does not look remorseful. He looks sated, satisfied. He drops down beside you, his long legs dangling over the edge of the bed, and rakes a hand through his damp hair, wiping the sweat he collects on the front of his shirt.

You stare at the ceiling, at the brown stains that speak of water damaged tiles, and recover your breathing. You tentatively flex the wrist he’d pinned down so harshly and find it’s not broken after all. Very red, though. You’re willing to bet there will be bruises there come morning.

Residual tremors still course along your thighs. You can feel the older man’s seed leaking out of you. You want another bath, and you’re willing to take it alone, but you want to invite Dave to join you. Still curious about what’s hiding beneath those clothes.

When your eyes shift to his face, you find him watching you. He’s quiet again. It will take effort to pull more words from him. You touch his cheek. “Want to take a bath with me?”

He nods, surprising you. “Okay,” you say, shifting to kiss his mouth gently.

***

You see the reason Dave has shielded his body the instant his shirt is removed.

He’s covered in faded pink scars, strange markings that seem too stylized and symmetrical to be entirely random. They cover him from the base of his neck all the way down to his ankles, sparing only his sex organs.

You try not to stare, but it’s obvious in the air between you. “Accident at work, a long time ago.” The only explanation he offers, and you accept it. It’s none of your business. Not really.

You sit at the rear of the tub and he sits in front of you, between your legs. There isn’t a lot of room but you make it work. The cool water feels soothing. You use a plastic tumbler to wet his hair, lathering shampoo into it and then bidding him to close his eyes before you repeat the process to rinse the suds away. There’s something comforting about washing the man, gentle strokes of soap and douses of water, your lips pressing kisses along his shoulders, at his neck. Your breasts press into his spine as you reach around to wash the front, stroking over the sparse patch of dark hair on his chest, following the trail that leads to his groin. You wash that, too, a brisk scrub over softened member and scrotum and he makes a little huff of sound. Still sensitive. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him back as you recline, the soapy water sloshing around in the tub, some of it spilling onto the floor. Your fingers comb through his hair and you enjoy the silence between you. You’re comfortable, content. Maybe you would have been a good caregiver after all. A decent mother. But it’s too late to decide that now. Much, much too late.

You remain in the water until your skin is macerated, your hands pruning up, shriveling. Dave towels you both off, ending on his knees in front of you, making sure your feet are dry, sopping up the water you’d spilled earlier. He looks up and you look down and you wonder if this is how it was, all those years ago, when he’d proposed to his wife. If there had been tears of joy and radiant smiles and a breathless yes of acceptance. What had life done to him, to make him this thin apparition of a man, scarred inside and out, yet still starkly beautiful, with his shadow smudged eyes and his pouting lips and those clever, deft fingers?

He’s dressed again, the symbols marring his skin obscured from view once more. At your door, now unlocked and open, and even though you’d said you’d had no expectations, that there were no obligations, you cannot help but want more. You clutch his sleeve and he looks at you. Looks into you with those glacier orbs and you find yourself falling deeper and deeper.

“Stay,” you implore. You do not want to sink down into that mattress again, alone, with only the memories of him to comfort you.

You see the hesitation. The want. Conflicting emotions. Was it kinder to leave? Crueler to indulge you? Or were

those reversed?

“Please stay.” Your hand slides from his arm, dropping down, defeated.

Dave shuts the door and locks it, the chain sliding into place with a sharp snap before he turns back to you, gathering you into his arms.

[shieldslinger]

Tony slides into the room, fingers laced behind his back, projecting a faux innocence so hard it might as well be underlined in glittery gel pen. To be clear: He hasn't done anything wrong, per se; this is, he will insist, a strategic withholding of information until the best time to show his hand. And it's really not that big of a deal - at least, he doesn't think so - it's just a case of maybe knowing Steve too well and hedging his bets a little to ensure Steve doesn't mysteriously find something that he simply has to do, blah blah blah, stars, stripes, and Justice with a capital avoidance issue. Also? He thinks he maybe needs to pass on a warning before the main event. "Hey. I invited Clint and Hank for dinner Sunday. Kate, too." See? That's not so bad. He's broached it before, now he's just making good on it. Now on to the fun part: "Fair warning, though: If you see Clint acting weird - like how he acted with Jess Drew weird - just...Just let it go."

Routine maintenance for most people would be an oil change and airing up the tires. But for a bike meant to carry a super soldier around New York, Steve preferred to take the whole thing apart. As he checked each screw and gasket, he also searched for bugs and trackers, and made note of any pieces that needed to be replaced.

"Hey Vera, can you add this to the queue with Tony's fabricator?"

"Sure thing, doll." There was no clicking of heels, but he saw her holo-body move out the corner of his eye, leaning over to get closer look at the part, curled hair moving slightly. "You just want the one?"

"Make it two, just in case I mess up the replacement. Or so I have a spare on hand."

Vera gave a crisp salute before sauntering back over to her previous spot on the wheeled shop stool, holo-nail file returning to her hands. As Tony slunk into the room, Vera turned, giving him a flirty wink before continuing her slow spin back around. "Mister Rogers, you've got yourself a handsome gentleman caller."

Steve glanced up to her, then Tony, giving a small smile. "Thank you, Vera. That'll be all for the moment. Why don't you go check on those parts I need?"

Vera gave her best pout, which turned into an eye roll in the face of Steve's steady stare. She sighed dramatically and stood, walking past Tony and pausing. "You better tell me next, tiger."

She took another step and flickered out of existence.

Steve chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Despite it being Tony that had given Vera life, and it seemed his holo-assistant had taken on Steve's preference in men. One quick glance at his man let him know that Tony had something on his mind--some ambiguous piece of news he was trying to figure out how to break to Steve.

Steve picked up a toothbrush and began scrubbing.

Sunday dinner was one of the few meals they tried to have home cooked every single week, purposefully sitting in the dining room as a family. Inviting a few people--like Bucky or Carol--wasn't unusual. The guest list being Kate, Clint, and Hank wasn't weird. Frankly, what Tony was saying was less worrisome than how Tony was saying it. Like he was expecting Steve to... react badly?

Ah, and here was the proverbial other shoe. 'Acting weird like with Jess Drew.' Hm. They'd both been on a team with Clint and Jess. He didn't know Tony's experience, but Steve had lost count of the number of times he'd walked into the training simulator and had to "loudly forget" how "pin pads" worked to get the door open--hoping that by the time he walked in, everyone's clothes were back on.

Steve hummed and nodded, putting down the toothbrush and picking up a rag.

"So he and Hank are fucking?"

[seawitch62]

Vehicle problems? Lucky for you Taeil is here to help.

Yandere

Word count 853

 🔧   The mechanic 🔧

“Thinking of you is a poison I drink often.” ― Atticus

                  

A Gemini knows how to swerve you from your most stubbornly held convictions.”

- Linda Goodman.

                  ♊

"Are you sure?" She questions dejectedly. "Sorry but your 'baby' has a lot of problems", Taeil informs her. 

It all started with an oil change, Taeil being a good friend asked if the oil had been changed recently or if in fact oil had been added to the vehicle. "I know you never add oil," he told her in a playful scolding manner. It's true! That's what Jiffy Lube is for. "Jiffy Lube?" He said astonished, "they will rob you blind, let me do it! I'm free!". That's how it started a simple oil change. "Drop by my place and I will get it done" famous last words.

Taeil is delightful to watch tinkering with vehicles, he is witty and a wonderful conversationalist, when he is not chatting he sings, he has a voice the angels would envy. He seems to know his way  around the vehicle's  mechanics, his self assured attitude gains trust. It was a pleasant afternoon all in all. Taeil refused to take monetary compensation, "dinner?" The meal was nice, Taeil's smile an added bonus, he is such a good friend. I count my lucky stars. He is my best friend.

"Check engine light! What now?"

Luckily Taeil picked up the phone and he suggested I drop by his place so he could check it out.

Fiddling under the hood, he located the problem and was able to fix it quickly and with little cost. I can not take your money, I mean it was a few minutes work, dinner? So once more we enjoyed a delightful dinner.

Air! The tires need air, hope they are okay? As if my guardian angel was looking after me Taeil called at that moment, telling him the situation with the vehicle he once more suggested going to his place. Relief! The tires just needed air! Lunch? Sure!

"No! Not now baby!" Something is seriously wrong, the gears! First  second, where is third? Tears of frustration well up and trickle down.  "What the hell is happening?" Pulling off the road and calling Taeil, get over her now! Drive slowly! 

"Its the transmission," he states with brimming confidence. "No"

"Yea I'm afraid so". "Let me see what I can do, leave the vehicle with me for a few days". 

How many mechanics whilst working on your vehicle act as your chauffeur? Not many I guess! He is always here helping me, shopping or what not. He is amazing, and he still has time to work on 'baby'.

🔧

Two weeks, and all the things he has tried the vehicle is still not working. I mean he is helping me but…. I need the car fixed!

The look of hurt when I suggested I take it to 'a real mechanic' little faith, what you have no faith in my abilities? Insulted and now a little angry, after all the work I have done to help you? 

😎

"A new transmission?"

 "Of course I can do that! Just replace  it" he injected with confidence. Taeil went on to explain the how's, jargon lost on those not of the mechanical mind. Thousands! will cost a lot of dollars, I can do it! And a hell of a lot cheaper! 

◇

Dropping  by his place via a taxi, "I would of picked you up" 

Wanting to see the progress, it's been three weeks, surely he is close to being done.

Taeil convincingly tells  he had to order parts as many incidental parts were kaput and he needed new tools he explains.

Parts strewn across his garage, "maybe it's time I take the car to my regular mechanic!". 

"Regular mechanic? Are you cheating on me?" Joking? Is he joking? His eyes, his tone he seems aggravated. Angry!. Give me a week! 

"So it's fine if I work on your vehicle, up to my neck in grease and oil! But I can't drop by for a coffee and chat?"  

Ungrateful? Am I! Maybe so! 

How is he fixing the car when he is always with me? A month now! 

I miss my car, the convenience, the independence, now it seems I'm dependent on Taeil for everything!. So does he really know what he is doing?

🔧

Six weeks, it has been six weeks! I'm just going to have to tell him. 

◇

The garage looks exactly the same! Has he even worked on it? 

"Taeil I appreciate everything you have done, truly I have, but I think it's best I get the car towed to my mechanic"

The anger burning through his eyes turns to fury. 

"So you are cheating on me!"

"Cheating?" Completely lost and confused as to what he is talking about.

"Bestie" he states in a very clear, crisp sarcastic tone " you and your vehicle are going nowhere!" 

Laughingly, "in fact I have accommodations for you, all prepared" his cool eyes and menacing tone hit like a whip.

"Besties forever" he laughs, his tone dark and menacing.

[anechomirrored]

Fandom: Underfell (Undertale), Multiverse au

Rating: T

Prompt(s): " Yes. No. I don't know."

Warnings: mention of one night stands

" How long are monsters kids for?"

Red looked up from the engine he was taking apart to see the shop's lone female mechanic.

Part of Red felt he probably should have gotten to know her sooner. The other part of him knew he wasn't much for small talk. Plus, just breathing was enough to scare most humans so why add talking and risk killing one with a heart attack?

Some humans weren't all the bad. Tony at the front desk was alright. He laughed at Red's jokes and hardly ever jumped anymore when Red slammed a door too hard.

Lamy though? She hadn't tried any more than he had. Their communications up until now had always been strickly work oriented.

" hand me that wrench?"

"Sure"

And back to work, or:

"The Civic needs an oil change. You wanna finish up here, Red?"

" will do."

That was it.

So imagine his surprise when she sat down next him at lunch about two weeks ago and started trying to get to know him.

He didn't mind it. Turns out she was pretty smart and even a bit humourous herself...she had two after all.

Jokes aside, he was still a bit suspicious.

Did she want something from him?

Was she just trying for a one and done evening?

Red hoped not, he certainly wasn't opposed to late night with a pretty lady, but he kinda liked this job. It was quiet in the shop and the boss wasn't a total knob.

Sleeping with a co worker might change that and that was a drama Red just didn't want to deal with.

The longer they talked, though the less Red worried. Though he did still wonder at times.

" what do I look like, an encyclopedia?" He quirked a brow at her.

Or, at her feet. She was half way under a jacked up mini coop.

"No, if one on monsters existed, I'd spare myself and just go buy it." She said grunting a bit as the bolt she was working on came loose abruptly.

" ouch, doll. alphys and the tin can can only write so fast. plus you humans just love to throw a wrench in every bit o' progress we make." Red smirked.

By now Lamy was accustom to these little jabs. They weren't personal but on whole, humans...yeah, they were kinda crap.

"Yeah, I know were're shit." She quipped, echoing his thoughts, "Now, you gonna tell me about monster culture or what?"

" depends on the type," Red answered, "dog monster pups age about the same as human brats." He removed the cylinder head and checked the rubber grommets.

"What about others?" Lamy called out from under the car, "is it the same for all monsters?" She tapped a wrench against something and cursed, "This shoulda been changed out a year ago!"

Red grunted in agreement. This engine wasn't for the coop but all of these grommets needed replacing too.

" hey, i'm sure the guy is livin' hard up, give the poor bastard a break."

"I am, wise guy. Two breaks in fact!" Red could hear the amusement in her voice.

" nah, take elementals for instance. they're ancient, doll. grillby, ya know the one with the bar few blocks down? his niece is a teenager at two hundred years old."

"Really? How old's Grillby?"

" aw, doll that's rude." Red chuckled.

Truth was, he had no freaking idea! Grillby had been around since the early days. He'd fought in the war and before that (if you could sift through the ten lies and a truth game he liked to play) he might have been a blacksmith. The jury was still out, really.

Lamy carfully ducked out from under the car.

" Alright, what about you? How long are skeletons pups for?" Lamy asked.

Red snorted.

" skeletons don't have pups, they have babybones." He began lining up the engine parts on the table for cleaning.

"That's a cute name for them." Lamy laughed, and Red felt his skull start to flush with magic.

" shut up, we ain't cute! me and my bro were absolute manaces!" He shot her a glare, but to his horror she just laughed more.

"Uh huh..." Lamy tossed a jay cloth on the table and sat down heavily on a nearby shop chair.

" why you asking so much anyways?" He growled," you meet a cute monster or something?" Red watched her reaction intently.

Now it was Lamy's turn to get flustered.

"Yes. No. I don't know." She grabbed her water bottle and took an abruptly shortened gulp as the full meaning of his words seems to sink in. "No! Stars! It's nothing like that, I am still with Vick." She was rubbing her arm and looking at the concrete floor, " I just ...met a monster kid on my street and wanted to know more. The kid couldn't have been more than ten but he was so quiet and well spoken!"

Red breathed a sigh of relief.

" heh, sorry. Just teasing ya, doll. sounds like the kid might just be mature for his age."

He wasn't sure whose kid she'd seen but slow grower or not, life in the underground was far from kind and that meant kids had to grow up fast down there regardless. It had been that way for him and regrettably, for his brother, Edge.

As dingy as the outer city residences were, they were already giving most monsters a better life than they'd had before.

"Okay, thanks. Wanna stop for lunch?" Lamy asked, standing up.

Red made note of where he was at in his work and brushed his hands on his coveralls.

" heh, sure thing. let's wash up."

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Primrose, part One

Rating: SFW Length: 1929 Pairing: Male Reader x Male Orc (both cis)

Just a bit of fluff during these trying times.

xxx

I see him one bright summer morning in my grandmother's garden, near the edge of her property where the forest kisses the grass. I find him sleeping between the rosemary and the hydrangeas, curled up in the shade of a willow tree, barefoot and smelling of sweet wine. The morning sun has yet to reach him and so the dew still clings to him yet, making him almost seem to shimmer like a daydream in the dappled light.

He's big even for an orc, though I admit I haven't met many. His skin is the colour of cherry blossoms except where it seems to be lacking pigment, like a sliver which looks like a widow's peak that disappears into his vivid pink hair, and a splotch that spreads like a butterfly across his sharp cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His hair is a rich pink colour, long and thick and braided loosely, the ribbon almost lost to the clover and lemongrass he’s lying on. I take a moment to study him among the birdsong and the stirring of the cicadas in the forest, watching the rise and fall of his broad, hairy chest where it's exposed by buttons either undone or lost to the night's festivities.

He's the most handsome man I've ever seen, and I almost feel remorse when I upend a bucket of water over his head.

He snorts and gasps, splutters and coughs, looking about him wildly as he flails and struggles to right himself from his lazy sprawl. "What in the hell?" he exclaims, breathless and agog, and when he turns his baby blue eyes up to meet mine, they go wide as dinner plates.

"You're crushing the lemongrass," I tell him, keeping my face and tone neutral while I smother my amusement.

"Did you just soak me?" he asks, something like awe stealing across his face.

"You're crushing the lemongrass," I say again, propping my dripping bucket against my hip through the overalls I'm wearing. "My lemongrass. Get out of my garden, you drunk."

It seems he can contain himself no longer; he throws his head back and roars with laughter until tears gather in his eyes. "And here I heard no one but a canny old crone lived in this cottage!"

"My grandmother," I supply, feeling my lips curve up despite myself. "I'm just a canny young bastard."

"And what happened to the crone?" asks the orc, getting up and pulling his shirt over his head to wring it out over the hydrangeas.

I can't help but notice that his torso is thick and muscled, and that the dense curls on his chest go all the way down his soft belly. Here, they turn white along with his skin in a broad swathe, and I find myself wondering where else his skin changes colour beneath his clothes.

"See something you like?"

My eyes snap back up to the orc's face, and where I'm expecting a smug, lascivious smirk, there is instead a bemused, almost shy smile. I know that I don't blush when I'm embarrassed, but I'm surprised to see that he does, two spots of red blooming across his cheeks like roses.

"She fell and broke her hip three weeks ago," I tell him, and I make a point to look only at his face while he puts his shirt back on. "She left me in charge of the house. What's it to you?"

The orc holds up his hands, and I see that one palm is white as cream. "Only curious," he assures me, turning his gaze to the cottage behind me. "Nice place."

I give him a very flat look. "Try to rob me and you'll regret it."

Once again he laughs, gesturing with his hands as if to fend me off. "Easy, easy! Are you always so hostile?"

"Only to strangers who pass out drunk in my herb garden."

He smiles, then, and I curse him internally; of course he'd have dimples. "Well, what if we weren't strangers? I'm Primrose, but most just call me Prim. You are?"

I feel my eyes narrow as I weigh my options, absently drumming my fingers against the side of my bucket. I debate telling him my name, but his disarming smile pries it out of my mouth before I can think better of it.

Primrose’s eyes light up. “What a pretty name. It suits you. Not like mine.”

“Oh?” I call over my shoulder as I turn to head back to the house, pretending to be bored of the stranger who tromps through the herbs behind me in his haste to follow. “I’m sure I don’t care why.”

“Oh, come on,” the big orc snorts. “‘Primrose’? For a man? ‘Prim’ is my only saving grace!”

“Don’t you fancy hearing ‘Rosie’?” I ask knowing that I’m being prickly, putting aside the bucket and reaching for the garden hose.

Primrose stops short, mouth opening and closing soundlessly before he can grumble, “Only my mother calls me that.”

“It’s a good name,” I say, turning to face him with the hose head in my hand. “It suits you. Unlike mine.”

Primrose laughs awkwardly, eyeing the hose like a snake about to bite. “Is that for me?”

I lift a brow. “Do you want breakfast, or not?”

His belly answers before his mouth can, rumbling loudly between us and causing him to splutter and cover it with his hands as if to silence it. “I suppose I do,” he sheepishly replies.

“Then I’ll hose the mud off your feet and you’ll go straight to the bath. I’ll wash your clothes while you soak the booze out of your system, feed you, and then you can get the hell off of my property.”

“Bossy,” Primrose says with a laugh, startling only a little when I turn the cold water of the hose on his feet. “I don’t have the foggiest where I might have lost them.”

“Your marbles?” I drawl, and I thrill at the quick grin it earns me from the orc.

“My boots.”

“Hm. Come in, then. Mind the door.” I warn him just in time to save him a nasty knot on his forehead, leading him into my grandmother’s cottage to the big claw-foot tub that I begin to fill with steaming water. I add bath salts and rose oil for his muscles and for my own amusement, which he doesn’t seem to miss despite how straight-faced I keep.

“Very funny,” he rumbles, pulling the ribbon from his hair and shaking it out of its plait. It falls all the way down to his backside, and in that moment, I want nothing more than to put my fingers in it and play with it until I’ve figured out just how many shades of pink there are to find. I control my urges and rein in my impulses as I’ve always done, leaving briefly under the context of getting the washing machine ready and returning only once I’m sure he’s in the tub. It’s not hard to gauge when he enters; the cottage is quiet except for birdsong, and his groan is low and long.

