#Rawke Smut

[theluckywizard]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you @melisusthewee and @nirikeehan for the tags!

I've been writing a bunnnnch since I got back from vacation and have been working on a Hawke and Rose smut scene on Giant's Staircase in the Western Approach for an academic-style smut writing exercise. It will feature in my long fic In the Shattering of Things down the line at some point! "With this caution and exhortation in mind, write a sex scene for a story in which you know your fictional characters well. Objective: To gain access to this rich material indirectly so that this experience often considered universal can feel singular, as though come to be for the first time in history." As with all smuts, I believe the set up is just as important as the business. So here is some set up! CW: spicy but probably mostly SFW

“Cats again, is it?” asks Dorian, smirking at us both. “A proper hunt. I spotted a half dozen at least. It’ll take all night,” says Hawke. I slip my arms around his waist without hesitation and Dorian salutes us both. We stroll lazily toward Hawke’s chosen destination, my insides humming with the intensity of my delight as his lips meet my hair, inhaling deeply. “Always upping the ante, aren’t you?” I remark, my eyes sweeping up the ruins. I can see the orange dance of firelight on the sandstone blocks above. He promised to find us a place we could wrap up in each other’s arms all night. At least we’ll have the high ground. “I challenge you to find a better place to canoodle than this,” he says, handing me up. We scramble up the crumbling structure which time has miraculously stabilized, hanging on to each other for balance. The tower top glows from the light of a small brazier he brought up, blankets laid out across the stones. To my left I regard a humanoid skeleton that Hawke has clearly sat up against the parapet wall, a dusty bottle inside its bony clutches and a desiccated, ages old wheel of cheese by its side. I turn to Hawke slowly, eyebrows raised high and his fingers tap over his cursed grin the way it always does when he’s desperately trying to contain gleeful laughter. “He was like this when I got here, I swear.” “I don’t know how you’ll ever plan to top this one,” I remark. “And the pile of varghest carcasses was pretty outrageous.” “Mm. Sounds like a dare. And you know I can never pass up a dare.” From up here we have a clear view of the camp below, far enough away that I assume they can’t hear every detail of our conversation, but if they looked up, they would know that something was afoot on top of the tower. Hawke claims my hand as I continue to survey the scene and draws me close with a sudden tug, knowing full well the effect of that little acceleration, my insides molten with anticipation. I assert myself though, aware of how I could passively ride his passion to several climaxes. I cradle his face in my hands, at least to prove I’m not resigning myself to another night with him, surrendering to his persistence the way I had for months. His chin and jaw are freshly shaved and his cropped locks fall over his forehead, too short to be tucked behind his ear the way they used to be. I run a finger over his handsome brow and then down to his soft lips which part on a wisp of a sigh. The intensity of his look dissolves into a vulnerable entreaty for more of me, the same look he’s given me since before that time in the tower when he’d first unlocked me. We meet in a feverish embrace, our kisses having greater urgency now like they’re somehow more fleeting in spite of being less so than ever. Something to desperately cling to while bashing our way through impossible danger. “You must have something planned,” I say, kicking off my sandals and standing on his big feet. “Aside from ‘make my beautiful lover come several times’? Not really,” he says, his fingers grazing over the hardened peaks of my breasts, my stay joyfully abandoned back at camp. “A bit ambitious. What if I want to turn your knees to jelly for a change?” I ask, my head dropped all the way back to gaze up at him with a grin. His brow lifts high, his smile slightly agape, his chest heaving on the deep, amorous breaths he draws. “Anything you want.” “Anything? What if I’m secretly some sort of depraved monster?” he says, bending for another kiss. “Well, I can always say no,” I remind him, pressing a brazen hand over his hardening length. “Oral. In a sailboat. With a squid and a sweetroll.” “Tempting, but no.” “Like a dog. Covered in honey, wearing our helmets.” “You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?” I say, poking him gently in the belly. He shrinks back slightly, his hands leaping up protectively. “Lie down.”

Tagging in case they have WIPS to share! @crackinglamb, @rakshadow, @about2dance, @warpedlegacy, @monocytogenes, @rowanisawriter, @skyeventide AND YOU

[elrondsimp]

About me and rules

Hi everyone! I can’t believe I haven’t made any of these yet but I’m Marlo and I finally have some set rules for this account. Also if anyone knows how to make a master list I’ll be so happy if you can tell me!

Rules

No incest

No Character X Character

I don’t Write for OC’s

I will allow smut but I’m like terrible at it (I think.)