I bustle in to gather his clothing and wrinkle my nose at the tattered hair ribbon; the silk was fine to begin with, but it’s been torn and tattered in small but noticeable ways along the ends, and the mud is in so deep that it may never come out. “You’ve ruined this ribbon,” I inform Primrose, pinning him with a scrutinising look that he wriggles under the weight of like an errant schoolboy.

“I don’t remember how or when,” he says. “Last night is… a blur, at best.”

“Hm,” I sniff, looking away from him to head for the door. “Maybe this will teach you not to drink so much in future. A ribbon can be replaced, but if you’d fallen asleep facedown in a ditch somewhere, the night’s rain would have drowned you. Is that how you want to go out? Drunk and drowning in a puddle somewhere?”

I almost feel sorry for the way I make him squirm, big as he is. He’s all muscle, barrel-chested and with hard, shapely legs that he draws up to his chest in the tub. “No,” he all but meeps, meek as a kitten. “My mother would bring me back just to kill me. I won’t drink so much again.”

“See that you don’t,” I reply, sweeping out of the room to get the laundry going. Halfway without thinking, I stash the ruined ribbon in my pocket and go upstairs to my room to fetch him another. I, too, have long hair that requires being tied back from time to time, so I grab one of my ribbons and place it on top of the pile when his clothing has been washed and dried. I set these just inside the bathroom door and inform him that breakfast will be ready within the hour, and so I hear him reluctantly begin the drawn-out process of unwillingly leaving a warm bath.

Breakfast is simple, but hearty. Eggs, potatoes, sausages—all locally sourced from the farmers in the countryside. I’m chewing on a mouthful of eggs when I remember I have a delivery to make to my grandmother’s egg supplier: a watermelon she had traded for that was a little overripe to eat, but perfect for the chickens as a treat. I inform Primrose of this and we both spend a moment looking at his feet, contemplating his predicament. In the end, I pick up the receiver in my grandmother’s kitchen and call a carriage for him, waving away his words of thanks.

“I mean it,” he insists. “If this house had been empty, I’d have had to walk all the way back to town barefoot.”

“It would have taught you a lesson, at least,” I say, and this time I can’t help the little smirk that steals across my face.

Primrose laughs, loud and joyful. “You’re a viper! Can nothing I say earn me any sweetness?”

“You want sweetness?” I ask, and I can feel myself smiling now. “Don’t pass out in my garden next time.”

Primrose leans in across the porch where we’re awaiting his carriage. “‘Next time’?”

“Oh, don’t read into it,” I huff, shaking my head and leaning against the railing. “You want sweetness, you need a better impression than what you’ve given. There’s Mr. Higgens now.” I gesture with my glass of lemonade, and Primrose’s expression falls.

“Ah.” We’re silent as the carriage pulls up the dirt road to the front door, and I wave to the driver and exchange pleasantries as Primrose reluctantly heads down the front porch steps. He looks back up at me when his feet hit the dirt, and I almost laugh at the way his big blue eyes look almost childishly hopeful. “Would you soak me if I visited again?”

“I might,” I say nonchalantly, tilting my head this way and that. “I might not.”

Primrose grins, and all at once all the wind is under his sails again. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, waving exuberantly from the carriage after he’s boarded it. I wave back, bemused by the morning’s events, and watch the carriage until it disappears around a woody bend and completely out of view. I go back inside and wash the breakfast crockery, shaking my head at myself and my foolishness when I find the ruined ribbon in my pocket when I’m wiping my hands on my jeans.

What was I doing? I had a watermelon to deliver.

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if... Part2

(Amazed and honoured at the reception of this one! So very happy y’all enjoyed this little AU that I was NOT going to write xD And thank you for the reblogs and comments, you wonderful people you! <3

 For the record, I still blame you @phrenic-a and @mountevey And I see you encouraging them @novembermurray ! )

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if...

Part 1

Part 2

She’s lost her mind. Dulsissa has thought this very thought many times during these last three months, but stars above; she really must have lost her mind now.

The Mandalorian, Davarax, is a complete stranger. She doesn’t know anything about him, only some fragments about his children that she has a feeling are real but might as well not be. And here she is holding her son’s hand and following this man to his ship, fully prepared to board it with him and go some place she has no idea where is to stay with a people she has no clue who are.

“This is your ship?” Corin asks with slight disbelief when they come to a halt in front of it.

Like Davarax’ armor, the ship has seen better days.

Embarrassed by her son’s words, Dulsissia gives Corin’s hand a warning squeeze and sends him a stern look that makes him shrink a little and shuffle his feet.

-Think it, don’t speak it, she’s told him countless times. His honesty will cost him one day.

Davarax snorts an amused laugh, saunters forward to reach out and place an affectionate hand to the ship’s hull. He pets it a couple of times like it’s a living creature. “She might not be the fanciest, but..” The helmet turns to look back at Corin. “I can promise you, Corin, you won’t find a better ship in the Galaxy. The Razor Crest is tough, fast and loyal. Treat her right and she’ll look after you.”

The disdain in Corin’s eyes is replaced with awe. “Really?” He whispers.

“Really.” Davarax confirms, giving the ship a final pat before lowering his arm to press a button on his vambrace. There is a click and a hum and the ship opens a side door, lowering a ramp for them to enter. “Let’s go.”

Dulsissia smiles a little as she follows Davarax inside and how Corin now is pulling eagerly at her hand to make her hurry up. A magical ship is irresistible to a little boy, while she tries hard to ignore the scorch marks she sees on the hull and the ominous weapons attached to it.

Inside, the ship is a lot roomier than she expected it to be. The cargo area makes for a great playground for Corin. The sleeping quarters are narrow, but she doesn’t require much space and Corin even less so. The cockpit is fascinating, she’s never been in one before.

And neither has Corin.

“Baby, no.” Dulsissia reaches out to pull Corin away when he walks right up to the control panel after Davarax has found his place in the pilot seat and watches with utmost amazement as he starts flipping switches and pushing buttons to bring the ship to life. “Come here. Don’t bother Davarax.”

“It’s okay.” Davarax reassures her. He glances over at the boy. “You want to help, young sir?”

Corin nods, too overwhelmed to talk.

“Flip that one.” Davarax points at a tiny switch and Corin instantly reaches out and flips it. “Good job. And now press that button.” He lifts the boy up so he can reach the button in the ceiling.

Dulsissia bites her lower lip to keep from getting too emotional as she watches her son eagerly obey instructions and soaking up every bit of encouragement and praise from the Mandalorian, starved for both after all the years his father gave him none. It hurts to watch how such simple kindness from a man stuns Corin but it is also so good to see her son this happy. Maybe she didn’t lose her mind when she decided to go with Darvarax, maybe it was the one good choice she’s made since deciding to leave Macero? She hopes.

“Okay, ad’ika.” Davarax says. “The Razor Crest is awake. Time for you to get in your seat.” He nudges Corin, who reluctantly wanders over to the one seat left after his mother claimed the one behind Davarax. He climbs, with a little difficulty, up on it, and settles. A tiny boy in a big seat.

Dulsissia moves over to buckle him in and frowns. He’s too small. It won’t keep him safe at all.

Without looking over at them, Davarax makes some final adjustments on his panel. “Next to the seat. On the left. There’s this box he can sit on. I use that when I bring Din or Barthor along.”

Dulsissia blinks. It’s not something she’d picture a mercenary to have on his ship. But a peek down the side does indeed reveal a box and once Corin is sitting on that, he gets a better view, to his delight, and the belts actually fit him instead of choking him, to her relief.

The ship takes off and sets course for the darkness above. Dulsissia is not sorry to leave this place.

Now all she has to worry about is what Nevarro is like and how the Mandalorians will react to Davarax bringing home a stray and her offspring. She wonders if the other Mandalorians are like Davarax, if she will get to meet his children and most important of all; will Corin like it there?

-

The journey to Nevarro will take two standard days. It’s strange how two days on a small ship with her husband or her friends would have driven her insane, but the hours on board the Razor Crest feel safe and almost enjoyable as Davarax’ patience with her son’s continued craving for his attention and praise.

Every time her boy butts into whatever the Mandalorian is doing, calls for him to look at what he is doing instead, Dulsissia feels a stab of dread, waiting to hear the sharp annoyance that would always follow his attempts to reach his father, but every time Davarax replies with mild amusement and eternal patience. He even brings Corin along to ‘help’ with some repairs in the cargo area and leaves her to just rest or whatever she feels like doing.

With there being no place for the man to run off with her child, it’s not like he’ll jump into space with him, and a growing trust in Davarax, Dulsissia ends up sitting in the cockpit like an idiot and having no clue what to do. It’s been almost five years since she didn’t spend every second of her day hovering over Corin.

After what feels like a small eternity of just sitting there, listening to the muffled voices from the cargo hold, Dulsissia notices her reflection in the transparisteel and slowly lifts a hand to her blond locks. Oh, she looks a mess. No wonder Davarax had decided she needed help; she looks like a wookiee.

When Davarax and Corin returns to the cockpit, she has eased the final hairpin into place and her sweet boy lights up at the sight of her. He runs over, places his hands on her knees and looks up at her with a smile so bright it makes her smile as well. “Wow. You look really pretty, mommy.”

Davarax ruffles Corin’s hair as he walks by him on the way to the pilot seat. “She always does, ad’ika.”

Her face burns for some reason. Dulsissia pulls Corin up to sit on her lap and she changes the topic. “What does that mean? You keep calling him that.”

“It’s from my language. Mando’a.” Davarax replies, fidgeting with something on the panel to see if the repairs were successful. “It’s what we call our youngsters.”

Smiling, oddly pleased with the answer, Dulsissia looks down and sees Corin has gotten oil on his face and starts the battle of wiping it away while he tries to squirm free.

It’s not just Corin who gets to learn new things. On the second day, while her boy sleeps, Dulsissia takes out the blade Davarax had given her and tests the weight and feel of it. Wearing a dress restricts the movement of her legs a bit, so she’ll need to have a good idea of how to use her arms. Make the most of what she can use.

She feels stupid, waving the blade around, pretending to stab an invisible opponent, but Dulsissia gets so into it that she’s entirely unprepared for a hand suddenly gripping her wrist.

Startled, she flinches and almost drops the knife.

“Not like that.” Davarax’ voice says from behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach.

His gloved hand slides over her pale one and helps her turn the blade so she holds it in a reverse grip instead.

“Like this. It will give you more options during an attack and more power. More power to do more damage. Plus,” Davarax steps closer and slides his other arm loosely around her waist in a slight mimicry of how those men had grabbed her, “you can do this.”

The hand on hers adds a little pressure and makes her lower her arm in a careful swing until the blade goes by her thigh and the tip comes to a halt against the front of his thigh.

“And when the blade is in, you twist.” His voice is so calm. And so close. If not for the helmet, she suspects she’d feel his words on her neck. “Understand?”

Dulsissia gives a quick little nod. Her eyes probably as big as Corin’s tend to get around this man.

“Good.” Davarax lets her go and circles to stand in front of her. “Now, if someone approaches you from the front, what you should do is-”

She still feels silly, waving the blade around and Davarax letting her practice on him when he could disarm her without even looking her way, but at the end of that first session; Dulsissia knows where to aim and how to do as much damage as possible.

Also, when the Mandalorian hands out praise, she can’t blame her son for wanting more because she realizes that she hasn’t heard too much of that in her own lifetime either and it feels really, really good to finally think she’s not hopeless at least.

-

When they land on Nevarro, Dulsissia can’t help but to feel nervous again. She picks up Corin, who allows it with a resigned sigh, and holds him close while following Davarax off the ship. The journey has been another respite before facing her difficult situation, but it’s over now.

Time to find out what will be next for her and her baby.

Davarax leads her through the dusty city, Dulsissia places a protective hand on Corin’s head and shields him from seeing leers and sneers sent their way, and they finally reach a door that brings them underground to the hidden Covert of the Mandalorians.

It’s dark below and it takes a while for Dulsissia’s eyes to adjust so she doesn’t see them until she’s walking right by the other Mandalorians, who stand there, staring at her with emotionless t-visors.

Flinching with a startled sound, she jumps forward and nearly bumps into Davarax’ back.

“They won’t harm you.” Davarax says, not turning around or even slowing his walk. “You’re safe.”

Looking around as they walk, Dulsissia hopes he is right, because there are quite an amount of armored people there and they aren’t exactly rolling out a welcoming committee. “If you say so.”

In the depths of the tunnels, they approach what appears to be the seat of power, judging by the decorations and respectful behaviour of the ones there.

They have taken one step inside the room, it appears to some kind of a forge, when Davarax stops and Dulsissia follows his example. “Stay here.” He says. “Only speak when spoken to.”

She then watches in silence as he steps forward and walks over to kneel down in front of the forge where a Mandalorian in a golden armor and a fur cloak is working on something. Minutes pass and Dulsissia has to hoist Corin a couple of times as the boy really is getting heavy, but they all wait for what has to be the leader of the Mandalorians to finish whatever they are working on.

Finally the one in the golden helmet puts the hammer down, lingers and walks over to where Davarax is kneeling. “Did you complete your mission?”

Davarax reaches into the pocket of his belt, fishes out a handful of valuables and places them on the ground as an offering.

The leader looks at what he has brought, gives a thoughtful nod and then shifts her attention to Dulsissia. “And you have brought something else to the Covert as well.”

“They need a place to stay. Somewhere safe.”

“A foundling is always welcome.” The leader replies in a neutral voice. “This other one does not look like a warrior.”

“She has the makings of one.” Davarax counters in an equally neutral voice. “She will be my responsibility. Both of them.”

“Very well.” The leader says, but she does not sound pleased. “This is the way.”

“This is the way.” Davarax echoes. He gets up and walks out of the room, only pausing to give Dulsissia’s arm a light touch to signal her to follow him. She does.

Once they are at a certain distance from the room and the leader, Dulsissia hoists Corin, who she suspects is too scared by these new surroundings to say anything, and voices her thoughts. “She doesn’t want me here.”

Davarax does his little trademark huff of a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dulsissia sighs and hoists Corin a little again. Her arms are burning. She does not expect Davarax to come to an abrupt halt, forcing her to stop as well, and turn around to hold out his arms.

“Give him to me.”

Dulsissia clutches Corin a little closer and stares at him with surprise at his betrayal.

His helmet tilts a little and Davarax is the one to sigh. “Just until I can show you your room.”

She hesitates for several seconds. What convinces her is Corin pushing away from her and reaching out to him, and only then does Dulsissia hand her son over to the Mandalorian and awkwardly wraps her arms around herself instead.

Corin quickly settles on Davarax’ arm and looks around with bright, curious eyes from his new and taller perch.

The Mandalorian reaches out his free hand and gently touches by her shoulder. “Come.” He says, not unkindly. “Let me show you where you’ll stay.”

-

The door slides open. Stepping inside, Davarax following her with Corin, Dulsissia looks around and finds it small and modest but far cleaner and inviting than some of the inns she and her son have stayed at during these last weeks. There are no windows, but there is a light in the ceiling.

There are two beds, a rickety looking table and some hooks in the wall to hang clothing on.

“It’s not much, I know.” Davarax sounds a bit awkward. “But it will be yours.” Dulsissia looks over at him with a grateful smile. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Davarax turns sideways and points at the door they can see across the hallway. “That’s me. If you need anything.” He puts Corin down on his own two feet and lets him run over to climb into the closest bed and start jumping on it.

“Corin, baby, no.” Dulsissia says, meeting the defiant look he sends her way with a stern look of her own and feels a smug sense of victory when the boy sits down with an annoyed huff. She can then turn her attention back to Davarax. “You have done so much for us already. How can I ever repay you?”

He seems surprised by her words and it takes a second before he shakes his head. “There is nothing to repay. You don’t owe me anything. Neither does your boy. I just want you two to be safe.”

Dulsissia has to turn away to hide her eyes flooding with tears. She’d given up on there being decent people in the Galaxy and then she had to stumble across the most noble of them all?

“I’ll, uh, give you some time to settle in. Get some rest.” Davarax mumbles, backing out of the room. “I’ll be back later. I’ll see if I can get you some spare clothes. I know there are some for Corin. And then I’ll show you two around. Sounds good?”

“Will you show me the training room?” Corin asks with badly hidden hope.

“Absolutely, young sir.” Davarax replies with a bow that has Corin giggle with delight.

When the door slides shut behind the Mandalorian, Dulsissia walks over to sit next to her sweet boy and combs her fingers through his thick, dark hair. “We are going to stay here for a while, baby. Okay?”

Corin nods eagerly and gives her another gap-toothed smile. “Yeah! Dav’rax gonna show me where he trains to fight bad guys. Maybe he can teach me too?”

“We’ll see.” Dulsissia replies, unwilling to make any promises on behalf of the man. While she’d prefer her son to never see battle in his lifetime, she’s not stupid. Once she chose to leave Seswenna, she condemned them both to an existence where they both will have to learn to defend themselves.

She and Corin explore the room, discover there is a barely visible door on the western wall that leads to what has to be the Galaxy’s tiniest refresher room, and they play-fight over who gets which bed, but in the end there isn’t all that much to do but wait for Davarax to return.

When there finally is a knock on the door, both Dulsissia and Corin eagerly jump to their feet and is equally pleased to see the now almost familiar Mandalorian. Dulsissia is fairly certain she’d be able to recognize his helmet and armor in a sea of others at this point.

Davarax holds out a small pile of clothes. “This will at least give you something to change into.”

Accepting the gift, Dulsissia manages another smile, despite once again feeling the bite of humiliation. She thinks about the gorgeous dresses she used to wear. The adorable outfits she had made for Corin. She’ll probably be the first Motti to ever use second-hand clothing… Then she snaps out of it and clutches the clothes close with a sense of appreciation instead. “Thank you.”

“And you, ad’ika, are you ready to check out your new home?” Davarax asks Corin.

“Yes, sir!” Corin replies, back straight and eagerness barely contained.

The Covert, as she understands it is called, is a complicated network of hallways and tunnels. It used to be the old sewers of Neverro, Davarax explains and Dulsissia tries not to shudder. At least Macero won’t think to look for them here.

The other Mandalorians are still staring quietly at her, but the ones Davarax introduces her to give her a polite nod at least. They don’t seem hostile, but they aren’t exactly brimming with hospitality either. Dulsissia suspects that maybe they don’t get too many visitors in their underground home.

She minds her manners, tries to not offend anyone and considering that none of them draw their frankly intimidating blasters says she might not be doing the worst job of it. Dulsissia used to be so very good at socializing. She was the queen of all the balls back on Seswenna. Now she’s only hoping not to offend.

“And I saved the best for last.” Davarax says with the excitement she usually hears from her son. He stops by a door, turns to face her and lets his hand over over the button to open. “My kids.”

Dulsissia has just enough time to feel both surprise and nervousness and then the door slides open.

-

Lined up in a neat row, clearly having been given firm instructions to be followed when Davarax brought her and her son, four children stand in the middle of what looks like a training room and stare at the new arrivals.

The one of the left has to be Paz. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was sixteen, not eleven. He’s a lot taller than the others, but lacks the lankiness that would usually follow such an early height growth. He has the powerful bones to carry the height, but a child’s face. Paz’ dark hair is cut entirely short except for the unruly spikes on top, his mouth is a thin, disapproving line and his big hands are clenched. Next to him, barely reaching his team-mate’s shoulder, is the one that has to be Barthor. He has curly, dark hair that is getting a bit long, scarecrow shoulders and sharp eyes that are locked on Dulsissia like he’s seeing her with a crosshair on her forehead. Next to him is definitely Raga. Like Barthor, she’s small and skinny, but she has the most amazing hair Dulsissia has ever seen. It is a wild mess, but the volume and the curls are stunning. Too bad the glare behind the mane warns her that she’ll get her fingers bit off if she so much as tries to touch it. And then, half hidden behind Raga, is the one Davarax keeps referring to as ‘little Din’. He’s not especially small for his age, but he appears to be a lot more timid than the others. He is very cute, though, with silky dark hair and soulful eyes.

Davarax walks over and starts introducing each child. Dulsissia is pleased to hear she’s guessed right about their identities and gives a brief curtsy. “Pleased to meet you. I am Dulsissia.”

Silence.

Davarax reaches out and pokes a finger at Paz’ head. “Hey.”

Paz’ nose twitches, like a hound about to bare its teeth, then he reluctantly steps forward until he stands in front of her and he reaches out a hand. “I’m honoured to meet you.”

Trying to hold back an amused smile and failing to a certain degree, Dulsissia takes his hand and he shakes hers with a stern look on his little face, trying so hard to act like an adult. She has to stop herself from hugging him. It’s so cute.

Barthor gives her a nod, which is good enough for her but gets an annoyed sigh from Davarax. Raga moves forward, Din following her like a tail, and she seems more interested in something behind Dulsissia.

What… Oh. Right.

Dulsissia reaches back and ushers Corin out from his hiding place. “This is Corin. Say hello Corin.”

“Hello.” He says in a tiny voice, looking from one to the other and probably feeling like prey. She doesn’t blame him. He hasn’t really played with other children before. Macero didn’t think it would be good for him to mix with others. And these ones are already being trained to be warriors.

Paz frowns and crossed his arms. “Are you going to take the Creed?”

Corin blinks. “I…”

“They are going to stay with us. That’s all you need to focus on, Paz.” Davarax replies.

“Is he going to train with us?” Barthor asks, his eyes still too sharp for someone so young.

“We haven’t decided that yet.” Davarax says and glances over at Dulsissia.

“He should play with us.” Raga says, her lip curling in something that could be a smile but is mostly a flash of teeth. When Corin shuffles to partially hide behind Dulsissia’s leg, Raga doesn’t move but her eyes move with him.

“He is going to play with you.” Davarax says and stalks forward until he’s standing next to Raga, towering over her. “And you’re all going to be nice to him. Understand?”

The girl scowls up at him. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re not.” Barthor scoffs.

Raga’s mess of a hair bounces as she snaps her gaze over at him and he shuffles over to partially hide behind the still stern-looking Paz.

“She’s going to be nice to my son,” Dulsissia says, her voice sweet and her eyes not, “because he has a mother who will have words with everyone who isn’t nice to him.”

Raga shifts her scowl over to Dulsissia, scans her, scowls harder, but when Dulsissia doesn’t give her an inch, she sighs and her little body relaxes. “Fiiiiine.”

And while all of this is happening, little Din silently watches Corin from his hiding place and Corin curiously looks back at him from his.

-

“I told them to behave.” Davarax grouses as he’s bringing her to where she can find food for herself and Corin.

Laughing, Dulsissia glances down at where her son is walking next to her, holding on to her hand and looking around with curiosity, not fear. “I think it went well.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Davarax sighs and there is actual sadness to the sound. “The others call them lost causes. Troublemakers. I know they are difficult, that their manners aren’t like Corin’s, but.. They are good kids. They really are. I wanted you to see that.”

Dulsissia reaches out and places her hand on his upper arm where there is no armor. And she speaks the truth. “I did see that.”

Davarax comes to an abrupt halt, she does the same, and despite the t-visor she can feel the look of surprise on his face.

“You… did?” There is a fragile hope in his voice that doesn’t match his rough exterior.

Dulsissia nods and smiles. “It’s like you said, Paz watches over the others like they were ‘his’ children. He did not hesitate to protect Barthor from Raga. Barthor, who would not let Raga lie and trick my son. Raga, who didn’t care that my son was an outsider and just saw him as someone to play with. And sweet little Din who despite his fear wanted so much to say hello. I think he and Corin will get along so well. And…” She hesitates, looks down at her son but finds him distracted by staring at something down the hallway and has no excuse not to say what else she saw. Dulsissia looks back up at Davarax, who is waiting for her to finish. “And I saw just how much those children love you.”

Davarax stares at her.

“You are the world, the entire Galaxy to them.” Dulsissia says, remembering the look of pure adoration and love in their eyes as he mildly chastised them for acting like tree monkeys in front of their visitors. She doubts he understands how important his role is to these children. How their happiness hangs on his words. How they will do anything for his approval. “My parents ruled our house with an iron fist. But these children? They don’t obey you because they have to or because they fear you. They do it because they love you. Because you see them.”

He shivers and the only reason she knows is because her hand is still on his arm.

“Dulcy, I…” Davarax reaches up and covers her hand with his.

“I know bad men, Davarax. I know monsters pretending to be men. But you?” Dulsissia looks over at how his hand is holding on to hers, so gently despite the strength she knows he must be capable of. “You are a good man. You are the kind of man I wish Corin had for a father.”

Davarax takes a step closer, is suddenly very close and the muscles in his arm tighten under her palm. “Is he the one you are running from?”

Dulsissia tenses up and looks down at her son. Corin is still caught up in whatever he’s staring at.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Davarax says ever so softly. “I just want to help you.”

“I know.” Dulsissia whispers. She doesn’t want to say Macero’s name. It’s stupid, but she fears if she does; it might summon him. “That is what makes you a good man.”

A light touch to her chin and Davarax’ other hand lifts her face to look up at him and there is a slight smile in his voice when he speaks. “I’m not ‘that’ good.”

Dulsissia giggles. She hasn’t giggled in years. And her face flushes.

“I’m hungry.” Corin declares.

Davarax jumps back a step and Dulsissia jumps in place and they both look down at the little boy like guilty teenagers.

“I-I’m sorry, baby. We’ll get you something to eat now.” Dulsissia stammers, her face heating up even more.

“Food. Yes. This way.” Davarax clears his throat and gestures for them to follow him.

They enter the room where food is stored, Davarax shows them where the fires are so she can cook if she feels like it and basically where all the other necessities of the Covert are.

By the time the tour comes to an end by the door to their room, Corin is exhausted and Dulsissia knows she won’t struggle finding sleep either. Still, she’s almost a little reluctant to part ways with Davarax when he pauses outside their door.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asks.

“I was hoping that you might want to bring Corin by training.” Davarax says. “He can observe for a while. Maybe try some exercises. Training is the best way for the children to burn off their energy and learn skills as the city above is not safe for them.”

Dulsissia nods. “I will bring him.” She hesitates, knowing he must be tired of hearing her say it but still has to; “Thank you.”

Davarax shakes his head, reaches out and gingerly tucks a golden lock behind her ear. “No thanks required.” He backs up a step, nods and spins around to march over to his door. He keeps pressing the button to his room so the door opens and shuts twice before he can actually get inside.

Late at night, curled up on her side in her bed, looking over at the barely visible silhouette of her son’s back in the other bed, Dulsissia knows she made the best decision ever by coming here.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.” 

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?” 

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

-

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.” 

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing. 

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.” 

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?” 

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.” 

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?” 

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.” 

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.” 

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

[fanfictionfansmiction]

Good Enough

Requested by the lovely @ravenclawprinxcess who asked for a fic about Bolin from Legend of Korra cheering up a sad reader! I really enjoy doing requests so please feel free to send them in :) I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading

Word Count: 1828

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Things felt wrong from the moment you had woken up. The rain drumming down on your ceiling and a bitterness that hung in the air. When you had left your room, you had immediately regretted it. An all too familiar sadness fogged your brain, perhaps it was a good day to stay indoors wrapped up in bed pretending that the world outside was all but a bad dream. That would have been a great remedy if it weren’t for your shift at the noodle bar today. It didn’t even matter that the shift was short you knew it was going to drag by. The silence of the kitchen dragged you even further into you foul mood.

Bolin had just come into the kitchen as your eyes were getting teary from the thought of having to deal with the world today. Unaware of the shift in your mood he came up behind you and wrapped his large arms around your waist placing a gentle kiss on your neck humming contently as he did. Swaying the two of you side to side in the same way he did every morning. You turned around and wrapped your arms around him nuzzling you faces into his neck. At first, he didn’t question it until your breathing began to become ragged and he could feel your tears wetting his shirt. He held you tighter and only planned to let go when you did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked quietly into your hair. You only shook you head in response. “That’s okay.” He adds soothingly rubbing your back. If it was possible you would have stayed in his arms all day and he would have let you. When you pulled away you saw the wet patch you had left on his clean shirt. Which made you feel even worse.

“Sorry Bolin I’ve ruined your shirt.” You say with a whimper. He shakes his head and then wipes a tear away from your face. More worried about you with your blood shot eyes and splotchy cheeks.

“It’s fine I didn’t really like it anyway. Hey, I don’t think you should go to work today, I’ll swing by and let them know you aren’t feeling up for it. I’ll bring you back some food, and we can spend the entire day in together. Between you and me I’ve been waiting for a duvet day with you for months.” He says with concern.

“Don’t you have team Avatar stuff to do today?” You ask with a sniffle looking away.

“I know they’ll be completely lost without me, but they’ll just have to manage someone more important needs me more today.”

“Not afraid they’ll replace you with Wu.” You say with a small laugh.

“If they do, I’m blaming it on you.” He replies with a joking tone.

Your manager doesn’t ask Bolin too many questions which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t quite know how to tell her what’ wrong with you because he doesn’t think that you know yourself. But he has a plan on how to cheer you up. Placing an order for all you favourite items on the menu where you work, popping into the shop next door to pick up some bath oils and your favourite tea that you had ran out of. It was all coming together; your manager had even told Bolin that you could have the week off. With a bag full of goodies that always cheered you up Bolin intended on making his way back to you immediately but before he could his friends spotted him.

“See I told you he wasn’t dead.” Korra says placing her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t say he was dead I just said we should presume he’s dead and that I would be the perfect replacement.” Wu retorted.

“Did you forget that we were supposed to meet up today?” Mako asks.

“No, I didn’t forget big brother, but something came up and I’m needed elsewhere.” Bolin answers looking at his friends feeling a little guilty that he hadn’t told them he wouldn’t be meeting them today.

“So, your girlfriend is more important than official Avatar business? I would never abandon you like that Korra.” Wu says in a teasing tone.

“Don’t listen to him,” Asami says, “Is everything alright?” she asks.

With a sigh Bolin answers, “I’m not sure to be honest, she’s been really off this past week and I’m really worried about her. I was just at the noodle bar telling her boss she wouldn’t be in.”

“While also ordering everything off the menu?” Korra sarcastically asks him, peeking into the paper bag.

“I just want to make her feel better and eating always makes me feel better.” Bolin shrugs scratching the back of his neck. “I also got her some other stuff I know she likes.” He says pointing out the extra goodies he’d picked up. “But I don’t know what’s wrong, so I don’t know how to fix it.”

Asami sighs looking at her friend before saying, “You can’t fix whatever’s wrong Bolin just be there for her. That’s what Korra does for me when I get down.” She snakes her arm around Korra’s waist which causes them both to blush as they rest their heads together.

“Yeah, Asami was there for me when I was really low, and she didn’t try to fix anything but all I really needed was her there for me.”

Bolin then looked towards his brother and Wu in case either of them had any relationship advice to pass on but they both shrugged. “Neither of us have had a healthy relationship, listen to the ladies.” Wu adds.

“Thank you, I’ll see you soon.” Bolin says making his way back to you.

When he got back to the apartment, you’d made your way back to bed and found yourself crying at the lonely Blue Jay that perked outside your window. Instead of going to you straight away he decided to plate up the food he had ordered as well as he could. He boiled a kettle of water for a pot of tea. He brought all of it into the bedroom on a tray and looked at you with a warm encouraging smile.

“Hey babe, what’re you looking at?” He asks as he set down the tray in front of you.

“That bird is all alone its so sad.” You whine, just then the bird is joined by another one and they fly away together.

“See it’s not all bad.” He says sitting next to you on the bed stroking your hair. You look up at him with puffy eyes and a snotty nose. He pulls a tissue from the tray and blows your nose for you which makes you laugh at the silliness of the action. “I got you your favourite.” He says gesturing to the tray, the sight of it makes your eyes widen.

“Thank you, Bo.” You say kissing his cheek. “You didn’t have to do all this.” You grab the cup of tea and breathe it in deeply, “You got my tea.” Your voice cracks.

“And I’ve a few other things for you but first let’s enjoy the feast.” He stretches out to lay next to you and you cuddle into his chest popping a dumpling into your mouth.

“God, I love you.”

“Are you talking to me or the dumpling?” He asks.

“Would you like the truth or what you want to hear?” You laugh. His worry minimising a little at the sound.

“You were right Wu was looking to replace me.” Bolin tells you.

“He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Bolin looks down at you and his face softens as he places a kiss on your forehead. You look up and grin at him even though your mouth is full of food and your face still puffy from the tears. He thinks about how much he loves you and for a moment he thinks he’s going to cry but you offer him the last of your favourite dumpling.

“I love you and this dumpling so much.” He says.

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

The two of you take a nap after eating that much food. You snuggle into Bolin’s chest and he feels his heart explode. Knowing that after your night of restless sleep you really needed some more sleep. He rubs small circles along you back and you hum contently at the action. Bolin wakes up before you and he just takes you in, the soft rise and fall of your chest. The twitch of your nose and way you mumble to yourself. He really feels like the luckiest person in the world to be laying with you both with bellies full of food, the love that the two of you share in the apartment that you furnished together.

He slips out of the bed to get the second part of his plan to help you feel better and the small whine you let out after he’s gone almost pulls him back to your side. He sees you stretch out your arm and brush along the empty space he left. He goes to run you a bath and adds the fancy bath oils you always stare at when the two of you shop. Bolin get’s a little carried away with the romantic bath idea lighting all the candles he can find the apartment even stealing a rose from bouquet he’d bought you earlier in the week and adds some of the petals to the water. Playing the record you’d been after for weeks. And as he debates leaving you a trail of rose petals to follow, he sees that you’ve been standing in the doorway watching him with a sad smile on your face.

“Do you not like it?” he asks with concern, looking between you and the bath worried that he’s overstepped some sort of boundary.

“I love Bo, but I don’t deserve all this. I don’t deserve you.” You cry dropping your face into your hands. Before you know it, he’s right in front of you holding you face in his warm large hands lifting your face to look at him. An intensity takes over his face and you feel yourself wanting to be pulled closer to him.

“Are you crazy?” He asks in a murmur. Searching your face intensely with his glittering green eyes.

“No, but you’re too good for me.” You answer quietly.

“Why would you ever think that.” He breathes bringing your forehead to rest against his. “You are everything to me. If you ever feel like that again, please tell me. So, I can list all the reasons why you’re wrong.” He kisses you with an urgency he usually reserves. Your hands find your way to his strong back and his stay warming your face.

“You know I love it when you prove me wrong.” You say after you break apart. Both of you left breathless in the flickering light of the candles.

[lamptracker]

Fic: Just a Tiny Fire (Best friend!Han Jisung/Reader)

Look! A fic! A not Tom Holland fic! 

Anyway

Title: Just a Tiny Fire

Pairing: Best friend!Han Jisung (Stray Kids)/Reader

Warnings: Like, mention of a tiny fire. It’s there in the title. Otherwise it’s fluff city up in here.

A/N: based on a convo @jisungiesbunnie​ and I had a couple weeks ago. This one’s for them.

Summary: You’ve been stressed at work, so your best friend Jisung decides to do something nice.

You sighed as you rubbed a hand across your face. You were at work, and normally you really loved your job, but right now? Not so much. The numbers were blurring together into a giant hodgepodge of...something. Nothing you were doing was making sense. It had been like this for two weeks now.

Add to that your mom being on your case (even though you’d moved into your own apartment) and your ex being generally annoying (you finally blocked their number and stopped following them on social media), and you were ready for a vacation.

But, for now, a soda and a quick breather would have to do.

You made your way to the breakroom, half-heartedly waving at a couple of co-workers as you trudged down the hallway. You pulled your change out of your pocket, plunked it into the machine, and made your choice. With another deep sigh, you plopped rather unceremoniously onto the breakroom couch. As you opened your soda, you wondered briefly which of your friends you’d call to hang out with tonight.

Fate decided that for you; your phone rang. You smiled as you saw the name - Han Jisung; you always put people in by their real names - flash onto your screen. 

“Hey, Jisung,” you said, trying to hide how tired you were. “So nice to hear from-”

“Quick question,” Jisung replied quickly. “How attached were you to that little blue saucepan?”

Well, you thought to yourself. That can’t be good.

“I… huh?”

“You see,” he said, “I came over to cook you dinner, and… uh… there was an incident.”

“What kind of incident?” you asked dryly.

“I… okay, don’t freak out…”

You jumped off your seat on the couch. “Han Jisung, did you set my kitchen on fire?!”

“It was just a tiny fire!” Jisung yelped. “I got it out right away. Well, your neighbor across the hall helped me.”

“Yeah, she seems to be an expert at kitchen fires.” You shook your head as you walked quickly back to your desk. Poor Mrs. Mendelbaum - nice lady, terrible cook.

Jisung laughed shortly. “Yeah, it was actually sort of funny. When the fire department got here they automatically went to her place.”

“They’re at her apartment at least once a week. How bad was it?” You logged off your computer, gathered your coat and other belongings, and sped down the hall to your supervisor’s office. 

“Not too bad. Just a little smoke damage, but that cleaned right up. Smells a little burnt in here, though.”

“I’m coming home. Don’t go anywhere.”

“No, really you don’t-”

“See you in a few minutes, Jisung.” You popped your head into your supervisor’s office. “Hey, I hate to do this, but there’s been an emergency at home and I have to take off.”

“Oh, my. What happened?”

You groaned. “My idiot best friend nearly burned down my apartment.”

Your supervisor chuckled softly. “Okay, see you tomorrow. But if you need to take tomorrow too, let me know.”

You nodded. “Will do.” 

**

You got to your apartment to find the door propped halfway open; your across-the-hall neighbor keeping watch over your front entrance. 

“Oh, (y/n),” Mrs. Mendelbaum called from her doorstep. “Don’t be too angry with him, dear, okay? It really was an accident.”

“I’ll try. Thank you, Mrs. Mendelbaum.” You walked into the apartment; every possible window was open. Your box fan was propped into one facing the outside, blowing the air out. There was still a lingering odor of smoke in the air. The kitchen didn’t look too bad - no burn marks or anything, and the stovetop was cleaner than it had been in months. In fact, the only indications that there had been a fire were the smell, and the charred remains of the saucepan in the sink. You pulled the door shut, waved at Mrs. Mendlebaum, and kicked your shoes off.

“Han?” you called out softly.

“In here,” a muffled voice replied from down the hall.

You made your way down the hall and into your bedroom, stopping just at the foot of the bed. A large, comforter-colored lump lay in the middle of the mattress. You laughed as you settled down next to it.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

Jisung popped his head out from under the blanket, leaving the rest of his body tightly wrapped. You couldn’t help but giggle at how cute and small he looked.

“I’m so sorry,” he said remorsefully.

“It’s okay.” You rested a hand on part of the lump. “Where am I-”

“Elbow.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath. “Now, what happened?”

“Well,” Jisung started, “I noticed you’ve been super stressed out lately, so I wanted to do something nice for you. So I decided to surprise you by making dinner. You know, my famous egg rolls?”

“Ah, yes. As I recall, you stole that recipe from Felix.”

“I didn’t steal it, I just… borrowed it when he wasn’t looking.”

You laughed and shook your head.

“Anyway, everything was going okay and then my phone rang and it was Changbin, and I got distracted and totally forgot what I was doing. And then… then the oil caught on fire.” 

“So, really, this is Changbin’s fault,” you teased.

Jisung managed a tiny smile. “But I… I just wanted to do something to make you feel less stressed out, and I made you feel more stressed out, and…”

“Hey, no. It’s okay. Really. I appreciate the effort, I do.” You softly started rubbing his elbow through the comforter. “That was so sweet, even if it didn’t turn out the way you hoped. Plus it got me out of work early, so…” 

Jisung laughed as he slowly worked his way out of the comforter. “No hard feelings?”

“Not a one. You’re buying dinner, though. And Binnie’s buying me a new saucepan.”

“You’re the best, (y/n).” Jisung scooted next to you on the bed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You smiled as you quickly kissed his cheek. “No, you are,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder. “I think I’m going to call off tomorrow, I need a mental health day. You wanna come over, maybe find a show to binge?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jisung smiled softly at you. “So, what sounds good for dinner?”

“Hmm. Tacos?”

“I can make that happen. Hey, listen, I’m sorry again about-”

“Don’t worry about it, really. I’m just glad you’re okay. I can always replace my saucepan, but I can’t replace you.”

“I am irreplaceable.”

You sat up, punching his arm. “Idiot.”

“You love me, though.” Jisung flashed a wide smile at you; you rolled your eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, I love you too, even though you’re mean to me.”

“I am not-”

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Eight

Link to Masterpost

A prompt-heavy update, to be sure! This one combines three:

“What are you doing?” “Impromptu dance party.” “It’s three in the morning.”

“You’re weird.” “Or maybe you’re just basic.”

and

Person A is cooking breakfast and sets off the smoke alarm waking up Person B who was still asleep

Enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin grinned as she quietly closed the door behind her and stepped into the living room. She had just finished her first shift at work without that awful boot that had been a part of her life for eight long weeks, and she couldn’t be happier. Yes, her ankle was aching slightly after a long night on her feet, but it was better than she had feared it would be.