Nothing to gory but I will write trauma if requested

No Rape, non con, or Dub con

No child X Adult unless it’s platonic

I try to write ambiguous reader but if you want a certain characteristic (like Afros, dark skin, scars, body size) you can request it

This might contradict what I just said but most of the time the reader is Plus size even though it isn’t said explicitly.

I cannot write in other languages but I will google translate or if you want to read it in said language

Thats it for now but I might add more later!

[djarinsbeskar]

PAMARTHE ARC 3: HIREACH (HIGH-RAWK)

A/N: It has been a hot minute. I've been so busy with life and writing my novel that before I knew it, seven months have passed since I last updated my beloved story. I've felt the absence greatly. Through the difficulties in writing a manuscript, editing and the general breakdowns that go with it, I've longed to return to the story where my entire heart and soul lives. A terrible bout of writers block was only cured by returning to Stitches, and I cannot tell you how happy I am to be back. I can't promise updates will be as regular as they once were given my commitments to publishing, but I want to assure you all, this story is not abandoned. It never will be.

NOTE! If you'd like to keep up to date on the publication of A Sensual Summoning, you can follow me on tiktok @racheljroman, all my links are there -3-

Word Count: 13k.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warings: Mentions of smut, general adult conversation, nothing too graphic for once. Mainly lore and world-building as I enjoyed playing in my sandbox for a while lmao.

Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Companion Guides

“We’ve slept in smaller.”

Din Djarin was not an optimist.

The fact he was trying to be one now told you just how dire the situation really was. Either that, or he needed to check the vision technology in his helmet if he thought for even a second you’d both be able to fit in your childhood bed.

Night had well and truly fallen by the time Din carried you back from Buck’s Cove, and lethargy from the day’s activities brought home the fact that you hadn’t decided where to sleep yet.

The first logical answer was your old room. That was safe, expected. You should’ve known it wouldn’t work when Din made the room shrink by simply stepping through the door. He paced the area curiously, evidently trying not to snoop beyond anything that was already visible, which wasn’t much.

Airy tones with dark blue accents lined the metal inlays of furniture. The built-in shelves taking up half your wall space were crammed full of datapads, ranging from medical journals and behemoth anatomy texts, to the passing interests you had over the years that demanded research to satiate your ever growing curiosity.

Your small desk space sat beside the shelves, unassuming and modest for the alter it once represented. Studying to get into a highly competitive medical program as a teenager and then later, to relearn medicine through the lens of combat and triage before joining the Rebellion. So much had come from the time you spent hunched over that desk.

 You watched Din’s gloved fingers trace over the surface of it now, pausing in his movement. Your heart seized, forgetting your current predicament, and you wondered briefly if he recognized the significance of the desk too.

What did he have to compare it to, you wondered. A training ring where he built his strength and stamina in order to bear the weight of his beskar? An armorers anvil that crafted the weapons of his Creed? How curious it was that both your life training – in medicine and weaponry alike – brought you to the same place. A battlefield.

Dropping your gaze back to the bed in question, you allowed him to continue his silent perusal in peace.

This bed was made for one person, namely; a child. It was fine when you were growing up, even as a young adult because it was just you. But throwing in a warrior like Din? He was big in every sense of the word, from his towering height to the breadth of his wide shoulders. You couldn’t even be sure the bed was long enough for a man like him. There was simply no way he’d fit.

“There’s always the floor,” he suggested gruffly upon returning to your side.

Though it was Din that said it, he didn’t sound overly enthusiastic at the idea of you sleeping on the ground. Not after what had just happened on the beach between you.

His hand, possessive and heavy, settled low on your towel-covered back. His heat bled into you immediately, your skin flushed from more than just the shower you’d both shared. His…affection in the aftermath of your release wasn’t new, but Stars, it felt different.

Maybe it was because you’d let him fuck your ass for the first time. It was still tender, a little achy but oh so satisfying when it jolted you with a phantom throb of how big he’d felt inside you.

The warrior had been stubborn, bundling you up in his arms to carry you back up those steep steps to the house. He’d carefully washed your skin of abrasive sand under the hot spray of the shower. Reverently. Working his way over every part of your body with unhurried strokes and heated kisses to your mouth and jaw as he did so. His hands never felt so soft as when they massaged soap into your tangled hair, rinsing it meticulously despite having no vision with the lights off.

It felt sacred. Purposeful. Like every action was another promise spoken in touch instead of words.

You’d never known the human body to be divine before then. A miracle, yes, but never divine. You’d seen people survive horrific accidents, overcome terrible injuries and recover from illnesses that had ravaged their immune systems and organs. But years spent weighing, measuring and observing every bodily component infinite times over removed any sense of mystery from it, and mystery – at least in your mind – was the essence of divinity.