Better still, she knew that she had replaced her stash of snacks just the day before, and Rowan wouldn’t have had time to relocate or get rid of them yet with how busy his work had been keeping him.

Heading for the kitchen, she thumbed open her phone and scrolled through her playlists, selecting one with a smile and pressing shuffle. Upbeat music filled the kitchen as she dug through the cabinets, foot tapping with the beat.

A few seconds later she grinned triumphantly and emerged from the cabinet, fingers clutched around one of the bars of chocolate she’d slipped into the groceries. She had just opened it and was about to take her first bite of sweet victory when she heard a rough voice behind her.

“What are you doing?” Gods, Rowan looked awful, dark circles under dull eyes and hair a complete disaster. She hadn’t heard him come down the stairs; perhaps he had fallen asleep at his desk now that she’d given his office back to him.

Regardless, her hips didn’t stop swaying along with the music as she turned to him and smiled. “I’m having an impromptu dance party, obviously.”

“At…” Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he checked the time. “Fuck, three in the morning?”

“I am celebrating my newfound freedom,” she replied seriously.

“You’re going to break your ankle again if you keep stressing it like this, and then where will you be?”

Aelin winked and slid closer to him, still moving to the beat. “I guess I’ll have my big, strong roommate helping me again,” she purred.

Rowan rolled his eyes as she rested her hands on his hips. “You are so weird,” he muttered.

“Mmm, maybe,” Aelin allowed. “Or maybe you’re just basic.”

A single eyebrow lifted on Rowan’s face. “Basic?”

“Yeah, you know. Boring. You have to be aware of the concept, unless you’re an even grumpier and older man than I thought.” It was quite possibly a dangerous thing to say to him, but it was late and she was riding the high of having survived a night without that damned boot. Hopefully he’d understand.

“There’s a difference between being boring and not dancing at three in the morning.”

“Says you,” she grinned. “I bet you don’t even dance when it’s not three in the morning.”

“Of course not,” he replied. “I work when it’s not three in the morning.”

“Seems to me like you were working at three in the morning,” she accused. “I know that’s normal for me, but it can’t be for you.”

“It depends on the work. I’m covering for someone else right now, so I’ve got more on my plate than normal.”

“How long have you been awake?” Aelin asked, suddenly curious.

Rowan frowned. “Long enough to hate everything about this.”

“So, what, twenty minutes?”

He snorted. Gods, he must have been exhausted for her to get an actual laugh out of him. “Try ‘since about this time yesterday’,” he admitted.

“What? No, Rowan, that’s way too long for people who aren’t either in college or working weird shifts. Did you fall asleep at your desk? Because you look like you fell asleep at your desk.” Without even thinking about what she was doing, Aelin ran her fingers through the tangle of his hair to start taming it.

His fingers encircled her wrist, and she stopped and looked at him. “I didn’t fall asleep at my desk.”

Just then, the music playing from her phone switched from something that was merely suggestive to something that was outwardly dirty, and she broke away from him and fumbled with the device, hoping to stop it before he noticed exactly what the lyrics were.

She was obviously unsuccessful, though, for he almost doubled over laughing. “I didn’t realize it was that kind of dance party.”

Gods, she hoped he couldn’t see her blushing. “It wasn’t. The playlist was on shuffle.”

“Aelin, that means you had to have picked that playlist. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Fuck, but she hated living with a man who analyzed word choice for a living. “I forgot that was on there. And I’m not having this argument with you right now.”

“So when are we having this argument?” he grinned. “I want to be prepared.”

“When you’ve slept, Rowan, for fuck’s sake.” With that she began physically herding him up the stairs. “Come on, go.”

When they reached the doorway to the room he had taken over from Aedion, she leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded against her chest. He moved toward the dresser and opened a drawer, glancing back at her. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all, as long as you’re getting to sleep,” she replied.

He cleared his throat. “Aelin?”

“Yes?”

“Get out.”

“Oh!” Gods, she had completely misinterpreted what he was saying. “Oh, I’ll, um…”

She shifted away from the door, and before she could figure out what on earth to say to him he had closed the door—surprisingly gently—in her face.

“Um, good night, I guess,” she finally managed.

“Good night, Aelin,” he called through the door.

Well, fuck. With that embarrassment behind her, she turned to her own room to hopefully settle down for the night and not replay that conversation for hours on end.

~*~*~

Aelin woke up earlier than usual the next morning to a silent house.

The silence in itself wasn’t unusual; Rowan was a very quiet housemate even when he was home. A check of her calendar reminded her that it was Saturday, meaning he was likely either on one of his habitual runs through the neighborhood or holed up in his office pretending that working on weekends was a thing that normal people in his position did. Just in case it was the latter, she made sure to keep as quiet as she could while she slipped into a t-shirt dress and crept down the stairs.

The office was silent, the door opening to an empty room, which meant that either he was out running or he was somehow still asleep. A glance at the doorway showed his running shoes tucked exactly where he always left them.

Stunned, Aelin sat on the couch to collect herself. She couldn’t recall a time she’d actually woken up before Rowan; the opposition of their schedules usually meant that he was the early bird and she the night owl. However, this meant she had a chance to enact a plan she’d been idly thinking about for weeks now.

Rowan had done so much for her the past few weeks, picking up the slack in the household chores without once complaining about it and regularly cooking for her as well. She’d wanted to do something in return for so long, and now that her ankle was healed and he wasn’t awake to stop her an idea came to her.

She silently slid into the kitchen, carefully opening cabinet doors until she found a nonstick pan with a quiet noise of triumph. That went on the stovetop, and a small bowl and a whisk were next on her list. Soon those were sitting on the countertop beside the stove, and she was looking up video tutorials on cooking.

She had watched Rowan scramble eggs so many times now. How hard could it possibly be?

The pan went over heat with some oil in it, and then she pulled the eggs out of the refrigerator. He always made two for her, but should he get a third? Would he even want a third?

Aelin realized she was now staring at the carton and didn’t know how long she had been staring at the carton. With a sigh, she shook her head. She’d barely begun and she was already overthinking it. How typical. Two eggs it was.

She cracked them into the bowl, cheering silently when she managed to do it relatively neatly, and soon she had whisked them up into a unified frothy mass of yellow liquid. Perfect. Just like the video, and just like when Rowan did it.

Belatedly, she realized she would need a spatula on hand to stir the eggs, and searched through the drawers until she found one. Then it was time to add the eggs to the pan.

She stifled a yelp as the pan hissed angrily with the addition of the eggs, steam rising hot and fast—or, fuck, was that smoke? She poked at the eggs timidly with the spatula, revealing the already-blackened underside of them in a hissing release of—yes, that was smoke. Fuck. She’d ruined it.

Time seemed to slow almost to a halt as the pan hissed and sizzled before her, pouring out amounts of dark grey smoke that really shouldn’t have been possible for such a small amount of—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound entered her awareness dimly at first, as fixated as she was on the pan in front of her. When it finally registered, though, she yelped and tossed the pan at the sink, hoping that would stop everything from getting even worse. It landed with a clatter, but even that couldn’t outdo the piercing shriek of the smoke detector. Fuck, it would wake Rowan up, she had to figure out how to stop it.

She dragged a chair over from their little dining nook and clambered on top of it, frantically waving underneath it to clear whatever little sensor had gotten overloaded. The air was slowly clearing, and she was just starting to hope that she might actually succeed in this futile venture until she heard the sound of running feet and a shout from the stairway. “Aelin!”

Shit. She was in deep and unending shit, with no way to talk her way out of it.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee @swankii-art-teacher @rowansfirebringer @rabodocardan

[wrenhyperfixates]

Loki Odinson’s Guide on How to Woo a Noble

Chapter 2: The Feeling of Friendship

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Now that Loki made a good first impression, you became fast friends. Determined to get a day out of the palace, you and Loki sneak into the nearby village for some fun. Warnings: fluff, fluff, and fluff (did I mention fluff?) A/N: Just more young Loki and his crush. There’s references to the first chapter in this, but I realized you could probably read it as a oneshot if you really wanted. Anyway, one more chapter to go in my first attempt at a miniseries. As always, my lovely readers, I hope you enjoy :) Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

About a month after that night in the gardens, Loki once again found himself brooding in a tree. This time, however, it had nothing to do with you. Odin had left earlier that morning for a diplomatic mission to Alfheim, taking only one of his sons with him. Needless to say, it wasn’t Loki. The young god couldn’t fathom his father’s decision to bring Thor and not him when his brother was so reckless and brutish. Deep down, Loki knew it was because the Allfather was grooming his eldest to take the throne, but it wasn’t fair. Loki was still in the running to become king, but he’d never win if he wasn’t given the same opportunities as that oaf.

Loki sighed. He was aware of the fact that it wasn’t Thor’s fault he’d been left behind, but he still felt angry at his brother. After all, it was doubtful he spoke up on Loki’s behalf. With nothing else to do, Loki began to practice the latest spell his mother had taught him. Focusing on the energy in the air, he pictured what he wanted to happen. One deep breath later, he’d successfully produced a ball of light in his hand, a trick that would be useful the next time he was sneaking around in the servant passages. The next part was considerably harder to accomplish as it required much more control, but Loki was determined to feel like he was good at something. Slowly, he produced the desired effect, and the light began to pulse in his hands.

“Hey, Loki! Come down here!” you called, pulling him from his fixation on his spell and causing the light to fade away.

“Hello,” he replied, swinging off the branch he was seated on with impressive agility. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Simple. I just followed the pulsating ball of light. Not to mention you seem to have a thing for sitting in trees.”

You both laughed at that, and he felt a light blush color his cheeks. After the stargazing, Loki assumed that you’d be friendly to him when you passed each other in the halls of the palace, but was pleasantly surprised when it went beyond that. You’d begun to actively seek him out and, sure enough, had found him in a tree quite a few times. He wasn’t exactly sure when that habit started. He just knew that it was one of the best places to avoid people. Luckily, you happened to look up often. Or, perhaps, you were specifically searching for him among the twisted branches. Either way, the fact that you initiated conversations gave Loki the confidence to do the same. Soon, walks in the garden became a weekly occurrence. He was certain no one else knew yet, for if they did, it would surely be the subject of much gossip. Not to say that you were actually courting each other, though. It was merely friendship.

“Fair enough, I suppose. Where are you going?” he inquired, noticing the cloak you wore over suspiciously casual clothing.

“I think the better question is where are we going?”

“Ok, fine. You still haven’t answered the question, though,” he persisted as you started off down the path.

“Into town, obviously. Which reminds me, you’ll be needing this.”

You pulled out another cloak from a satchel that was hidden by the flowing cashmere fabric of your own. You were met with a hesitant look from Loki when you held it out to him.

“Are you sure about this? It seems ill-advised that we go out unaccompanied. Besides, that might clash with my outfit,” he mused, examining the cloak.

“Relax. We’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “Plus, the whole point is that we’ll look inconspicuous. No one will even notice what you’re wearing. Not to mention you look good in anything.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth once the words you’d just said registered in your mind. Though you hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, it was exactly the push Loki needed to agree. Anyway, he never could resist a chance to stir up a little mischief. Walking side-by-side, the two of you made sure to stay quiet as to avoid detection from someone who could stop your plans. Eventually, you reached the wall surrounding the palace, but much to Loki’s confusion, not the part where the gate was.

“You are aware that there is no exit here, correct?” he inquired, though he was certain that you had some trick up your sleeve.

“Haha, very funny. This is where you come into play. Can you magic us out of here?”

Loki frowned for two reasons. For one, he wasn’t confident enough in his ability to get one person to the other side, let alone two. For another, what if that was the only reason you’d invited him to tag along? Not only would that mean you didn’t actually want his company, but he was also positive he’d let you down.

“If that is the only reason you have asked me to come along, I apologize, but I will have to disappoint you. Teleportation is not exactly my strong suit,” he admitted, eyes locked on the ground.

“Loki, gosh, I thought you knew. I seek you out because I like spending time with you. If you’re really not comfortable using your magic, that’s ok,” you consoled him as you stepped closer. “We can figure something else out. I do believe in you, though. All you have to do is get us to the other side of the wall, not into the village or anything like that.”

Loki bit his lip and stole a quick glance at you. He felt ashamed that he’d let his insecurities show to you, of all people. But, ignoring that for a minute, it felt good to hear you say you enjoyed his companionship. And you believed in him and his ability, which was another rare thing. Now, he had practiced teleportation before with some success. Well, that is, if you could count moving two inches as success. The wall before him was, what, nine maybe ten feet? Then he’d have to add an extra foot or two to ensure a safe landing. You were looking at him expectantly, already forming a plan in your mind in case you had to get past the guards.

“I can do it,” Loki decided, shaking out his doubts and squaring his shoulders.

“Perfect!” you squealed in delight. “Ok, let’s do this.”

“Just a couple of things if this is going to work. We need to stand as close to the wall as possible. And well, um, we are going to have to hold hands,” he added sheepishly.

“Oh! I-I mean, yeah. Of course. If that’s uh, a thing that has to happen then, sure. Yeah,” you rambled and looked away as you offered him your hand.

Once you interlocked fingers, Loki grinned at the familiar feeling. It took him right back to that perfect night that had led to this moment. Though he never knew why, Loki had always run on the cold side, so the warmth emanating from your palm was extremely welcome. He offered you a shy smile, which you returned with an encouraging one. He shut his eyes and furrowed his brows. You were careful not to make a noise, understanding the intense concentration he’d need to accomplish this task, something that he appreciated.

Loki started just as his mother had taught him, picturing the place he was trying to get to. He imagined the lush, green grass on the other side of the obstacle keeping you from your destination. Next, he focused on the distance he needed to travel. Once he had a clear image in his mind, the young god took a deep breath and prepared to complete his most impressive feat to date. That is, if he could actually accomplish it. A gentle feeling of wind passed by him, accompanied by the tingling sensation of his magic.

“Loki! You did it,” you cheered, pulling your hand away from his to throw a hug around his shoulders.

He slowly opened his eyes and embraced you, too. Now that he’d succeeded, he allowed himself to acknowledge the fact that, had he messed up, you could both be dead right now. Needless to say, the thought caused him to shake a little. That was soon replaced, though, when he realized that you were still hugging each other. You must have also noticed because you pulled away and nervously shifted your weight from side to side.

“We should probably get going now,” you said, starting to walk in the direction of the village.

Loki nodded and followed you with a dorky grin on his face. He was starting to be thankful that his father left him in Asgard. Unfortunately, remembering that did sour his mood, but he did his best to hide it. After all, he didn’t want to ruin his time with you. He’d almost entirely forgotten about it by the time you reached the houses on the edge of town. The two of you pulled up the hoods of your cloaks and joined the flow of people in the streets. That was when Loki realized he had no idea what exactly you planned on doing here.

“Well, what now?” he whispered to you, eyes shifting from side to side, expecting to be caught any second.

“Now, we shop! And don’t look so nervous, we’ll be fine.”

Eyes shining with excitement, you grabbed Loki by the wrist and pulled him into the busy marketplace. For once in his life, Loki decided to relax and enjoy himself. Besides, it’s not like anyone would be paying attention to him. As far as they knew, he was just another common kid running around. Granted, he might look a little more lost than anyone else milling in the streets. From the way you expertly navigated in the crowd, Loki could tell this was not the first time you’d been here. It wouldn’t surprise him if you also snuck out when your family spent time in your manor, which was even closer to the village than the palace was.

There were many potent perfumes and scented oils at the booths of the market square, filling the air with their heavenly aromas. They were starting to make Loki’s head feel a little foggy by the time you finally paused in front of a stall that sold candles, examining their wares. You were tapping your chin with the most adorable contemplative look on your face. The way the light was glimmering in your eyes completely transfixed Loki for a minute before he regained his senses and pointedly looked away before you could catch him staring. It was then that an item at the next booth over grabbed his attention.

“I will just be over there for a second,” he informed you, pointing at his destination.

“Ok, I’ll be done here in a minute. Don’t get lost without me,” you teased.

After squeezing through the mob of people that separated the two booths, Loki stopped and got the attention of the clerk.

“I would like that bracelet please, my good sir,” he said, gesturing to the one he wanted.

It was a thin gold band that, upon closer inspection, was designed as a snake with its tail in its mouth. A single emerald that served as the eye of the serpent was set in the medal. It was as if it was made for the sole purpose of Loki being able to present it to you. Unfortunately, the salesman did not share the same point of view.

“I’m sure you would, sonny, but how ’bout we find something more in your price range.”

He laughed then and gestured to the brightly colored, obviously cheap jewelry made of beads and string. Loki became indignant at the comment. Not only did this man think he’d be gormless enough to ask for something he couldn’t afford, but he also indicated that Loki had poor taste by suggesting he would like such an ostentatious accessory that was only fit for children and street performers. It took all his energy not to place a hex on him or reveal himself as a prince of Asgard. Instead, he quickly eyed the price tag and then emptied a pouch of gold coins that had enough money and then some.

“Believe me, it is, what was it you said? Oh yes, ‘in my price range.’”

Between the haughty, mocking tone of voice Loki used and the seemingly endless bag of riches, the clerk was left standing with his mouth agape. He eagerly inspected the coins, wanting them to be real but not quite believing it. Satisfied that he wasn’t being duped, and having no good reason to accuse Loki otherwise, the man handed over the bracelet in an ornate box.

“Will that be all, sir?” he asked, still not entirely trusting what just happened.

“Yes. Thank you,” Loki replied, pleased with the new respect in the man’s tone.

Spying you working your way through the throng, he went to meet you halfway. Based on your empty hands, it seemed that you’d decided not to purchase anything after all. On account of how noisy your surroundings were, Loki decided to wait until you’d made your way out of the market to present his gift to you.

“So, what did you get?” you questioned once it was quiet enough.

“Well, it is for you, actually.”

Loki opened the box and showed you the trinket. Now that he’d done it, there was no taking it back, but he suddenly became very self-conscious. Was it even appropriate for him to get you a gift if you were not courting? He was sure that his tutors would disapprove, but it was just hindsight now, and there was simply nothing he could do. The worst part, though, was that you’d yet to say anything. Rather, you were just standing there with a surprised look decorating your features.

“Of course you do not have to accept it if you do not like it,” Loki added somewhat dejectedly. “Or for any other reason, either.”

“Loki,” you breathed out in a soft voice. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”

The sincerity in your eyes chased away any lingering doubt he still had. Carefully, he picked up the bracelet and slid it onto your outstretched wrist. It was a perfect fit, and Loki’s skin tingled with magnetic energy from where it brushed yours. For a minute, neither of you said anything and instead just got lost in the other’s eyes. And then you were interrupted by a growl from your stomach.

“I, um, I guess I’m hungry. You?” you stammered, sheepishly fidgeting.

“Absolutely famished,” he replied, hoping to alleviate some of your embarrassment. “Well, I suppose we should be heading back to the palace then.”

“Are you kidding me? The best food is right here in town! Come on, I’ll show you.”

With that, you were once again bobbing and weaving through the crowds. Finally, you came to a cart emitting a delicious scent. After a short wait on line, you ordered some laufabrauð and urrädla for you and Loki to share. The crispy, fried dough treats were light and delightful on the tongue. Loki hummed in joy at the pleasurable taste.

“See, what did I tell you?”

“Well, it is delicious, I’ll give you that. But better than what is served at the palace? I think you are crazy,” he said with a friendly laugh.

“Maybe. But you like crazy, don’t you, God of Mischief?” you teased right back.

Loki once again found himself blushing. He hoped you did not know too well just how right you were. At least, when it was applied to you. The clever remark Loki was preparing died on his tongue as he noticed a pair of royal guards approaching where you stood. You looked over your shoulder, following his gaze, and saw them, too.

“It’s probably fine,” you said. “They’re just walking in this general direction, right?”

“Perhaps,” he responded, though something about their urgent gait did not sit right with him.

The Einherjar were doing their best to avoid looking at the pair of young nobles but kept glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t bolted. Unfortunately for them, you both noticed, and with a small nod to each other, you took off, trying to lose them in the crowds. Though Loki had received training for battle, even his nimble feet couldn’t keep up with yours,  experienced in traveling the busy streets. When you noticed he was falling behind, you seized his hand without thinking about it. Sadly, it did more harm than good because Loki couldn’t focus on his footing when your fingers were interlocked with his.

Finally, you found a stack of boxes to hide behind. You dove down, pulling Loki behind you. Thinking you’d lost the guards, you both dared to peek out to make sure. After identifying their retreating forms, you and Loki descended into a fit of giggles. Unfortunately, you were too busy laughing to notice the figure approaching you.

“What are you two doing away from the palace? Running around unsupervised, no less.”

Your chuckles came to an abrupt stop. Looking up, you saw Heimdall standing over you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Loki was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question, and that he’d be in deep trouble even if it wasn’t. You shot him a concerned look to which he responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Oh, wow. You’re right. This isn’t the palace,” you ventured, playing dumb. “Did you notice, Loki?”

“I had absolutely no idea! How confounding, don’t you agree?”

You nodded along, saying, “Indeed. Well, I suppose we should be heading back, now. Thank you, Heimdall, for alerting us.”

You and Loki started heading back in the direction of the palace, though neither of you actually had the intention of returning yet. You’d already started quietly giggling between yourselves, but it was cut off by a loud, exasperated sigh from the all-seeing god.

“It is no problem at all. Since we are all returning to the palace, we can walk together.”

You and Loki had no choice but to agree, and so you sullenly started your walk back, for real this time. The young prince was beginning to be annoyed by having his time with you cut short. It happened far too often, in his opinion. When he risked a glance at you, though, you were smiling.

“Don’t look so upset,” you whispered, elbowing him in the side. “I still had a good time.”

“Me too. And,” he whispered back, lowering his voice even further, “I rather think that we will have to do this again.”

You nodded, eyes lighting up in excitement. It made Loki’s heart flutter in his chest. The whispering continued all the way back to the palace. Once you’d reentered the gates, Lupus came running up to you.

“Hi boy!” you greeted the wolf pup, bending down to pet him. “Did you miss me?”

Loki bent down to pat your pet on the head, which was met with a lick on his face. He sputtered as Lupus’s tongue caught him right on the mouth, earning a laugh from you. It was then that your mother’s maid came rushing up to you.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “Your parents are looking for you. Come along now, best not to keep them waiting.”

She grabbed you by the arm to whisk you away, and you helplessly waved goodbye to Loki, Lupus running behind you. He waved back and stared wistfully off into the direction of your abrupt exit. The light caught the golden bracelet hugging your wrist, and he couldn’t help but break out into a huge grin.  Heimdall, who was not about to let Loki off the hook so easily after his little escapade, cleared his throat, bringing the young god back to reality.

“Alright, fine. I apologize,” Loki conceded, though it was quite hard for him. Then a bit more nervously, he added, “You will not tell my father, will you?”

“You know I am required to report any significant events to your father,” he said. “Though, since this is only a minor infraction, I am willing to turn a blind eye, as it were.”  

“Thank you,” Loki said as Heimdall turned to leave. He made a mental note to work on ways to avoid Heimdall’s all-seeing gaze in the future. “I truly appreciate it.”

“You are welcome, my prince. Oh, and one more thing,” he said, turning back around, “they really do enjoy your company.”

He bid a stunned Loki goodbye and was on his way once more. Naturally, you’d expressed that you liked spending time with Loki, but he never could fully rid himself of doubt. Heimdall was certainly telling the truth, though, instilling Loki with a newfound confidence. He swaggered into the palace, completely certain that when he told you how he felt, whenever that may be, you would feel the same way, too.

[dracoqueen22]

For Flash Fic weekend- experiencing some health emergency issues with my dad so I’d love to see paternal!Ratchet ‘doting’ on a healing Sunstreaker with a hovering Sideswipe needing some verbal reassurance and maybe a hug or two. Any ‘verse that works best for you. Thank you very much! 💕

<3 <3 <3 I hope this helps ease the pain right now! 

Sick Day

For once, Sunstreaker is in the infirmary for an injury that has nothing to do with battle or Sideswipe convincing him to take part in some ill-advised scheme. 

He has, of all things, caught the Cybertronian version of the flu. 

“That’s what you get for jumping into berth with one of those pretty visitors from Magnus’ team,” Ratchet grouses as he fusses over Sunstreaker, who could probably recover on his own, back in his room with Sideswipe, but Ratchet wants to fuss, and Sunstreaker wants to let him. 

He feels miserable. 

His vents rattle, collecting condensation where there should be none. Every strut and cable aches. He can’t decide if he’s hot or cold. His optics keep weeping oils. And worst of all, Sideswipe won’t stop hovering. 

“No one told me they could be carrying the plague,” Sunstreaker complains, his vocals full of static that makes his audials hurt. 

He sounds like fragging Starscream, damn it. 

“It’s not the plague,” Ratchet says as he sets a tray within reach, loaded up with medgrade energon and supplements and cooling pads. As if being sick wasn’t bad enough, Sunstreaker has to ensure medical grade. 

Blech. 

“The cybonic plague is deadly and has no cure,” Ratchet repeats as he swaps the cooling pad that’s become too hot over Sunstreaker’s abdomen -- where his engine block resides -- and replaces it for one that’s blissfully, actually cool. “This is a common virus, not unlike the human’s influenza, and if you’d been keeping up on your vaccines, you wouldn’t have caught it.” 

“I told him to stop skipping his appointments,” Sideswipe pipes up, like the traitor he is. He just wants Ratchet to know how he’d obedient he’d been by not avoiding Ratchet for their yearly evaluation. 

Sunstreaker can’t help that he was busy at the time. 

“Though Ultra Magnus is kind of to blame, isn’t he?” Sideswipe adds as he scoots closer, chair scraping obnoxiously loud across the floor. “He’s supposed to be keeping his mechs vaccinated, too.” 

“Yes.” Ratchet scowls and balls up the used cooling pad before he remembers they’re supposed to be recycling them and tossing it into the disinfector. “When I’m finished here, I have a few choice words for Ultra Magnus. He should know better.” 

Sideswipe nods sagely, but Sunstreaker can feel the glee across their bond. Someone’s going to be in trouble, and it’s not either of them. 

Score. 

“Is that why Hot Rod doesn’t get your tender loving care?” Sideswipe asks, and immediately, Sunstreaker hates his brother all over again. 

“Hot Rod?” Ratchet echoes and whirls on Sunstreaker, looking him up and down. “Loud? Flashy? Definitely your type, but I think you could do better, Sunstreaker.” 

Sideswipe snickers. 

“Shut up,” Sunstreaker hisses, his face burning with embarrassment. Or fever. He’s not sure which. 

“Thank you, Sideswipe. I needed to know who else to blame,” Ratchet says, and Sunstreaker wonders if there’s a hole deep enough to crawl in. Ratchet pats Sunstreaker on the shoulder, however, his field radiating comfort. “Take a stasis nap. I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit.” 

Sunstreaker sighs, and his vents rattle stickily. “Yes, Ratchet.” 

“If only you were always so obedient,” Ratchet mutters, but he nudges more medgrade closer to Sunstreaker, pats Sideswipe on the head, and whisks out of the room. No doubt he’s off to terrorize Ultra Magnus and Rodimus both. 

Sideswipe scoots even closer and picks up the medgrade, trying to feed it to Sunstreaker though Sunstreaker is more than capable of feeding himself. “Come on. A few sips,” he says. 

“I’m not dying,” Sunstreaker grumbles, but it’s kind of nice, being doted on like this, so he lets it happen with only a token protest. 

He’s never going to let Hot Rod live this down. 

Fragger. 

***

[volturicangetit]

A.V/J.V- Loved at last

Summary: After getting rejected by your imprints, Emmett and Rosalie, you needed a fresh start. So you go to Italy where you meet two interesting vampires. Maybe they can show you what’s it’s like to be loved.

Reqeust: YES/no @rexburn12​  : Where Male Reader Was Banished From La Push For Imprinting On Emmett, and Rosalie They Reject Him Which Almost Kills Him, and Makes Reader Extremely Sad and Reader Moves To Volterra, Italy To Work As A Mechanic. Alec and Jane Smell A Amazing Scent They Follow It To See Their Mate Reader At Home Who Looks Sad Which Makes Them Growl in Anger and It Catches Reader's Attention He Looks At Them, and Imprints On Them Making Him Shocked. Since Imprinting Is A One Time Thing For Shifters.

Warnings: swearing, self hate

Wordcount: 3226

A/N: I’m turning 17 tomorrow ( may 19 )! I can’t really celebrate my birthday but at least I can celebrate it with my parents and siblings. Also I’m born on the same day as Jojo Siwa so that....nice?

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

Saying that you ' hate yourself ' can't even express the amount of disgust you feel towards yourself. You know that it's something you can't control, something that isn't a choice. But still feel like it's your fault that you imprinted on not one, but two vampires. You didn't even know that it was possible to imprint on something that died decades ago. The fact that they both rejected you didn't help. You knew that they wouldn't love you but you were hoping to at least be friends.

" You fucking what? " Rosalie screams at the top of her dead lungs. You flinch as she takes a step towards you, lowering your head. " They can't control it, " Carlisle tries to reason, but Rosalie and Emmett ignore him. You feel Emmet wrap his hands around you and lift you off the ground. Within a second you're outside of the house where he roughly pushes you onto the ground, right into the mud. You sit there on your hands and knees trying to regain yourself which is very fucking difficult when your covered in mud and getting soaked slowly by the rain pouring down on you. It was like the universe wanted you to suffer even more.

" Did you seriously think that we would accept you? You're a fucking dog. " Rosalie says as she and Emmet are standing on their porch. It's only now that you see the contrast between you all. They're standing dry in their expensive house while you're laying in the mud, which comforts you for some odd reason. You stand up quickly, pushes some of the rain of off your face.

" Please, you know I wouldn't have come here if I could just go without you. ". Your voice cracks at every word. You came here vulnerable and onto the land of your enemies. If Sam knows that you're here, he will rip your head off. Emmett shakes his head but doesn't say anything. He can't bring himself to do so. Sure, he wants to scream at you. To yell some words at you he knows he's going to regret but it's like his mind has shut off. Rosalie, on the other hand, can't stop the words from flowing out. " Go away, you disgusting thing. "

You let yourself slide down the side onto the floor of your shower. The water streaming down onto your already burning skin is way too hot, yet you don't care. You don't deserve nice warm showers. No, you deserve scolding hot showers that makes your skin feel like it's going to fall off. A sob breaks out of your body, causing your shoulder to rumble along with it. You tried so hard to stop yourself from crying. But now you let it all out. Every emotion, every pent up bit of anger, every sad thought. It all comes it whether you want it to or not. Whines and groans come out of your mouth along with the sobs. You know the other pack members can hear you, not just crying, but also through your mental bond. Their voices and questions of concern are being blocked out by you. The only thing you can hear if your own sobbing and a dull ringing in your ears.

You don't know how long you've sat in the shower, but you do know that you're going to have a ridiculously high water bill this month. When you get out of the shower and have gotten dressed in a simple pair of sweat pants and a sweater you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You stop in your track and stare at your own reflection. Your face seems foreign to you. Your normally gleeful eyes are now puffy and look so sickly that you might as well be dead. Your lips are broken from all the screaming and biting at them you've done. It looks weird to see yourself look so broken, but then again, it is said that rejection by your imprint is sometimes not even survived. " What's going on? ". You jump a little as you quickly turn around to see Paul standing behind you. He's leaning against the doorframe, glancing between you and the mirror. " Nothing, you lie. ".

" Oh, come one. We can hear your thoughts, remember? " he says as he taps his temple with his pointer finger. You nod, still looking down at the ground. When you remain quiet, Paul sighs and pulls you into a hug. You freeze at first. He never hugged you, or anyone for that matter. " Those bloodsuckers rejected you? ". You nod as you bury your face into his chest. You needed this. A hug, to help ground you and get you back to reality. " They don't deserve you, you know? ".

" I think I...I think I need to go away for a while, " you keep your voice soft while you speak to try and keep it from cracking. Paul nods before he lets his chin rest on top of your head. " How about Italy? The weather is a lot better there. I know some people there, " Paul suggests. You pull him closer to you. Italy. Nice, warm Italy. Away from Emmett and Rosalie, away from the pack. It will hurt like shit, but it's the best for you. A fresh start. A normal life. No vampires living right next door, no pack fights, no drama between Jacob, Bella and Edward. Just you and Italy. " Yeah, it sounds nice, "

---

Two months. Two months without cloudly Forks. It has done you good. Extremely good. You didn't realize how depressed that place made you until you left. The moment you felt the comforting Italian sun hit your skin was the moment you knew you made the right choice. You didn't talk to Paul's friends a lot. You got a place of your own after a couple of weeks, due to how small the town was everyone who was trying to sell their house was practically begging you to buy their house. You picked up your hobby of tinkering again, now using to be a mechanic though. The town needed one so you were happy to oblige. It was refreshing to have new faces around and a new environment. The sadness that once had its grip on your has disappeared, now only present in dark memories.

You pick up an apple that is laying on your kitchen table before making your way out of your house and towards your work. Not many costumers would come in, if at all. A festival is being celebrated in a nearby town. Naturally, almost everyone in the village has gone there to have a party. You didn't want to do that though, be around people and all. Plus this new free time would give you time to catch up with work and make some preparations for the next day. The walk to your work is short, yet you still enjoy it every day. Back in Forks, you hated the sound of the birds singing but here you enjoy it so much. The birds sing a different song here. One of joy instead of sadness.

" Buongiorno, " you say to your coworker as you walk into the store. Your Italian is far from perfect but it's getting better every day. " Come va? " your coworker, Piero, asks. " Bene. And you? ". He just nods at you with a smile before he resumes to fix what looks like a clock. You really couldn't tell though, most things that come to the store for fixing are broken beyond recognition. You sit down at your workspace and take in the mess that is laying before you. You need to clean that, definitely. You have enough time today to do so anyways

Going for a stroll through the city isn't something the twins would normally do but today was an exception. A sudden rainstorm has been hovering over the area, blocking out the sun and allowing them to go outside without fear. That and the fact that most inhabitants of San Cipriano were now in Volterra for the festival. They dressed down, replacing their usual robes with a dress in Jane's case and jeans and a sweater for Alec. They talked about normal things like the new store that just opened up down the block and books they've read. It feels nice to them to feel so normal. Anyone who saw them would think that they are just a brother and sister enjoying the cool afternoon weather and not two vampires who work for the three kings.

" They have this machine that can induce dreams, " Alec says as he tries to explain the plot of ' Inception ' to Jane. She nods as she only half listens to his story, more focussed on watching a group of children play hide and seek on the other side of the road. The two siblings are sitting on a bench right next to the cemetery, ironically enough. " Sounds fascinating, " Janes says.

Alec nods before resuming his explanation. Jane enjoys seeing her brother so happy. They were both way too serious for their age, not having enjoyed their childhood years as they should have. Seeing him so passionate and happy about something surely put a smile on her face. Alec stops his words however when a sudden gust of winds blows a particularly sweet smell towards them. Both siblings look at each other as they inhale the scent. " Apple, " Jane says

" And rust. Delicious, " Alec adds. Jane slowly points towards the direction of your store. Alec nods and stands up from the bench, getting what his sister means. Both twins slowly stroll to your shop, they want to see who this scent is coming from but at the same time are to content to feel any sort of rush.

The sound of a bell ringing notifies you that someone entered the shop. " Un momento! " you call out from the back of the shop. You quickly wipe the oil that has been building up of your hands with a cloth before making your way to the front of the store to help the new costumers out. The moment you lay your eyes on the twins is when the world stops. You'd be lying to say that they aren't beautiful. Every birthmark on their skins seems so perfect that it has had to be placed there by the angels themselves. A sudden rush of adrenaline fills your body. Every detail about them become highlighted. You know this feeling, you know what this means. You didn't think you could imprint again but here you are, imprinting on the twins. Apparently, your wolf seems to have a preference for imprinting on duos. " I...I...Can I.... ". Your mind can't seem to form words at the moment. It's too busy with taking the twins in, to memorise every single thing about them.

The moment your mind starts to get clearer, you can start to smell them. The dry, campfire-like smell that comes of them suddenly starts to make sense. Vampire. Of course, you had to imprint on vampires again. Jane and Alec also caught the hint of dog and forest in your scent, both realizing that they're in deep shit now. They know you're their mate, they didn't need to notify the other on it. The way they both feel this need to protect you and the way your scent has intoxicated them both said enough. " You're our mate, " Jane says softly. Her usually cold and stern voice now sounds honey sweet.

The realisation of the whole situation only seems to be catching up to you now. The whole two months you spent here, trying to rebuild your life and your mental health seems to be for nothing now. They will reject you. Those words seem to float around your head. You shake your head softly, feeling tears pricking up into your eyes. You take a couple of steps back and away from them. " I-I'm sorry. I can't. Not now, " you say before disappearing into the back of the shop and leaving the confused twins behind in the shop.

You can feel your wolf aching under your skin, begging to be let out. You rush out of the store through the backdoor. You chose your place of work strategically, right next to the forest, which you are very thankful for right now. You let your walls down and let the wolf in you come forth. The ache under your skin stops as your shift begins. Within seconds you're in your wolf form. Tall and frightening for most you stand there for a second, looking back at the store before making a run for it and into the forest. You sit there in your own mind, drowning in your own thoughts as the wolf takes control of your body. Normally, you would try to at least have a sliver of self-control, not now, however. Now you want nothing more than to get lost into the woods.

It doesn't feel like your in your own body, it feels like your floating above it. Memories is all your seeing. Rosalie and Emmett screaming at you. The disgusted looks in their eyes and the harsh words them threw at you without a second thought. They'll do the same. You're sure of it. How could a vampire ever love you? How could someone ever love you?

---

Wet grass brushes against your cheek. The prominent smell of dirt and daisies fills your nose. Slowly, you open your eyes. You're laying on your back, which you only realize now. You stare up at the dark sky above you. The sun is long gone. Now it's replaced by the moon and a thousand stars. It must be later than three a.m. Maybe even later. You should probably move and get inside before you catch a cold but you can't bring yourself to do so. You're to mentally and physically drained from your shift earlier this evening. After regaining yourself, you finally find the strength to get up from the grass. Every bone in your body aches as you stand up for the first time in hours. You stretch a little, getting used to your human form again. Slowly but surely you walk to your front door. The warmth that meets you the moment you open your door falls over you like a blanket. Sudden tiredness washes over you. You let out a jawn as you walk over to your living room, reading to crash on your couch.

Instead of an empty couch, you find two vampires sitting on it, the same there were in the shop earlier. " What are you doing on my house? " you ask. Your body fills with adrenaline again. A warm fuzz fills your brain now that you're around your imprints. " I'm Jane, ". You nod at her statement.

" Cool, and I'm very fucking confused about why you're in my house. ". Both twins laugh a little at your joke. " You got humour in you, alright. " Alec says. You nod, slowly walking a little more towards them. You hate that you're so drawn to them. They like us. You stop in your steps. Why could you hear Jane's thoughts? Is this another part of this weird vampire-imprint thing?

" I'm sure that you have some question, " Alec begins. You cut him off before he can finish his sentence thought. " Yeah like why two members of the Volturi are in my house. ". Both look at you with big eyes, confused as to how you know them. You throw your arms up in the air. " Oh come one, I lived in the same town as the Cullens! You guys came over like every other weekend for Bella and Edward! ".

You sit down on your couch. Letting your elbows rest on your knees so your hands can hold your head up. You let out a deep sigh. Why did this kind of shit always happen to you? " Look, I know you won't want me and that's fine. Just break the news to me, we don't have to tiptoe around it, " you say, just trying to get them to get to the point. Alec's hand is suddenly underneath your chin. He angles your head in a way so that you're looking up at him. " You think we don't want you? ". You nod.

" No, don't ever think that, " Jane says as she sits down beside you. " It's maybe a bit...unusual to have a wolf as a mate but we definitely want you. If you want us. ". You can't help the small smile from spreading onto your face. They want you. They didn't reject you or call you a dog. " Of course I want you, have you seen yourself? You're both hot. ". The twins send each other a smile. Jane gets up from the couch and stands in front of you next to Alec. She holds her hand out for you to grab. " Come home with us. ". You nod at her before grabbing her hand. Finally, you can go to a home where you're loved.

---

The ringing of the phone seems to go on so long that you're afraid you're calling won't be picked up. You wanted to call home, to tell them how well you're doing. You just hope that someone will pick up. Finally, the call gets picked up. " Hello? " Seth says on the other side of the line. " Seth! " you call out happily. The annoyance in his voice is gone in an instant and replaced by happiness. " Y/n! You called! How are you? ".

" Better than ever, " you say happily, glancing over at Jane and Alec who is standing on the other side of the room talking to Demitri and Felix. You know that they are probably listing along to your call but you don't care. " I'm really good. I um...I imprinted again. ". You wait anxiously for Seth's response. " Really? That's great! Who is it? ".