But in that shower, as the Mandalorian worshipped every inch of you in the wake of your trust in letting him fuck you where no man had before, you realized everything you knew was superficial. A dimly lit corner of a shadowed room you had no idea was so huge. It was terrifying and exhilarating and not unlike being in love, now that you thought about it.

He’d left your heart squishy and soft without even realizing it. That might explain why you weren’t content to sleep on the floor the way you had been for the last year. You didn’t want that here. You wanted something…new for him to experience, something better. You wanted him to feel the way you had in that shower, even if it was only in the form of a soft mattress.

“No,” you said eventually, “come with me.”

Adjusting your towel to tuck the corner over your cleavage more securely, you dropped the other to wrap around his larger hand. He grunted, letting you lead him out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the back of the house. His pace slowed when he realized where you were bringing him.

“That room…?”

“…Has a bed big enough for the two of us,” you finished for him, recognizing his reluctance.

It wouldn’t have been hard for him to piece together that it was your parents room when he cleared the house earlier in the day. Whether his reluctance was out of respect for them – Llyrian rest their souls – or worry for the effect it might have on you, the sentiment was well meaning. But if you continued to skirt around the borders of your old life, refusing to enter it and tiptoeing over landmines of your own creation, your time here would be miserable.

This was your house, however uncomfortable the thought still made you. The master bedroom was where you wanted to sleep with your warrior. Not on the floor, or on a cramped single bed.

“I promise the mattress will be worth it,” you tempted him with a small smile and a squeeze to his hand.

Din cocked is head silently, his arm stretched between you where you stood a few steps ahead of him. His larger grip swallowed the size of your hand and with a long inhale, he relented, jerking his chin up for you to continue on.

With the shutters still closed across the wall of transparisteel overlooking the sea, the room became cozier under the golden glow of the light you flicked on. The bed, sitting in the center of the room, had been stripped of any linens, but the preservation shield had guarded the mattress and pillows well. You were nearly certain your mother kept an extra comforter in the trunk at the end of the bed for colder nights.

Maker, you hadn’t been in here for what felt like an eternity, since the day you left for the Rebellion. How tightly you’d hugged your mother as you both sat at the end of the bed, trying to stop the tears from falling when you felt hers stain your shoulder.

A small lump formed in the back of your throat at the memory, long buried and painful from how neglected it was. But you were tired, and the impact of the memory was less severe than it probably would’ve been had you come in here hours before. Thank Llyrian for small mercies.

Unlike in your bedroom, Din didn’t stray from where he stood. He waited and watched as the mist in your eyes warmed with lucidity when you shoved the memory away and walked around the edge of the bed to check the trunk for a blanket. Aha! You knew it. Thick and insulating, the maroon comforter was technically for winter, but it was better than nothing.

You tossed it one-handed onto the bed, the other still holding your towel. It was a miserable throw, the blanket a little heavier than you were expecting, so half of it ended up falling off the edge pitifully.

“Should I add hoverball to the list of things you’re bad at?” Din deadpanned, lightening the moon with his dry wit instantly.

You laughed sarcastically and you could hear the smile in the snort he released when he bent down to gather the comforter and toss it back up onto the bed. He stalled momentarily when he did, crouching down to get a better look at whatever caught his attention.

“What are these carvings?” he asked, glancing up when you made your way around to him.

Like the dining table your father had painstakingly sculpted for your mother when they got married, the bed carried his mark too. Void of external attributes of clan life, there were no leaping stags or regal lions to be found. Instead, fluid lines with minimal – yet deliberate – patterns followed the length of the base up to an untouched headboard of solid white wood.

“These are Llyrian’s waves,” you pointed out the sharper, stronger lines and then to the softer swells that intersected the waves, “and these are the winds of Amhra. Pamarthen deities.” You tagged on for Din’s benefit to a grunt of understanding from the Mandalorian.

The bed was for a couple. The wind and waves symbolic of Llyrian and Amhra’s eternal love brought to life. You convinced yourself it didn’t mean anything because Din wasn’t a part of the culture, the significance was null and void…right?

“There’s a lot of skill in the craftsmanship,” he hummed, “metal this dense is hard to work with.”

Pride bloomed in your chest at the comment, a smile spreading on your lips unwittingly. You nodded in agreement.

“My father was very skilled when it came to metalwork,” you told him, a hint of shyness you hadn’t been expecting to feel blossoming in your tone.

Din stood back to his full height, immediately dwarfing you with how close he was.

“Something tells me your father wouldn’t be happy about this,” he rumbled, his arm folding around your waist intimately, the towel loosening dangerously at being disturbed.

“Why do you say that?” you asked quietly, coy as he took a half-step closer. Even with all the space this new room afforded you, he still chose to be as close to you as if you were both still crammed in the Razor Crest.

You didn’t drop your gaze from his visor at the brush of his leather-clad fingers across the top of your towel. You held his hidden eyes when the tips of his fingers dipped behind where you’d tucked the soft material at your cleavage. He didn’t answer you, the impassivity of his helmet not concealing the smirk you knew lurked behind it. You could practically taste it curling against your lips the way you had so many times as he pulled whimpers and moans from you effortlessly.

Hooking his finger into the pylweave cotton, your towel fell down your body to pool at your feet and you stood bare before him once again. Freshly showered and still glowing from your release not long ago, your stomach clenched as you watched him watch you.

His head tipped to the side and you could feel the moment his eyes broke contact with yours to drop down your face and neck. Over your breasts where tight nipples peaked under his gaze. Across your stomach and the hips he loved to grab whether he was fucking you or not. Down between your thighs that shifted and squeezed together subconsciously at the intoxicating…exhibitionism of being perceived so fully, so hungrily by this man.

Din took his time, drinking his fill of your body in the light before he reached back a hand to plunge the bedroom back into darkness. Sight was one thing, but it could never surpass the ecstasy of taste for a man who spent so much of his life deprived of it.

The heavy clunk of his helmet on the bedside table set your heart racing before he dropped his mouth to your ear hotly, “Does any father like the man who defiles his daughter?” he whispered, his facial hair rasping over your sensitive skin and making you shiver pleasantly.

His hands fell to your hips then, turning you with him so that when he sat back on the bed, you could straddle him.

“Do you defile me, Din Djarin?” you sighed, his mouth finding the line of your clavicle to kiss and lick slowly.

“Every fucking day, kitten…” he growled into your skin, his words muffled from his reluctance to part from where he was sucking a nice new mark into your collarbone, “and when I’m asleep, I defile you in my dreams too.”

His answer had your stomach flipping, the savagery of the word turning you on far more than you anticipated it could. There was a sense of taboo around it, that you shouldn’t want it the way you did. But you wanted him to ruin you, you wanted to be fucked and filled and stained until you were fit for no one else but him. You wondered how long it’d take for his hand to find its way between your legs to see just how wet it had made you.

“In your dreams too?” you whispered, eyes rolling closed at the thought while Din lost himself in your scent and taste.

“Mhm… The things I do to you…the things I want to do to you,” he muttered, pausing on a groan when your fingers found their way into his hair, still wet from the shower.

When his lips dropped to wrap around one of your nipples, your head fell back on a gasp, pushing your breasts further into his face.

“You can,” you heard yourself exhale, dragging your nails down to the back of his neck, “you can do all of it.”

Whatever he read in your words stalled him, his muscles tensing with a hum of raw power. Releasing your nipple, he lifted his head to crash his lips to yours, dominating your mouth with an aggressive desperation that left you breathless. Or maybe that was just his tongue that plundered your mouth. Either way, you were dizzy and panting by the time he flipped you onto the mattress to settle between your legs.

“One day, kitten…one day.”

You woke up a few hours later, disoriented by the lack of engine noises and generators you were accustomed to on the Razor Crest. Din’s armored chest to your back, his steady breathing and the weight of his arm draped over your waist told you the warrior hadn’t sensed the same clatter that dragged you from sleep.

Maybe it was the bed that was too soft in comparison to the floor of the ship. Perhaps it was because you weren’t used to the roar of waves crashing against the cliffs anymore. Or maybe, it was instinct that compelled you to extract yourself from the warmth of Din’s hold in the middle of the night.

The comforter fell to your waist when you sat up, exposing your nudity and the sudden change in temperature tempted you to snuggle back into Din’s arms. He had opted to keep his armor on while he slept, at least for tonight. A planet was far more dangerous to his anonymity than hyperspace and you could appreciate it would take him time to understand you wouldn’t be disturbed this far north.

A shiver wracked you when your bare feet met the cool floor. Unlike the frigidity of space, a coastal night chill was more damp than it was cold. It could seep into skin and the cracks of buildings and while not nearly as cold as space or Maldo Kreis, it could cheat the mind into believing it was for a split second.

You reached blindly for the bag you packed, pulling one of the shirts you pilfered from Din out to wear under your short cape on the way to the door. Your bleary, sleep-laden mind was still trying to convince you to go back to bed though, providing erotic images of you crawling back up Din’s body, removing his helmet to kiss his…

A blank space fractured the realism of the dream and you refocused on the door.

No.