You and Seth continue to talk for another thirty minutes. Back home things are going great for him and the pack as well. Apparently, Emmett and Rosalie are really sorry but you couldn't care less about them. Not now that you have Jane and Alec. " It was nice to talk to you again. Give my greetings to the rest, yeah? Bye-bye. ". You hang up the call. Within a second, Jane and Alec are standing next to you, both giving you a questioning look.

" He's happy for me. Really happy, " you say with a bright smile on your face. Alec grabs your hand and gives you a kiss on top of your knuckles. " See, I know he would be. ". You nod at his comment. You stand there for a moment before pulling both the twins in for a hug. They wrap their arms around you. Sure, it's a little awkward to hug with three people, but it's comforting at the same time. You take in their scent. At first, you hated the smell of vampire but now it smells like home. You feel happy, truly and utterly happy. Maybe someone could love you after all.

TWILIGHT TAGLIST:

@scuzmunkie​ @thanossexual​ @prettyinblack231​

[spc4eva]

Star-Burned: Chapter Three

Sundays are going to be posting days just like Mandokar. I've decided to also add the two pieces will be in the same collection in the same universe; so Paz has a sister who is with Din.

My headcanon is that many Death Troopers are Mandalorians who joined the Empire after the Great Purge. Just an fyi.

Word Count: 10,421

Rating: M (+18) oral sex f!receiving, unprotected sex

Masterlist

Cross Posted on AO3

So Jawas were alright.

They were kind of finicky because most of the time they were thieving little bastards and you really had to keep your eye on them. Sure, they could do nice things, they'd proven that before when they had brought back your parents' bodies without asking for payment. But... the moment they actually got to take a look at Paz's ship you knew you were in for it. They fucking wanted it. The entire thing. All of it. Your signs must've done a good job, because they hadn't come into the sheltered alcove where it was hidden like a lost treasure. The road led up to your farm, but the smoke churning up from the ship typically would've drawn them in like moths to a flame. Now the robed midgets were milling around, chirping in their language, and billeting Paz with questions that he couldn't understand. 

"What do they want?" Paz looked to you for guidance.

"Your whole ship," you laugh before glancing down at the lead Jawa, Tho Qeohe. You reasoned with him, discerning, in the past, the Jawas only by the different belts of items that they adorned their robes in. This ship belonged to someone, you were looking for assistance in standing it up and the appropriate parts to make the last repairs, which would probably include scrap metal, any engine parts, and landing gear. 

Make it worth it. What was there to offer that would be worth parting with that many materials and the addition of assistance? Jawas did not work for free and nor did they do favors, despite how long they'd known you. 

"They said you have to make it worth their while. They'd be willing to give the parts, but a good trade will be expected. Do you have anything... rare on your ship?" You ask Paz finally after quietly debating with Tho. Immediately, the Jawa pointed at his armor, which he had donned today. You shook your head, explaining that he was Mandalorian and the beskar was off the table entirely. There was an aggravated huff of dismay, Tho convinced that there would be little worthwhile that could otherwise be exchanged for all those parts. Unless... 

Oh-ho-ho the little buggers were trying to be cheeky now, tugging on your pant leg and gibbering excitedly. No, you needed your tip-yips, they were your solid source of protein. 

"I have a camtono of Exonium that was looking to sell once I got to the right spaceport," Paz offered, which... which was actually a good offer. You blink a few times and explain to the Jawas that the Mandalorian is willing to trade in his camtono of the fossil fuel. 

Not enough. Maybe two camtonos, but not just one. Groaning, you rub your face and consider again. You could part with a few tip-yips and perhaps request that Paz took you to the city so you could acquire a new bacta shot and tip-yips. Fine. The freaking birds could go, but Paz would have to take you back to the city because you needed the eggs. 

"I've come to an arrangement," you admit grudgingly. Why did these little assholes like eggs so much? They were chanting the awful word over and over again. "They'll take the camtono of Exonium and..." You grumble about your tip-yips, hoping that he wouldn't hear you.

"They want your chickens too?"

"Yeah, they're being brats. Jawas really like eggs," you explained, huffing a breath and crossing your arms over your chest. "I'd hate to be a bother, but I'm going to need a ride to the city in order to get more. I can't live out here without a solid, renewable source of protein."

"A bother?" Paz rumbled, a chuckle crackling in the edge of his vocoder. "Tracyn... I owe you considerably more than being a taxi to the city.  I'll buy the tip-yips for you. And the bacta shot you had to use."

Well... that was a fair deal... right? You wanted to ask him to throw his shiny bucket into the mix and just stay here, but that would've been crossing a line. Smiling dolefully, you turned back to Tho -- the sweet smile being replaced by a grimace and begrudging glare, which on you was not at all intimidating. Actually, it was sort of comical and Tho laughed at your attempt to posture in front of the Mandalorian. 

Jawas were restless buggers and got their work underway immediately. You had to supervise, mostly because you could hear them being evel kenivals and had to thump a few of their heads to keep them from worming their grubby hands into places they shouldn't. It was going to be a long few days. Thankfully, the one saving grace you'd gotten out of all of this was that Jawas knew tech. Be that droids, starships, cruisers, speeders -- you could name anything and they'd know it. You had rapport with them, despite the fact you had to chastise them at least four times every hour. By nature, they were sneaksie monsters. So you used that to your advantage, because they didn't want to spend more time than was necessary to keep up their end of the bargain.

They had the proper lifts and equipment to hoist the ship up, which you learned was called the Kote. Pieces of metal slopped off, just as you'd predicted and it made you wince. The Kote was old, but before this dogfight, actually seemed as if it had been in good condition; well maintained and kept up to date. The Jawas fussed, complained, kicked and cried like petulant children about being put to work instead of thieving. But they helped. Again, they didn't want to be there forever and so they helped solder parts on, repair the hull, and even Tho had gone as far to berate you for improperly wiring connections to the engine. Jawas were intelligent, no matter how much people looked down on them, they knew what they were doing. 

By the end of the third day you were a fucking mess. Your muscles were trembling, fending off exhaustion and hyped up on gallons of caf. But you couldn't go to sleep. Not when the Jawas were here. Not when they could pilfer things when you weren't keeping hawk eyes on them. 

Paz had tried to get you to rest, but you couldn't. He didn't speak their language or know what little shits they could be. You sort of loved how annoying they could be, in their own unique way, but you also knew that you were the glue bonding this entire arrangement together. 

"You need to rest, Tracyn," he insisted as you dropped the wrench for the fourth time in under 10 minutes. 

"Al-almost done," you insisted, managing to pin a puffy glare over at a Jawa who was eying your wrench. They knew you were testy now, each hour that passed knocking off another bit of your ever vanishing patience. Actually, you were probably in the sphere of negative patience.

"The Jawas are packing up. Tracyn... Tracyn please, you're going to kill yourself from exhaustion and the heat-" Paz grabbed your shoulders, steering you away from the landing gear that you had continued to work on. You managed to stick your tongue out at the nearest Jawa before being brought into the Kote. Your eyes blinked a few times, cutting the difference from the brightness of day and the dim of the hull. Maker, had it really been three days? Your brain was fried and you were working on fumes. "Hey... hey can you hear me?"

Had he been talking? You blink again, finally focusing on the snapping fingers beside your ear. "Hmm?"

"You need to go to sleep," Paz decided firmly.

"B-but," you were too emotional for this right now. Immediately your eyes began to fill up with tears. You were letting him down. What if the Jawas started stealing stuff? You were almost done. Just a couple more hours and it would've been good to go. "I can do it. I still have enough energy. Maybe another cup of caf will do the trick."

"You've drank enough to fuel a starship," Paz reminded you duly, brushing away the frustrated tears from your eyes. "C'mere, shh now. You're just over tired-" he grabbed you, pulling you into an embrace on his chest. The cool beskar felt good against your clammy skin, neck lolling naturally into the crook beneath his helmet. "Maker I would have never guessed you had so much energy in you. And all you want are tip-yips and a bacta shot for this?"

"I'm a simple girl," you sniffle in defeat. "And I like eggs just as much as Jawas."

His chest rumbled and you felt the laugh before you heard it, but the sound relaxed your warbling, his hands sliding underneath you before cradling you like a child. Had you been in a more sensible state of mind, you might've protested in worry that he could be hurting his ribs. While he felt strong enough to don his armor again, that didn't mean that the lingering injury wasn't hidden beneath. He was taking you deeper into the ship, opening the door to a room that was dimly lit. Your lashes were fluttering, sleep trying to smother you completely, but you rebelled against it - trying to figure out what was going on.

He was setting you down on a bed, ooh Maker the bed felt so nice. There were furs and blankets, so this wasn't your bed. Didn't have fur on your bed. Smelled like him -- blaster residue, leather, oil, and some kind of soap... you couldn't place it because you didn't use soap in a sonic shower like a water one. But it was nice. "Hmmm," a soft moan emanated from your throat and you'd all but forgotten you hadn't cleaned off in three days either since beginning your crusade to finish fixing the Kote. You were out within seconds of your head touching the pillow.

Paz pulled off your boots for you. You'd passed out completely after being set down, all flustered and moody. He'd tried to stop you earlier, only receiving a few combative looks, which included you puffing out your cheeks like a frog and raising your shoulders in a mock attempt to seem bigger than you were. You weren’t mean or off putting; you were determined and willful. He had also been helping where he could with welding, since he wasn't completely useless when it came to repairs. But you didn't stop. Even he had taken a few breaks, trying to coax you into shutting your eyes for a few minutes, but you'd scarfed down your rations, inhaled a cup of caf, and went back to work. Honestly, it was quite admirable and cute. 

You'd given up your tip-yips to get him these parts, part of your survival to make certain he could get off this orange rock. Now that the ship was nearly complete, he was beginning to realize he didn't really want to. He liked waking up to someone making him breakfast, someone to have easy conversation with, to just... relax around. Being Mandalorian meant he didn't often have these down times. He constantly had to have his head on a swivel, watching his back, finger ready on the trigger. But these weeks, despite the pain from his injury, had been calming. You were calming. 

The more he saw you in your element, the more he realized how strong you were. Not in a physical aspect, but mentally. It took a certain kind of person to be able to live out on their own without falling into an abysmal depression. You took each day as it was, put a foot forward while smiling, and had one of the most chipper, cheery dispositions he'd ever had the honor of crossing paths with. To top that off, you were an excellent mechanic, engineer, and he liked your food. Your silliness was a coping mechanism and part of your undeniable charm. And Paz was falling hard for you, maybe just as hard as his ship had crashed to this planet and the canyons nearest to your farm. 

Even now, he couldn't keep his gaze off of you, all oil smeared, hair a mess of curls, tangled and dirty from laying in the sand and fixating on the task at hand. He had to give it to you, you were capable of inhuman feats of fixation. He wished half the Foundlings he taught were capable of even an ounce of your tempered focus. You were the type that if you set your mind to something, you'd read all the books you could get your hands on before trying to learn how to do it yourself. 

And now with the Kote in good condition, Paz knew that your time together was coming to a close. He had to get back to the Tribe, to the planet the covert had relocated on, and that meant leaving you behind. He really wanted to ask you to come with him, perhaps as a crewmate to help around the ship, but because he wanted the chance to explore these growing feelings... but your farm. You loved the blasted thing so much and he couldn't take that from you. He doubted you'd want to go. For now, he'd enjoy what time he had left with you; his little ray of sunshine.

---

You woke up, still groggy and bone weary from your three day stint of making repairs. Maker, why hadn't you listened and just set your head down, because you felt like shit right now. Glancing around, you noticed that you were in some sort of chamber, which appeared to be on a ship from metal walls and floor. Oh. This must've been Paz's room on the Kote. It was coming back to you. The Kote was a decent enough sized gunship that it had a captain's cabin and crew quarters. You remembered because you had been inside fixing things.

The corners of your mouth quirked and you grabbed the canteen of water sitting by the side of the bed, taking a few generous gulps before getting up. Oh... oh you were gross. Three days of sweltering heat, dirt, grime, and oil. Fuck, why had he put you in his bed? You were literally as smelly as a womp rat. Arms held out slightly, you waddle around, trying to locate the Mandalorian. Outside the cabin, you found him over by an open arsenal, jaw dropping at the ensemble of weapons that were hung neatly. Shit, you knew that Mandalorians considered weapons their religion, but you didn't think one person needed quite that many.

Paz turned and caught you staring, your arms still held out as it felt too grimy to put them back down. "How're you feeling, mesh'la?"

"Better," you admit honestly. "Dirty."

"Go wash up in the fresher," he offered, pointing in its direction.

"Uhm," you considered it for a beat before glancing back at him. "How do I use it?" That felt like a stupid question, but honestly you didn't know how. Sonic showers you just pressed a button to turn on. Water had things like... pressure valves, gauges, and oh dear lord you were overthinking something so simple but that's what you did. Everything was methodical up in that brain of yours and managing water flow and heat seemed overly complex. 

Paz got up and escorted you to the fresher, which was big enough to accomodate a good sized person, such as himself. A toilet, a sink, and a large shower. There was just one knob. "You turn it like this and then twist it this way if you want it warmer," he demonstrated by turning it on, water hissing like a snake and making you jump back into him. He didn't laugh at you, which made your thankful, cheeks burning as you watched it pitter down like rain into the drain. "I have some spare clothes you can borrow."

That you could borrow? One of his shirts was going to be a tent on you! But... your coveralls were filthy. "Thanks." He left you to it, closing the door behind him as you faced your newest challenge: taking a shower in water. Now, you'd been rained on before, but you'd never taken a shower in it. Clearing your throat, you began stripping, peeling off the offensive and smelly articles, before standing awkwardly in front of the shower. Finally, you tested it with a hand, snapping it back as if you'd been burnt. Oh, ok... so just wash in it... Seemed wasteful, but then again other planets weren't as water starved. Other planets were green and had oceans. Some had ice. 

You'd like to see them if it didn't mean leaving your farm. But how would that be possible? 

Rather than linger any longer as the water continued to billet into the glass door, you hopped in and slid the door shut. Ooooh, this was really nice. The water was just a little warmer than your skin, the way that the dirt and grim started to slide right off. Your curls soaked through, a thick heavy mop against your back. Soap. You glanced around, noticing a part of soap and a bottle of shampoo. Usually you just used deodorant, since in sonic showers you didn't wash with anything. This soap was what you had smelled in bed, full bodied and clean. Humming to yourself, you absolutely went to town. Strangely, you were feeling a lot cleaner than a sonic shower had ever made you feel. Layers of dead skin scrubbed off, flushed from how hard you'd worked it, to the point where you were pink and raw but oh-so-clean. 

When you turned the water off -- incorrectly at first, dousing yourself with ice cold water -- you popped your head out to see that a towel and clothes had been left in place of your dirty ones. How was he so thoughtful? Why was he so thoughtful? It made you smile regardless, taking up the towel and drying yourself off, a pleasant warmth radiating in your chest from the Mandalorian’s thoughtfulness. Your curls were soaked through and required being tied up in the towel to scrunch off some of the dampness. Paz had left you one of his undershirts and... nothing else. At first you were a little worried that you'd not be covered up enough, but that quickly changed after sliding it on with a pair of socks. You were pretty much covered, like a child trying on their parent's clothing. The shirt fell over your knees, the socks -- also his -- came up to your knees. The long sleeves were waaay too long for you, so you had to push those up before stumbling out of the fresher. No underwear. Those were being cleaned too.

So the moment you stepped out, a rush of fresh air went right underneath the hem of the shirt and attacked between your thighs. You swallowed hard and then managed to look over at Paz, as he'd returned to checking on his weapons. "How was it?"

"I've been in water before, but not like that. Just torrential downpours," you admit, coming to sit across from him, pulling the shirt down over your knees carefully so you don't accidentally flash him. "But it was really nice. You get to do that everyday?"

"Yes, as long as there's enough water in the tanks," he replied, which made you stiffen. How much water had you used? You'd been in there for a while. "Water isn't that expensive on other planets."

"Oh," you relaxed. "Weird." Turning your head down you look at what you believe it was a rifle, carefully taken apart. "Why did you do this? Was it broken?"

"Hm?" he glanced back down. "I was cleaning it."

"Oh, I didn't know they had to be cleaned." You wish you hadn't said that, because Paz was looking at you -- with what you could only assume was a shocked or incredulous expression beneath his helmet.

"You've... never cleaned that blaster that you have?"

"Uhhhhh," you tried to dredge up any memory of cleaning it, but came up blank. "No."

"Have you ever fired it? I can't imagine there's much here you'd need it for."

"I've fired it," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You weren't a good shot. Not really. Especially since you didn't have a reason to practice. You just figured having it might save you from a chance encounter with any sort of wildlife that didn't get along with you. Which had yet to happen due to your natural affinity with them.

"How often?"

Again, no immediate answer. "Dunno, maybe like... once a year to check it." That was pushing it. You hadn't fired it in the last year, but you were trying to make yourself not sound half that bad.

He got up, finding your utility belt and removing the dingy little blaster. It looked so pitiful when compared to his clean, neatly arranged rifle. He sat back down and patted the space beside him. "C'mere, let's take a look." You scooted over to his side of the table obediently, anxious as to the wisdom a Mandalorian could impart. "Maker, this hasn't been oiled in ages-" he was trying to take it apart, the rusted bolts grinding with sand caught between them. Your face was starting to burn -- swelter actually -- because you knew that wasn't right, didn't take a genius to know that. It sounded awful.

He forced the slide off and there was a snap, the tiny little screw crumbling completely in a puff of metal and rust. "Well..." he started. "I'm surprised it still fired."

"Maybe..." you whispered self consciously. "I haven't tried recently."

"That's good... in it's own way," he assured you, despite the fact your blaster was most definitely broken because of your own negligence. "Here, let's take a look at mine instead. You're not going to be able to salvage that."

He removed his own blaster, twice the size of yours, and clean as a whistle. "Now, pistols come in different shapes and sizes, utilize different types of plasma -- some even use slugs. This is a standard cartridge pistol, but it's been made for my own hand. Slide comes off one the top like this-" Paz dove into the details, removing each piece, demonstrating in front of you the proper and safe manner in which it came apart. Your attention was rapt, soaking it in like a sponge, the details, where you needed to clean and oil and how often you should do it. Apparently, if you were practicing, you should clean it later in the evening -- which you'd never done. Letting the residue sit on the metal wasn't good, it corrode in the inner workings and the weapon wouldn't last as long as it could. 

"Show me how to put it back together now," he requested, leaving it on the table disassembled.

You liked puzzles and that's what this was. One, intricate puzzle. He'd done it piece by piece, so this wasn't really much of a challenge. Rocking forward on your knees, you started with the grip, unlocked the trigger mechanism and began returning the parts to their home. You pinched your finger once, but it didn't so much more than make you suck a little air before continuing. Finally, you had a weapon in your hand, just as when Paz had removed it from his holster.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

All the pieces were gone until he opened his glove and revealed the firing pin, the most important part and you'd built the pistol around nothing. Without the firing pin, it was all just for show. "Were you hiding that?"

"Wanted to see if you'd notice," he mused, sounding as if he were smiling beneath that bucket.

"That's not very nice, now I have to take it apart again," you sighed deeply, reaching for the firing pin, but he snaked his arm away and from your grasp. "Hey!" You followed after him, realizing that he was teasing you, keeping the last piece just out of your grasp as you flailed, trying to steal it from him, failing spectacularly as he deftly evaded your clumsy jabs. 

"The firing pin is the most important part. I'm surprised you managed to put it together and not realize," Paz continued to elude you, which was impressive considering how big he was and that you were now standing up, still trying to wrestle it from him. 

"I'm a farmer, not a Mandalorian," you remind him, grunting as he palms your stomach and pushes you just out of reach, your short arms struggling in vain. 

"You're a lot more than just a farmer. Engineer and mechanic also come to mind," he let the firing pin come just within grasp and you went for it, taking the bait greedily just like Jumbles ate the eggs right off your lap. Paz removed his hand from your stomach and you fell. 

Sailing right through the air, you tried to catch yourself as the breath whooshed out of you, heart thundering at the loss of stability, a garbled yelp escaping the back of your throat. Then there were hands, just as quickly as there hadn't been, cushioning your fall before you made impact with Paz's lap. You weren't a fan of that trick, trying to calm down as he picked you up and righted you. "Y-y-you couldn't j-just gi-ive it t-t-to me?"

"No, that was a little too fun," he admitted to your chagrin. The beskar was cold, leaching through the thick shirt you were wearing, which had climbed up a few inches since you'd been dumped in his lap, nearly baring your ass. You shivered, the firing pin finally in your grasp, glancing down at the pistol as your heart rate began to pick up in an accelerando. "Fix it."