The solid wall of reluctance that rose in your mind startled you with its force, and your hand froze on the button. Pressing it open anyway, the hiss of the door sliding open sounded much too loud, but a quick check over your shoulder showed Din on his back, helmet turned towards where you’d been sleeping.

Padding down the hallway in an uncanny caricature of your past life, you came up to what was once Rhydian’s room with an unfounded trepidation that grew and grew and grew the longer you stood there.

Heart hammering, your consciousness returned with greater clarity as worry eclipsed fatigue. Fear of something dark and malicious waiting just on the other side of the door. It was an illogical instinct that demanded you check on the little bogwing for…some reason. For your own peace of mind, at least. But now that you were here, you were afraid.

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. Was this how irrational all mothers felt when it came to their children?

You shook the thought out of your mind, sliding the door open into a darkness that unnerved you. None of the shutters had been opened yet, for both Din’s sake and for the added protection fortified durasteel gave when children were quite literally being stolen from their beds.

A stone sank in the pit of your stomach, nausea surfacing when the source of your worry revealed itself. You hadn’t even considered the danger you’d be inadvertently placing the child in by coming here. Admittedly, he was in constant danger from the imps who sought the power he possessed, but that wasn’t the point.

How could you be so…thoughtless?

You’d been so wrapped up in coming home yourself, that you hadn’t properly weighed the possible effect it might have on the little alien you loved more than anything.

Your eyes strained frantically in the darkness, picking out the small form at the top of Rhydian’s bed. Your shoulders sagged with a gust of relief. He was still there – of course he was – he was okay. Even with the worst of your concern abated, you walked over to sit at the side of the bed. You didn’t want to leave him just yet, the tension in your body still needing time to dissipate fully before you could even think about sleeping again.

He usually wasn’t so far away, even though he was just down the hall.

You stroked over the base of the ear sticking out from under the blankets, his other ear folded under his cheek while little snores left him. Completely zonked. After a while, weariness began to creep back up on you as the adrenaline subsided, your limbs heavy. It would be dawn soon, a new day with more unknowns lurking around familiar corners.

It wasn’t even a thought before you were laying down on the pillow beside the little bogwing, the faint scent of stale, mixed cologne squeezing your heart as you gently adjusted the child. He squalled quietly at being disturbed, half-conscious before he snuggled back to sleep against your chest and your heart settled.

Just an hour, that’s all you needed. Just an hour, then you could go back to your own bed.

It wasn’t an hour. It wasn’t even two.

Indeed, it was the sound of the ocean that pulled Din to consciousness hours later rather than you moving in your sleep. Filaments of his dream mingled with the noise, merging with the mythosaurs roar and confusing the warrior to whether he was awake yet or not.

All his muscles felt…loose. Achy. It was likely down to the fact he’d slept in his armor for the first time in ages, but the soft, firm mattress beneath him suggested otherwise. A comfortable bed highlighted aches a less forgiving surface – namely the floor – masked with its hardness. On the one hand, he was disconcerted by the comfort, but on the other hand, his muscles never felt so relaxed.

That was until he noticed you weren’t there.

At first, Din guessed it was because the bed was so big. In the Razor Crest, there was very little wiggle room for either of you on the single sleep mat you used. The bed you’d slept in last night was made for couples. Big enough for a man his size to fully enjoy his woman – in every position – without being impeded, while also allowing him to hold you close whenever he wanted. With all that extra space, he assumed you’d simply rolled over onto your stomach.

But when a searching hand found only the cold mattress and an empty blanket, he knew you’d been out of bed for longer than a few minutes to use the fresher.

His eyes snapped open, confirming your absence and his fingers curled into the rich maroon comforter he covered you with after slowly working you over the edge and filling you with his seed hours before. Sitting up, he groaned inaudibly under his helmet as his back complained at the change in sleeping arrangements. Part of him thought the mattress too soft, that he’d fall through it and never stop falling. He’d get used to it eventually, he hoped.

Your bag lay open at the side of the bed when he swung his legs over it, rolling his neck and shoulders to shake them out of their squishy state of relaxation. His shirt was missing – of course it was, the little thief – so he knew he wouldn’t find you wandering the house naked, unfortunately.

He had an inclination as to where you were and, after using the fresher himself, decided to go see if he was right.

Before he left the darkened room, he paused at the access button and instead pressed the button beside it. The shutters groaned behind him, from disuse and stiffness, but still parted slowly. They allowed early morning sunlight to pierce the sliver of transparisteel that only grew the farther the shutters opened until Din was standing at the edge of the world.

Taking a moment to appreciate the view, Din approached the transparisteel. On the second floor, the ground and cliffs were hidden. Only the endless stretch of sparkling ocean was visible from here. Back however many thousands of years, when space travel was only a dream and people were confined to the planet they were born on, Din could easily imagine that a sight like this was as awe-inspiring as the cosmos.