Like this? On his lap? Oh dear, your mind was already beginning to churn a little slower than usual. Shifting, you fumbled for the pistol, fingers clammy and not as deft and confident as usual. Your loose curls puffed around you, mostly dry from your shower and smelling absolutely divine. But it was sort of in your way. You blew a curl out of your face, jolting when you felt a gloved finger trace along the crown of your ear and tuck a few strands out of the way. Your heart picked up again. Now you were glaring at the pistol as if it'd called your mother a fat bantha. Don't be distracted. You can do this. You can-- a hand wrapped around your midsection, dragging you further onto his lap, flush against his cuirass. Ok, you weren't thinking of anything more than each minute thing that the Mandalorian did.

From the steady rise and fall of his chest, the palm on your leg massaging into your flesh, the other one tight against your abdomen. Focus! He was doing this on purpose. This was all a part of his game -- and. you. weren't. gonna. lose. Were you a sore loser? Honestly, you hadn't played many games except with the Jawas and you liked to rub it in their rude little faces when you won. So yeah, you probably were a sore loser. 

"Mesh'la," he drawled in your ear, causing you to tilt your neck back, throat bobbing as you finally had the pistol taken apart enough that you could return the firing pin to its home. "Can you be a good girl for me?"

You were convinced he was still trying to distract you. "W-why?"

"Because you look so pretty putting that pistol back together. Can you be good for me?" he murmured and that's when you realized it, this was a turn on for him. Seeing you, someone absolutely clueless about weapons, learn from him and then put it together piece by piece... You froze where you were, wondering how to perceive this new bit of information. You were already growing flustered, a combination of arousal and competitiveness making your cheeks hot and attention wane. There was something incredibly sexy about trying to impress a Mandalorian with your newly found skills in taking a pistol apart, even if you weren't a good shot. You just hadn't thought that he'd enjoy it so much.

"What do you want me to do?" you questioned softly, your rapid pace grinding down slowly, nearly to a halt. Replaced now with the gunning of your heart rate and the ever increasing blush jetting across your features. 

"Finish and then close your eyes," he instructed. 

Nodding, you completed the last pieces of the puzzle and reached to place the pistol down, finding that your arms were too short to reach the table. His hand moved from your leg, taking it and sliding it back into his holster. The next breath you took stuttered, your nerves getting the better of you as you closed your eyes. Paz shifted and then pressed a button on his vambrace, plunging the cabin into total darkness. You couldn't see, because you hadn't opened your eyes, but you could tell by the way your lids were now completely dark.

A soft click, followed by hydraulic hissing made you tilt, steadied by the man before you before your heart rocketed into your throat. The thick blanket of your hair was pushed to the side, scratchy facial hair meeting the tender side of your neck, and Maker -- oh, it was his mouth. The realization made you groan, a strangled, pitiful noise as you comprehended why he'd asked you to close your eyes. Just another safety precaution on top of the cover of night in the Kote. He sucked at your skin, biting marks down the side which burned as they were exposed to the air. 

You were making the most delicious mewling noises as he kissed your skin, confirming that his decision was certainly worth it. He owed you more than this he thought, but he was also on borrowed time. In his shirt, trying to learn about weapons after he'd broken your rusted out blaster, and then managing to fixate on putting it back together despite his roaming hands... You'd done a good job too and his trick had been rather underhanded. You had put the pistol together with what you were given and he couldn't fault you for that. But perhaps he had been hoping you'd notice right away. He was still impressed that you'd been able to do it at all. There were a lot of pieces to a gun and you'd been undaunted. Then again, you were good with machines, so he hadn't expected anything less from someone who had taught themselves how to repair a starship from books.

You were precious and didn't deserve to be alone. He didn't want to leave you alone. He wanted more time to sit at a table with you, to teach you how to defend yourself, to show you all the places you were missing that were just as beautiful and wild as your home planet -- but in unique ways of their own. He wanted to bottle your sunshine and take it with him. He was afraid to let you go, afraid you'd meet your parents' fate, and that his world would be a little darker if he came back to this planet to say hello and found out you were gone. That's why this felt right, because he wanted you and didn't want to frighten you by saying it -- forcing your hand in coming with him when you loved it here. 

And what did he have to offer other than himself? A constantly moving home? A covert that had to hide in the shadows? Being gone for long periods of time when he had to go on hunts to provide for the Tribe? 

His mouth met the hollow of your throat, you'd been slowly turning in his grasp to his will. Cradling you in one arm, bent down to lavish attention on your neck, his other palm meeting your chest again. Ankles twisted out into the darkness in front of you, your own hands clinging to his leg as you held yourself firm, pushing your chest out a little, into his grasp as he finally crested over your jaw and met your own mouth. You were overwhelmed in an instant, an explosion of heat and sensation that rocked your whole body as you got lost in his embrace. You already knew his lips were soft, but flush to yours, they were heaven and you never wanted them to leave. 

He was gentle, so astonishingly gentle for such a large, imposing man. Kindly plying at your mouth before you were the one who lost your patience. Your lips parted and you licked his eagerly, seeking entrance, wanting to feel all of him. He acquiesced, filling your mouth with his heat, tongue interlocking and a gasp causing you to sputter as he squeezed your nipple. When... when did his hand get under the shirt? You hadn't noticed, distracted entirely by the electricity you felt while kissing him. 

He broke away and you whimpered, thumbs swirling circles around the stiffening peak of your nipple, flesh pebbled. "Good girl... can I take it off?"

"It's your shirt, you can take it back whenever you want," you breathed, deserving a light chuckle as he pulled it up and over your head. Careful to keep your eyes shut, your bare ass met the beskar and you hissed.

"Let's move to the bedroom," he suggested.

You nod, about to get on your own two feet when he gets up with you in his arms. You hoped his ribs weren't hurting, but you felt a bit guilty in admitting that you sort of didn't care, because you were wondering about what was going to happen. He placed you carefully on the bed and from the sound of it, he was reaching into a drawer. 

"Mesh'la? I'm going to put this over your eyes. Just in case?" he offered it to you so that you knew what it was, the soft gossamer material sliding against your pads. A blindfold? 

"Ok." You wanted his mouth back, squirming as you waited and he secured the blindfold around your head. While it was unfortunate that you couldn't see his body, you were still highly aroused by the amount of trust he had in you to ask for just closed eyes and now a blindfold. Huffing anxiously, you gripped one of your breasts, thumbing your nipple while waiting, wondering what he was doing. 

Finally, after a couple of minutes, he returned, the bed depressing as he climbed onto it. Robbed of your sight, you leaned heavily on your sense of hearing and touch. And your hearing was shot, really only aware of the pounding of your pulse as you yearned to be touched again. A hand planted beside you, warmth radiating off of him as if he were a heater, before he kissed your collar, jolting you like a little shock of electricity, a sigh of relief following and easing your shoulders. Why... why was he doing this? Not that you were complaining, Maker no, you definitely weren't complaining -- it's just... No one had ever spent this much time on you. 

He was sucking welts into your skin, each one sending lancing ripples of pleasure across your exposed flesh, as he made way down to your breasts which, admittedly, made you a bit nervous again. "Mesh'la?" he noticed that you were holding your breath. "What's wrong?"

"I-they're sensitive. And... in the past-" Oh you were going to ruin the mood, but what if he accidentally hurt you too? That would definitely ruin the mood. He’d been careful before, but this wasn’t last night and you were fully exposed for him to do as he pleased.

"I'm going to be gentle, I know..." he assured you, pressing featherlight kisses around your breasts before taking a nipple in his mouth. He teased the skin lightly, nibbling, sucking. All doubts you had evaporated like water after the wet season and you exhaled deeply again, chased with a moan of agreement. "I'd never hurt you, mesh'la. Never." And you believed him, with all your heart you believed this terrifying, intimidating warrior of legend would never hurt a hair on your head.

Massaging the breast he wasn't kissing, you arched into his palm, core melted completely, taken aback by how much this was doing for you. Your thighs pressed together, trembling with anticipation, your bundle of nerves vying for attention. He moved lower, dragging his tongue along your ribs, creating more marks on your soft tummy, before his beard scratched along your hips and you bucked. A strong hand guided your legs apart and you didn't resist, needing attention down there as you panted as if you’d run two miles and the rest of your body vibrated in expectancy. 

You were expecting his hand, so when the warmth of his mouth met you down there you actually screamed. 

"Woah! Hey, it's alright-" he jumped up, holding your hip down as you almost began hyperventilating. 

"S-sorry. Y-you su-urprised m-me," you stammered through your confusion and fright, trying to gulp down breaths to steady your heart rate. Now, you'd given blowjobs before, but none of the men had ever reciprocated. "Yo-you don't have t-to." You'd never even suggested it before, coming under the assumption that it was just a dirty thing that men didn't like to do. "D-don't feel obligated be-because I-"

"Has no one done this to you before?"

You shook your head, cheeks flushing, thankful for the darkness to hide your face. Or... that's what you thought. You didn't know there was a light on in the room and Paz could see everything going on. So then why did you shake your head? You were too frazzled to think straight.

"Mesh'la, I want to. I want to taste you everywhere."

The confession made you whimper wistfully. "But I thought-" that guys didn't like to do this.

"I don't know why someone wouldn't have by now," Paz admitted, caressing the skin he'd marked up, admiring your complexion and body.. Even as he told you this, part of him was further aroused that he'd be the first to take this from you. "You're so pretty. Everywhere. Especially down there. Will you let me?"

Part of you was disconcerted, battling with the idea that you'd thought was a no-go for most people. But then you thought about how nice the warmth of his mouth had felt and the trust you had in him to make you feel good. Finally, you nodded again. 

Paz returned between your legs, carefully warning you as he blew on your clit before lathing his tongue over it. Your neck jerked and you arched immediately, the new, foreign sensation making you cry out, but not of surprise. Gripping the blankets, your legs trembled, his palm keeping you from closing and squeezing on him. His tongue was softer than his fingers, more dexterous and able to fill your clit up entirely, tracing it in a new way that felt erotically luxurious and overwhelming. "So sweet, love. And wet. All of this for me?"

You hummed in agreement, barely able to control yourself as you clenched your teeth between huffs. Why had no one done this before? Stars, you had no idea what you were missing out on. How much more was there that you'd not experienced? He sucked on your bud, switching between lavishing attention and swirling circles. He trailed down, his tongue dipping between your folds, the insides of your sensitive thighs catching the rough edge of his facial hair. 

He returned to your aching nerves, laying into you as his tongue flicked quickly, clutching your thigh as your breaths became more labored. You couldn't see, but you felt it coming, scooping low into your pelvis, pressure building to the point where you felt the reins of your control slipping and you got choked up. He might've spoken had his mouth not been what was dragging you to the proverbial edge, destroying you, obliterating you like the Death Star had done to countless planets. You disintegrated, the same bird flying over the edge, but this time both wings were healed and you soared into the sky. You kept riding, his mouth replaced with fingers as he continued his ministrations through your orgasm. 

"That's it mesh'la," he soothed, the deep voice cradling you as you panted and came down, legs clutching as your clit became intensely oversensitive. He licked between your folds, removing his hand from your swollen clit and began lapping up the mess you'd made. 

"W-wh-wha," you were breathy and a little incoherent, speech slurring as you tried to fumble around for him blindly. 

"What is it?" he inquired calmly.

"Wh-what about you?"

"Do you want to keep going?"

"Mhm."

"Tell me what you want," he edged up the bed, coming down to lay beside you, returning his mouth to yours. He was wet, facial hair damp from eating you out, and his tongue was tacky. The taste was foreign, but not unpleasant and a little sweet. He wasn't wearing any beskar now, which must've been why it had taken him a moment to come to bed. Your palm met his bare chest and you savored the ability to finally be able to explore it. You were careful, not wishing to brush too hard against his ribs, but what you felt was as impressive as what you'd seen before. Your fingers butterflied over his strong pectoral muscles, trailing to meet in the center as you coasted between his ribs and to his solid abdomen. He was broad, hips bigger than yours, a wisp of hair descending below the belt. 

"This," you slid your hand underneath his waistband, not surprised to find him hard after playing with you. It'd been like this last time. Even though you claimed it, you were partially terrified of trying to accommodate his cock. A thrill rushed through you, the idea of the immense pleasure it could bring or how it'd fuck you within an inch of your life. There was no knowing until you tried and you wanted to try. 

He huffed in your ear, "You certain?"

"Yes," you asserted, squeezing him and enjoying the moan that followed; your small palm couldn’t even fully encircle his girth. Yet it was the unmodulated tone of his bass, filling your belly up with warmth as he laid beside you. Stars, his voice was so much better, if that were even possible. Every breath, noise, and huff no longer crackling with static and the full heat of it numbing your senses. 

"You... should be wet enough, but-" he considered you, Maker he wanted to do it, but you were so small. You weren't frail, you'd proven this by now, but the difference in size between the two of you was severe. You only reached up to his chest while standing, not even his shoulders. He was afraid of breaking you. 

Now your hands had wormed down and you cupped his balls, squeezing all recourse from his mind as he moaned again. "I trust you."

Paz drew in a deep breath, filling his diaphragm as he considered the logistics very, very briefly. His ribs still hurt and they were aching now. "You'll have to go on top, mesh'la."

You were always up for a challenge, despite the fact that his words sort of scared you. On top? As in getting speared by him? Absolutely split open with nowhere to go? He was rubbing reassuring circles into your side, giving you the time you needed to think about this before you finally gave another 'mhm'. Hooking your fingers of the waistband of his pants, you helped guide them off before he sprung up in your palm. Able to estimate where his hips were, you threw a leg over and pressed his shaft into the heat of your folds, beginning to slick him with your wetness. Each stroke against him was debilitating, from the sensation of your pussy, to the way your perky breasts bobbed, and the cascade of hair fanned out in a curly cloak behind you. Paz was absolutely entransed. 

Finally, you decided you were wet enough to make your attempts. Realizing what you were about to do, he gripped your hips as you came up onto your knees, touching his weeping head to your heat. Your legs began to quiver, anxious but also excited, blood rushing as quickly and suddenly as a flash flood as you tested carefully. Just his head stretched you wide and there was more to follow. This was gruelling work, so painfully slow that you weren't even certain it was possible as you coasted down an inch and stiffened. Drawing a deep breath, you shimmied more and let out a heart stopping moan. The rest of him slicked up and you yelped as he was buried to the hilt.

Both of you froze, mostly you because you hadn't expected the rest to go in so easily. Not easily exactly. Your entire insides felt as if they'd been rearranged at this point and you didn't know if that was good or bad or if moving would make it worse. So you sat there, on the brink of panic.

Paz was frozen because you were so fucking tight. His cock felt as if it were being strangled by you and you weren't even doing anything. His head fell heavy against the pillow and he tried not to spend himself in that moment, but it was difficult. You were silken inside, the tight walls a vice grip around his cock and pulsing around him. 

And then you moved, testing the waters a little bit and bucking forward as you knew this was going to obliterate you. Not in the same sense as the orgasm Paz had brought you to before, but in the sense you were going to hurt tomorrow. Even now your legs ached as you mounted him, refusing to move properly as you tried to ride him. 

He could see your struggling and the valiant effort you were making to move, but he gleaned that this was overwhelming for you too, your pubic area distended slightly as your tiny frame managed to fit him. Maker, the sight of that caused him to shift, grinding his hips into you, watching as you released the lip you were biting and cry out gently. He could see his own form in you, stretching you, but somehow still fitting aside from the telltale bulge.

"We can... we can stop-" Paz offered despite the fact he didn't want that. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to see how he moved inside of you, filled you up, and made you whimper. His thoughts were derailing and he was losing his composure. 

"N-no. I just... need help," you told him dolefully.

He could do that. "Just tell me if it's too much." He began slowly before smoothing his hands along your hips. The last thing he wanted to do was break you before leaving you on your own. The rhythm was slow at first, each soft strike causing you to moan in protest, but it was the slowness that hurt more. You began to move into him, picking the pace up a bit, working in tandem so that his hands could guide and assist your trembling legs. It still hurt, but it was a blistering white burst, each hit against your pelvis a battle between pleasure and pain. Maker, you'd never been stretched so wide before and it was so good, an experience of ecstasy you’d never had the honor of battling, clenching your jaw as you fought for control and were beginning to unravel at the seams. 

You moaned his name finally, incapable of keeping a straight face, the result an even quicker assault into your cunt, his fingers brushing back against your clit as you panted. 

"Mesh'la, Maker-- you're so fucking good. So tight and perfect. Cum for me a second time? Will you?"

"Mm," you couldn’t even talk as you could feel it building up in you as he drew quick circles, pounding into you, your back aching as you tensed. Your ailing core was glazing over and your eyes rolling back into your head as you started to fall away. "A-ah. I-I'm going to, b-but-" Where would he finish? You weren't on any kind of birth control, you hadn't needed to be for a couple of years now. 

He shifted, throwing you down against the mattress with ease, before continuing to strike into you. This angle was different, his mouth meeting yours, the soft mutterings in a language you didn't understand not mattering. You knew he was saying sweet things in your ear. "Where?" he knew it was coming, you were on the brink of an orgasm, toes curling. 

"O-on me," you managed, just as your body betrayed you, muscles snapping into rigidity and voice halting to a pitiful whine in the back of your throat as you lost sense of up and down. You were snared by the rapture of each forceful pound into your cunt, fingers still tracing your clit, until you were overwhelmed entirely and mumbling incoherently. 

It took all his will as you clamped down around him, walls fluttering and back arching beneath him. The darling noises in tandem with how good you felt made it gut wrenching to pull out and stroke out the last few bits of his orgasm, spending his seed on your breasts and stomach. The pearly ropes flew from him as if he hadn't just been sucked dry a few nights ago. Glistening in the low light with his cum, your chest continued to bob as you came down from your high a second time. You were a pretty sight, one that he admired as you tried to catch your breath. 

Eventually, you brushed your chest, coming away with the sticky cum. Bringing it up, you slid your fingers into your mouth, suckling away the precious liquid just as you had done before. You savored the taste of him, finding yourself hungry for it again after last night. Paz was leaning back against the headboard, length twitching as he watched you lazily mop up his spent load and place it between those plush lips and swallow. You missed a few spots in your blindness, but Paz scooped it up, bringing it to your mouth where you cleaned his fingers. He kissed you after, an insistence mess of his lips as he tried to prove what he was feeling with that kiss. 

"Mesh'la," he purred, pulling you back across the bed and into his arms. You fit perfectly enough that he could snake his arm around your hip and nestle onto the curve of your ass.  "Are you hurt? How are you feeling?"

"Good.. tired, but good," you mumbled, naturally nuzzling into the side of his pec as his arm came around you like that other night. Your legs ached, numbed slightly and from how you’d been split open further than ever before, but you didn't regret any of it. "Was it good for you? I'm sorry I had to ask for help."

"Don't be sorry, I didn't think you'd even be able to fit me," he chuckled, brushing your thick hair back and coasting his thumb in crescents along your hipbone. "You were amazing. So perfect. Just wish my ribs weren't still hurting."

"Are they ok right now?" you reached up gingerly, grazing over the afflicted side. 

"They're fine." 

"Maybe I shouldn't have... you did turn me over at the end..."

"Shh, I'm fine," he assured you, grabbing the edge of the blanket and tugging it over both of your forms. "Just go to sleep. I'll be here in the morning. You're safe."

"I know," you mumble, nearly incoherent as you're pushing a kiss into his collarbone. "I know."

--- 

He was there like promised when morning came, strong, solid, warm, and snuggled close, but you were also duly reminded that you hadn't been home a lot in the last few days while working on the Kote. You really didn't want to leave his side, because there were probably only a few days left of getting to be beside him, but you also couldn't ignore your animals. The idea of pulling away made your every fiber shriek in disdain, because you’d wanted this more than anything. To wake up beside someone, to be in their arms, and to just waste an entire day there.

"Paz," you whispered, poking his chest lightly. 

"Hm?" he sounded groggy, as if you'd woken him up by doing that.

"I have to go check on the farm," you said apologetically. Truly, you didn’t want to go. "Do you have your helmet nearby so I can get up?"

His fingers tightened around you, the idea of having to lose you not a fond one, but you had responsibilities. Sighing, he grabbed it off of the nightstand and slid it back on, smothering the clean smell of you and the breaths he’d once felt against his cheek. Each moment that you both lingered like this staved off the eventual separation. Chasing it away like a bad dream. But sleep was coming and you couldn't keep that nightmare away forever, nor the sorrow that would chase after. "I'll meet you there in a bit."