No wonder your people revered ocean gods.

Letting the sun soak the bedroom in much needed light and warmth, Din left to go and find you.

His first instinct had been correct, as usual. You were with the child in the room the little womprat had commandeered the day before. The one with all the helmets, distinctly more masculine than your childhood bedroom. A brother? Din didn’t want to ask where he was, knowing it wasn’t likely to be a happy answer.

The image of you both sleeping though, tugged at something low in his stomach. A yearning for a reality like this. Such things were perilous to dwell on, especially for a man like him. A Mandalorian. But he couldn’t deny that something tectonic had shifted in your relationship. Something that made imagining such things, roots and family and connection, so much easier.

It was a change so drastic, yet so silent, that it blindsided the warrior for a moment.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, unwilling to disturb the peaceful scene while mindlessly stroking the back of your calf that was exposed when you turned over onto your side. The muffled sensation of leather on your warm skin made him want to remove his glove altogether to feel that silky softness skin to skin, but in that moment, you stirred.

Yawning deeply – Maker, you must’ve been tired – you stretched with a feline arch, your arms over your head and a sound so candidly seductive, Din had to yank the chain on his resolve tighter.

Horny fucker, he mentally chastised himself. The kid was here. Not in his hover-pram, but quite literally sleeping in the bed with you. He couldn’t be giving into base desires just because his sex drive didn’t know when to quit whenever he was around you.

“Morning, kitten,” he rasped instead, noting the bleary smile of a woman not yet fully awake on your lips. One without the burdens you carried every day. Innocent. The vision was only solidified further by the content little noise you made in response, dropping your hand to his thigh plate.

“Mm, hey,” you sighed, voice deliciously thick from sleep, “sorry, I had to check on him last night…must’ve fallen back asleep.”

He wasn’t surprised.

Your bond with the kid was strong, as deep as any blood connection someone could have with a child. The simple fact of the child sleeping in a different room compared to the Razor Crest would be an adjustment for you both.

“It was a long day,” he agreed, squeezing the back of your thigh as his hand roamed back down behind your knee.

Groaning, you stretched again, disturbing the green alien beside you who grizzled awake.

“It’s gonna be a long one today too, I feel.”

You sat up, Din’s eyes drawn helplessly down to the way your stomach crunched easily beneath his shirt. Another intrusive thought, of how your stomach might look swollen and round, rose in his mind. Eyes heavy, he was far slower in banishing that thought away than the others when he lifted a hand to brush away errant strands of hair from your face.

“The Commander said your alor wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, right?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, your attention more happily preoccupied with greeting the child as you picked him up to kiss the top of his head and let him wrap a clawed hand in the length of your hair, “gives us time to do a little digging ourselves, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t fault your logic.

Din didn’t know how politics on Pamarthe worked, but your alor seemed powerful and would likely be taking charge of any and all attempts to find the children. Your parallel investigation of Jedi activity would have to work around that stalwart force.

You let the child down so he could crawl haphazardly over to him, scaling the height of his thigh to gurgle happily at the stoic warrior.

“Morning, kid,” he stroked over one wrinkly ear while he half-listened to your stream of consciousness.

Your mind truly was an incredible thing. Having just woken up, he could practically hear the gears starting up and whirring to life, running until they were at maximum capacity as you plotted and planned how to make the most of the day. All the while sat cross-legged on the bed in an oversized shirt and your hair a mess from his hands.

You never looked more beautiful.

“No.”

You rolled your eyes in exasperation at Din’s blunt response.

He was sat at the dining table, back to the wall with his blaster parts laid out in front of him. He was – needlessly in your opinion – cleaning his weapons. Again. You didn’t think there was another blaster in the entire galaxy in more pristine condition, than Din Djarin’s. Even during your Rebellion years, you didn’t think you ever saw a soldier take such care of his weapons. You cleaned your own blaster more than you used to, granted, but it was nothing in comparison to the Mandalorian.

“Good talk,” you huffed, passing him by on the way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

There was the dull sound of him placing the piece he was cleaning back on the table. Quick as a serpent, his arm banded around your waist from behind to pull you back onto an armored thigh. You yelped, surprised by his speed and the strength of that forearm that kept you a willing prisoner against his hard chest.

“Okay, wait.”

His words rumbled through you, vibrating from beneath his chest plate and down your spine like perfectly polished river rocks caught in the current, “Ask me again.”

You really tried not to be charmed by his attempt to be more communicative. You really did. But he was trying, and that softened the edges of your impatience to nothing more than a fiore bun; round and squishy.

You puffed an exhale, your hand dropping to his forearm instinctively to keep it there.

“I think we’d get more done today if we split up,” you repeated the statement that initially had him refusing before you finished speaking, “you can go bring the Razor Crest to the hanger here, and I can go into town with the kid to pick up supplies we desperately need if we’re going to be staying here.”

Din grunted, his malcontent palpable as his fingers flexed into the soft flesh at your waist.

“There’s no need to split up for that.”

That was better than a no, at least.

“Isn’t there?” you frowned, wriggling within his hold to sit across his lap instead, better able to look into that achingly familiar T-visor, “You can use the jetpack to get to Stag Seaport way quicker by yourself than going the long way around on the speeders. I can do some digging while I’m in town without the spectacle of a Mandalorian distracting every doe that crosses our path from telling me what they know.”

Din’s ears pricked, you could tell by the slightest tilt of his helmet. His hearing was as sharp as his eyesight down the scope of a blaster, you should’ve known he’d pick up on it.

“Oh?”

The word escaped him in a purr. A deep gravel that, to any normal person, would sound like a growl. But that was just Din. Even his purrs were intimidating. You didn’t react, you’d only dig yourself deeper.

“Does, hm.” He hummed, running a wide-palmed hand up from your knee along the side of your thigh casually, “Do I detect a hint of jealousy in my kitten?”

Colour burst across your cheeks, heating them with the immediate mortification of being caught reacting so emotionally to such a harmless statement. You spluttered, rolling your shoulders back with indignant pride even as you sat preening on the lap of a man who could make you beg with the crook of a finger.

“That’s not what I meant,” you sniffed, looking down your nose.

Not entirely, anyway.

You weren’t the jealous type, but you were possessive. Pamarthen women, especially Carria does, were ridiculously attractive. As feminine and ethereal as the woodland creatures they were likened to. Flirting, casual sex, harems…they were all common aspects of Carria culture that might catch an off-worlder, namely a Mandalorian, off guard.

While Din might only be interested in you, his mere presence would set tongues wagging.

He was a warrior. He walked like it was big – it was – commanded a room like he knew what to do with it – he did – and wordlessly made lesser men submit like he could fuck their women better than them.

He could.

He was everything a Carria woman looked for. Stars, he was everything a Macteer woman looked for, and they were notorious for seeking only the strongest attributes in a mate. She-wolves were a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, they needed someone who wouldn’t crumble when they flashed their fangs.

“Mm…even if it was,” Din’s hand stopped at your hip, pulling your attention back fully to him when he lifted it to cup your jaw firmly and forced your eyes to remain helplessly on his visor where he could see the truth, “does are too skittish for me. I like my woman to roar, even if it is only a meow at times.”

How dare your stomach flutter at that.

You swatted his shoulder, nothing in the way of him seeing the fluster on your face with the grip he kept on your jaw. Damnable man. The chuckle he released was as warm as it was filthy. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, exactly what turned you on. Then his hand shifted to the back of your neck in a gesture more gentle – but no less possessive – so he could drop his forehead to yours silently.

Your cheeks still hot from his teasing, you tried to appear stern.

“I do not meow.”

How the comparison Biran made nearly two years ago stuck still boggled your mind. But the affection with which the Mandalorian crooned kitten to you was indescribable in its intimacy. Sometimes, you almost liked the sound of it better than your name, if only because he was the only one who called you it.

“You sure?” he teased, “I’m nearly certain that’s the sound I hear when you’re bossing me around.”

He tightened his hold around you pre-emptively in case you really did live up to your nickname and claw him to shreds. When your jaw fell to the floor, aghast, he couldn’t prevent the laugh from bursting under his helmet at your expression.

“That’s so rude!” you crowed, disbelief at your lovers audacity making the entire thing funnier as a laugh of your own threatened to escape your lips. You pressed them tight together to stop it. You needed to have some dignity.

His foresight had been correct – damn him – and when you squirmed to try and stand with what you considered righteous fury, his arms stopped you from doing much more than wriggling pathetically on his lap.

So much for your dramatic exit.

“Easy, kitten…” Laughter still lacing his tone, the breathy drop of his voice stalled you with its sudden heat, “keep moving like that, and we’ll get nothing done today.”

Oh.

You became aware of the slightly hardening length under you. Both your pussy and ass throbbed with awareness. He’d been inside both the night before on the shores of the sea. Stars, he hadn’t even filled your ass entirely before you came. You could only imagine what it’d be like when you were able to take him fully without restraint.