You removed the blindfold after the sound of the helmet clicking back into place. Finally able to see, his chest was revealed to you and you could make out the lattice work of scars along it that you hadn't quite noticed before when you'd stripped him to heal him. They were hidden beneath his chest hair, but this close, you could really see them. Maybe you'd get to ask about them before he left. You tried not to wince at the idea, shoving it to the back of your mind after pressing a kiss to his chest. 

"Where did you put my clothes?" 

"In the ion cleaner, next to the fresher."

"See you soon," you hummed, heading out, naked as the day you were born to find your clothes where he'd told you. They were clean and fresh, vacant of oil and clay filled sand. Throwing it back on, you snapped the scrunchie on your wrist around your hair and smiled gently. This was his home, so neat and clean when it wasn't in disarray from a crash landing. It suited him, you decided. There was a homey feeling to it despite it just being a starship. Maybe that was because of the night you'd shared around the table, talking about something that was a part of his everyday life, leaning about it... he had described everything so well to you.

There was only one speeder bike, but you knew the path well enough that walking on this fine morning wasn't a big deal. Sunlight smiling over the ridge, not yet basking you in its warmth as it hadn’t crested the edge of the canyon. Trudging up the pass, you hummed a soft tune, finding that despite your legs being a kind of achy, that you're in a really good mood. It didn't really skim your mind that you hadn't seen Jumbles in a few days. He wasn't actually your pet, just a wild animal that liked your company. He was probably fine, hunting in the nearby passes while you only checked in periodically to feed the remaining tip-yips. Wait... How many days had it been? It might've been two since you went home.

Picking up your pace, you chugged up the rest of the hill and glanced at the coop. No chickens. Aw hell, did those fucking assholes take all of them? Usually they made pretty well on their bargains. Fuck. You'd have a stern talking to Tho next time you saw him. Maybe you'd be even angrier if you weren't in such a pleasant mood from your evening with Paz, but you were already destined to go to the city. Grumbling, you stomped over toward your home something catching your eye. Not something... more like a few things. There were a handful of speeder bikes out in front of your house.

Had someone stopped by? Ah, well as long as they hadn't dumped the place you supposed that was fine. Make themselves at home within reason. You went to the front door and opened it, somewhat excited to have other guests. Man, so many people all in such a short amount of time! 

And then your chipper smile slid right off. Sitting at your kitchen table was a pod of stormtroopers. "Uhhhhhhhh," you froze in the doorway. You were good at fixing things, but reacting on a dime during a stressful encounter? Shit. You were absolute massiff shit at that. 

"Do you live here?" one trooper inquired.

"Y-yeah," you looked between them, realizing that they were playing Sabacc. Ha. That was kind of funny. "Am I in trouble? Can I help you with anything?" You clasped your hands in front of you to keep them from shaking. The Empire had been looking for Paz. Is that why they were here? Nothing else on this planet that might interest them.

"Depends. Have you seen a Mandalorian?"

You giggle, because you're extremely nervous and that seems the logical thing to do. Had you seen a Mandalorian? You'd slept with him last night. Was that the Mandalorian they were looking for? "Nu-uh," you lied, hooking your fingers in your utility belt. "Why would a Mandalorian be all the way out here? Ain't nothing out here."

"You're out here," a stormtrooper pointed out. This one was in all black armor and he sounded more dangerous than the others. The grit of his tone raked unpleasantly down your spine and your anxious smile quavered. "What's a pretty little thing doing out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Workin'," you grumble.

"No husband? No family?" 

"Gotta husband," you protested, hoping that saying this would deter them from doing anything... bad. Kriff, what were you kidding, they were going to do whatever they wanted unless Paz was right behind you and you knew he wasn't. 

"No, you don't," the dark stormtrooper laughed. "You're here on your own. I know, because I went through this shack."

Fuck. Welp. You had two choices and you didn't have a blaster, so you turned around and fucking booked it. Flight. Definitely flight. You heard them shuffling after you, legs regrettably weak from your tryst with Paz and you were stubby and short. Adrenaline did a good amount of the work for you as you sprinted back down into the ravine, sorta praying a krayt dragon would pop up and save your sorry ass. 

"Stop running!" You were yanked right off your feet, held up by the back of your coveralls like a kitten. You garbled, losing a chunk of the oxygen in your lungs as you swayed. "You know where he is, don't you?"

"N-no! I do-on't know w-what you're talkin' 'bout!" You thrashed helplessly in his grasp, the dark trooper leaning in. 

"Mhm, so I'm guessing that your nonexistent husband gave these to you," he poked at a sensitive mark on your neck, making you gasp, completely forgetting that Paz had given you those. "I mean, if I found you out here on your own, I probably would've done the same. Look at you. Must be lonely to let some random mando sleep with you. Tell us where he is and I'll show you a better time. What a real Mandalorian is like."

He was Mandalorian? He was wearing the wrong armor. You gave him a look down before bucking, continuing to thrash to no avail. Nothing ever happened on this planet. Why the one time something really good happened it was followed by the freaking Empire? 

"Stop," the trooper ordered, but you didn't, you just kept flopping around like a fish hoping he'd drop you. "Stop!" He slapped you so hard that you felt it in zip all the way down to your toes. Now you stopped, ears ringing and eyes unfocused as stars danced in front of your vision. "There. That's a good girl. Now tell me where the Mandalorian is and I'll be a little nicer next time." Good girl? No, he hadn’t done anything to deserve calling you that.

You gave him a contemptuous glare after your vision stopped spinning, still rather pitiful coming from you. He was waiting for an answer. So you cursed at him in Jawaese, deserving of another earth rending slap. 

"You've seen him. Where. Is. He?" he drew his blaster and pointed it at you, cold metal meeting your tender throat. "I thought people were hospitable on this planet. You've been nothing but a hassle. The Mandalorian's not worthy dying over. Just tell us where he is and we'll let you go."

Maybe the Jawas hadn't taken your tip-yips. How many days had the Imps been here? You glanced around, jaw stinging and weary from your fight. You were still off your feet like a petulant loth-cat being held by its scruff. The other troopers were milling around, kicking over supplies, they'd pushed 6PO to the ground and it couldn't get up, legs flailing, cricking quietly as it couldn't speak to ask for help. Jumbles wasn't around, which didn't make any sense. Jumbles was always around. Jumbles was-- and then you saw him. Over by the barn door where you stored your speeder bikes, his legs sticking out from the door. 

"Jumbles?" But you knew he wasn't going to get up. You knew you weren't going to see his stupid drooling face. You could feel the lack of lifeforce from him. They weren't going to let you go. No, one of the stormtroopers was pouring fuel all over the tip-yip coop, another was pilfering through your greenhouse. "Jumbles?!" You were more hysteric this time, blinking tears as you began crying over the massiff. 

The death trooper glanced in the direction of the barn. "Oh that?" he tilted his blaster away to laugh. "That thing was your pet? Thought only Tuskens kept them. Learn something new everyday. So, what's it gonna be, dala?"

[authoressofdarkness]

Guide Me Safely To Shore (Chapter 2)

A hostage, then. Not how he’d expected this game to be played, exactly. He always thought he’d just be killed, although that was before what happened on the roof, however long ago it was. Before…. no. He scrambles to untangle his hand from the blankets covering him, rolling up the too-long sleeve draping his arm and staring at the word that now looked to be inked in black on his wrist.

Notes: Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this! 

Part 1 here. 

Peter is having a terrible dream. 

It starts off well. He’s flying -- or, well, as close as he comes to it, swinging through the streets of Queens. The adrenaline is pumping, strong and steady, through his veins, fresh out of a fight with the latest jerk he’d come across. It’s exhilarating… at least it is until the web he’s swinging by snaps, and the ground surges up to meet him. 

He’s sure he doesn’t land on his head, though the fall is a blur, but somehow when he comes to, it’s his neck that hurts. It doesn’t add up… until he realizes exactly what was wrong with his dream, and the memories come surging back as his eyes fly open. 

He gasps awake and shoots bolt upright in the bed, adrenaline still flowing just as quick and powerful as he remembered it being in his dream. The memories slam into him, hard and fast: patrol, his spider sense telling him that someone was coming, parking himself on a nearby roof, the most neutral spot he could get to on short notice, and waiting until the Iron Man showed up behind him. 

Iron Man. Also known as Tony Stark. A man who pretended to be a hero, and used his power to take over the city -- probably planning on the world, if he gets the chance. 

Peter knows he alone isn’t powerful enough to stop him. A little orphan boy from Queens who just happened to get some freaky powers by random chance on a school field trip gone wrong? No. Not likely, not against the sheer mass of technology and genius that is Tony Stark. It’s been a few years, now; long enough he’s about got the hang of them, but it still wouldn’t be enough. He just hopes by doing what he can, he continues to keep him from becoming too much more powerful, until someone can finally take him out or make the masses see sense. Maybe if he gets him to respond in some particularly crazy way, it’ll get through to someone with the power to interfere. 

It hasn’t worked yet, but maybe it’d get there, eventually. 

Perhaps. But now, it just looks like he’s done enough to just piss him off and make him come after him for real. Which he’d honestly expected, eventually, though he’d never dreamed it would go like this. That it would lead to him not dead, but waking up in a hospital bed in an unfamiliar place that he could only assume was owned by none other than Tony Stark himself. 

A hostage, then. Not how he’d expected this game to be played, exactly. He always thought he’d just be killed, although that was before what happened on the roof, however long ago it was. 

Before…. no. 

He scrambles to untangle his hand from the blankets covering him, rolling up the too-long sleeve draping his arm and staring at the word that now looked to be inked in black on his wrist. 

Peter. 

His soulword. Only a single word, and simple. It's his own name — something he’d been forced to deal with and hear every day his entire life. Every new person he introduced himself to, he had to brace himself for the possible impact of his life being changed forever if they only repeated his name back to him in just the right way. 

He’d been terrified about finding his soulmate his entire life, but in a mostly good, excited way. He’d never imagined it would be like this.

He’s still staring at it, heart thumping wildly, when a voice chimes from in front of him.

“It’s not going to change because you stopped staring at it, you know.”

Peter jumps, unable to help himself, head snapping up at the voice. He’d been so engrossed in his staring that he’d completely tuned out his surroundings. He hadn’t even heard Stark come in. That, and, you know. Maybe some instinctual fear played a part in it. He’d only been running from and pestering him for years, and he always knew that he was dangerous. He can’t help the fact that he instinctively goes into fight or flight mode at the mere sight or sound of him. The adrenaline that was just starting to fade comes rushing back.

Stark must be able to see it, because he puts his hands up in what’s probably supposed to be a placating gesture, except it only makes Peter flinch. The classic “I surrender, I’m unarmed,” sign, except it’s not reassuring on Stark. Not when Peter knows that his second best weapons are his hands, and that he could call his suit to form around them at any time and take him out before he could blink. 

Perceptive as he is, he sees that, too, and he lets out a little sigh before dropping his hands. “I know how this looks, but it’s not whatever you’re thinking hard enough about to scare yourself with. I’m not going to hurt you, Peter-“

At his name, Peter jolts a little, eyes traveling back to his wrist. Stark stops, frowning a little. “What?”

“It… tingled,” Peter murmurs, eyes wide, and blushing slightly at his own reaction, unable to help himself. 

Stark raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. “Your soulword?” He moves to step toward him, then hesitates, seeming to think better of it. “I… may I see it?” 

In another circumstance, it might be funny, the way he so obviously had to stop himself from just doing it without asking, the real concentration the words seem to take. He’s tempted to say no, not only to see the reaction but because he genuinely doesn’t want Tony Stark that close to him. And yet… when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, and he finds himself nodding instead, extending his arm as if to let him see but still keep him as far away as possible.

Stark paces towards him, slowly, and Peter has the fleeting thought that the slow, controlled movements are probably supposed to be reassuring, but instead it just makes him look more predatory than he even normally does, like he’s stalking him like a wounded animal he’s preparing to attack instead of soothe, movements deceptively slow and gentle until the claws sink in. 

He braces himself as if for a strike when he reaches out to grab his wrist, and still jumps a little when he feels the fingers close around it. Stark is quite obviously not wearing the suit -- he’s been in just sweatpants and a tee shirt since he came in, with no signs of calling it to him -- yet he still half-expected the cool feeling of its metal against his skin. He doesn’t expect the warmth of Stark’s finger’s, long and calloused, wrapping around his wrist and cradling it with all the gentleness of a lover and none of the strength that he can feel and just knows is lurking beneath the surface. 

He certainly doesn’t expect it to be soothing, or to enjoy the way, for a split second, his skin tingles again under his touch. His fingers brush just lightly over the word on his wrist, and he inhales sharply at the feeling. 

That’s his second mistake. Their suits are made to contain their scents, meaning that breath is the first time he catches a whiff of Stark’s scent, and fuck -- it’s heady. He gets the scent of motor oil and grease first, which almost throws him for a second, but then it’s followed by something metallic, ashy, and something musky that he can’t put a finger on, something distinctly just Tony and alpha and-

He’s started to lean forward unconsciously, getting close enough that Stark looks up, brow furrowed, and the thoughtful expression on his face is replaced with surprise as he blinks at how close their faces are. “Peter?” 

His voice, so often associated with fear and pain, with the word again and the feeling it induces, is enough to get through to him and snap him out of the haze of thoughts and something dangerously close to lust. He jerks his arm back and goes to scramble out of the bed, only making it as far as the closest wall before he meets resistance. His eyes drop to the source of it and fury and fear war in his chest as he spots the little chain disappearing up the inside of his pant leg and trailing back to the leg of the bed. 

Stark heaves a sigh, shoving his hands through his hair. “Peter, please come sit back down.”

Despite the please, the words ring like an order, and he grits his teeth as he fights against every instinct that tells him to obey. “Why? What was the point in putting me on a leash if I’m not allowed to even go to the end of it?”

“You’re not- it’s not like that,” he protests. “I was afraid that you’d try to run before we could have a proper conversation, so yes, I chained you. I’ll make it go away if you just sit back down.” 

Something in his chest physically hurts at the mix of pleading and command in the words. The omega in him aches to listen, to do whatever it takes to please his alpha, even if it’s just as simple as talking. But the stubborn part of him -- and the part that has spent so long resisting that he can’t help fearing the outcome of doing so, of letting his guard down and finding any hint of kindness to be an awful trick -- forces him to hold his ground. 

He was raised with the idea, as most are, that to hurt one’s own soulmate is tantamount to committing the worst kind of crime you could think of, and for most, especially depending on how strong the bond is at that particular point, it was literally as painful as hurting yourself. Only a true monster would consider such a thing, but if there was a time to do it, it was while the link was fresh, before a real bond could set in and form between the two. It would hurt the least, then, in just about every way, and deniability was the most plausible then. 

So, yeah, forgive him for half-expecting something horrible to happen. But this was Tony Stark he was thinking about, that he somehow had ended up bonded to. He’d killed a man who had practically raised him and kept his company from falling into bad hands until he was ready to take over without blinking in pursuit of power. And, while maybe a bit more rightful, some of the details of what he’d done to the terrorists that kidnapped him so long ago could still be found on dark corners of the internet. And to say that some of the things were downright devilish would still be an understatement. If there was ever a man that was monstrous enough to do it, it was Stark.

What would a man like him want with a soulmate, anyway? He probably saw him as a liability. And that wasn’t even considering all the things he’d done to get on his nerves since becoming Spider-Man. He had to hate him. He couldn’t possibly want him as a soulmate. They were enemies! He certainly wasn’t what Peter was hoping for. Even if he is strong enough that Peter wouldn’t ever have to worry about hurting him… and smart enough that he could actually learn something from him… and he smells sooo good-

“Peter.”

He snaps back to reality. He’d obviously zoned out for a minute, but he doesn’t even acknowledge it, the possibility of Stark having said more that he didn’t hear, in favor of just shaking his head and continuing on like it didn’t happen. “I think I’ll stay right here. What did you do with my suit, Stark?”

The alpha stares at him for a moment, lips pressed together in a thin line, mind obviously working in high gear. “Safe,” he says simply. “You needed medical attention, and your identity should stay as secret as possible, so I changed you before I brought you here. It should be cleaned, by now, and put safely away until you’re ready for it again.”

He doesn’t allow himself to think through the full implications of that statement, not right now. All he knows right now is that he needs to get out of here before something bad happens, and on the off chance he can convince Stark of that, he needs to try. “Well, I’m ready for it now. I’d like to leave right now, actually.” 

Stark frowns at him. “I would much prefer if you would at least stay in the hospital wing overnight. You hit your head pretty hard-”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter interrupts, shortly. You hit my head ‘pretty hard’ off a brick wall, Stark. Not me. Just say it. Not that he’s even concussed, he’s sure. Not with his stellar healing abilities and the fact that that clearly wasn’t what Stark had been trying to do. He’s got a ring of bruises around his throat to prove that much. “Stop making excuses. Are you going to keep me here or not?”

Bold words, especially in these circumstances. They might seem bolder if his voice wasn’t trembling so much. Because of course it was. His strength is deserting him just when he needs it most. 

Of course he’s scared. He’s terrified. But he has to know. He doesn’t particularly want to -- doesn’t want to know if this is where Stark finally kills him, or if he’s playing the long game and keeping him prisoner. And what’s worse is that there isn’t anything he can do about it. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now, really. Their soulmarks match. Stark as good as owns him now. Legally, even if it wasn’t someone as untouchable as Tony Stark, there’s nothing anyone could do for him. And God knows Peter wouldn’t be strong enough to kill his own soulmate, even if he thought he could win that fight. And he knows he can’t. Again, he’s got the necklace of bruises to prove it. 

Stark lets out a long breath, contemplating him for a moment, something unreadable clearly at work behind his dark eyes. Then he waves his hand, and to Peter’s surprise, the chain around his ankle melts away. “Go, then, if you want to,” he says at last. “I won’t stop you. But when you need me, you know where to find me.” He stands, just like that, and heads towards the door. 

Peter stares after him, hardly able to believe it. This had to be a trick… right? “What about my suit?” he prods, taking a cautious step forward. 

“It’ll be waiting for you at home.” He opens the door. “If you’re not too stubborn, one of my drivers will take you home. Or just take the subway, if you insist. The elevator is down the hall, to the left.” And with that, he leaves, closing the door behind him and leaving Peter staring after him in shock. 

He waits a long few minutes before daring to try and follow. Then, he walks over to the door, trying it. It opens easily. 

He shuts it again. He still doesn’t trust that it’s not a trap. 

He goes over to the window instead. He still has enough fluid in his webshooters to get home. And there’s no point in worrying about swinging out of the suit, now. As long as he stays high enough in the air, there’s no way anyone can recognize him. And the person who controls all the cameras already knows his identity, now. 

He casts one last look at the door Stark disappeared through. Some part of him aches to follow, but he restrains himself. He’d probably just get himself lost; this tower is massive. Besides, if he goes after him, their next encounter might not be so lucky. 

He knows this isn’t over, but he isn’t ready for the next part just yet. So he does the only thing he can do. 

He turns back to the window, and jumps. 

~~~

Tony slides down the wall beside the door as soon as it closes behind him.

God, that was so bad. It didn’t go as badly as he’d pictured and yet it had still managed to go horribly wrong.

At least there hadn’t been any screaming. Or crying. Or begging. God, if he’s started begging again, he doesn’t know what he would have done. Though it was kind of touch and go there at the end. 

The kid is just so… scared. He felt like he was walking on eggshells the whole time, and he still managed to terrify him. 

He hadn’t expected anything less, but it’s still so frustrating. 

Legally, he could have made him stay. He knows that. But he also knew that that wasn’t going to get them anywhere. It would just make Peter feel like a prisoner.

They’re already off to a pretty terrible start, but if there’s any way to make things worse, that would be it. So he let him go, even if it hurt something deep inside him. 

He just has to wait for Peter to come back to him. He has to have time to reflect on things and decide that he wants him on his own. That he’s willing to at least try to hold a conversation with him not full of accusations and tangible tension and fear. There’s nothing Tony can do to force that, no matter how much he might want to try. 

Give him a little bit of time at home. To go back to his aunt, his life, and put things in perspective. The bond would do the rest. It’s already calling out to Tony, and he has more self-control than almost anyone he’s ever met. He can’t imagine what it will feel like for Peter. 

He just has to exercise that self control for the next few days. He’s almost sure he can. 

Almost. 

Besides, he has a lot more ways to soothe his raggedy nerves and obsession than Peter will. Things to do, people to kill, and really, a lot more access to Peter’s life than Peter has to his. He’ll just keep an eye on him from afar and make sure he’s safe and sound until Peter is ready to come back to him on his own. 

Surely it can’t be more than a few days… right?