Your throat suddenly dry, you swallowed. A low growl – one you felt more than heard – rose in Din’s chest. It was like your thoughts were playing in a holovid for him to see, his intuition uncanny.  Maker, you were insatiable these last few days, both of you. Which was saying something. But as much as you wanted him to bend you over the dining table to go for round three, you had work to do.

A sneaky idea rose in your mind then, and you wiggled your ass again experimentally. His grip tightened immediately, a warning snarl rumbling in his chest. Biting down into the pillow of your bottom lip, you dropped your hand deliberately to the front of his flight suit.

Din’s growl of your name was a rare second warning. The last one you would get. Anything after that would be a well-deserved punishment.

“Mmh?” you hummed airily, your fingers tiptoeing lightly over the semi-hard shape of him. Not enough that he’d feel much under the thick duraweave, but enough to tease him the way he’d been tormenting you all morning.

“You know…” you continued seductively, nudging your nose into the carved cheek of his helmet and basking in the shuddering exhale you heard coming from under the lip, “if we split up, we can get back to this much, much quicker…”

“You sly fucking…” Din growled in realization, outmaneuvered  by your strategy. He couldn’t keep the faint hint of pride at the way you’d seamlessly manipulated the situation to get your own way out of his tone, though. What could you say? You weren’t a one-trick-pony, and seduction was an art form you eagerly indulged in all your life.

He didn’t even finish his sentence, sighing with a clunk as his helmet fell back against the wall in defeat. You didn’t think it was premature to give yourself another point in the tally, honestly you deserved two just for style.

“Fine. Fine,” he relented, releasing his grip on you and swatting your ass when you stood from his lap victorious, “we do it your way.”

With a bounce in your step, you continued on your way to the kitchen, flashing him a bright smile over your shoulder. He looked about as flustered as his armor would allow, and it turned your grin cheeky knowing you were the cause of it,

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Leaning back in the chair, Din’s posture shifted arrogantly. His legs spread, you could easily make out the hard bulge of his cock straining against his flight suit and just like that, your fleeting moment of control evaporated.

“Not as hard as I’m going to fuck you the moment we get back, ner baruur.”

You were right, as usual.

Using his Rising Phoenix cut the time it took to get to the spaceport almost by half. Your advice to follow the coastline, across the white cliff faces that cascaded down into the waves beneath, ensured he didn’t get lost amidst the disorienting scale of the sea or the confusing labyrinth of hills and forestry.

Small fishing vessels rocked gently on the water, Din’s helmet picking up the occasional shout from one of the men on board to another. Hauling great nets of silver-toned fish onto the deck, a line of conservation droids immediately began sorting through the catch rapidly. Finding egg-bearing females, the young, or other species that accidentally got caught up in the net and tossing them back into the ocean.

He wouldn’t be surprised if fish from that catch ended up in your possession when they made it to the fishmongers. You liked seafood, he recalled. You were always in a good mood on the rare occasion he landed on a planet that had any semblance of water on it, knowing it meant fresh fish for once. You’d been buying fish that day on Mynock before he made the journey to Arvala-7.

Din snorted under his helmet, dark eyes turning back the direction he was flying.

To think, he planned to avoid you. Fearing he’d end up in a sarlacc pit or something equally disastrous given how up until that point, your paths only ever crossed when he was injured. Din didn’t fear much then, bar his helmet being removed or dishonoring his Creed, and part of him now wondered if what he feared had been the feelings you nudged awake inside him.

Back then, they were nothing close to what they were now. Maker, it took months to even find his way to your bed, but those first encounters were like the first cracks of a crater before a volcanic eruption. An inevitability. There was nothing he could’ve done to stop it.

Fishing boats were eventually replaced by great vessels on their way to and from the seaport. What looked like several airship carriers sat docked on the horizon, flanking your clan’s territory with an impenetrable strength he found staggering. For one clan to possess all this…

Pamarthen clans were evidently much, much larger than Mandalorian clans. Perhaps, before the Great Purge of Mandalore, it looked similar, but he’d been too young, too…focused on his training on Concordia to notice.

He steered clear from landing directly in front of the Razor Crest, however more convenient it might have been. The area was technically an active spaceport and Din didn’t want to gamble of his abilities to outmaneuver X-Wings and cargo ships.

Instead, he landed at the foot of the bridge that connected the big island to the ports. It was a bit of a walk across, both durasteel bridges made for industry with a size to match. He could stretch his legs though, and casually observe those who passed him. In his line of work, he never knew who he might see or what odd behavior he might notice that would lead him to who he was hunting.

The Mandalorian didn’t quite know what he was looking for when it came to the Jedi, truth be told. Not someone who looked like the child, but something that embodied…magic? He didn’t fucking know. What did magicians look like? Did they wear cloaks and hoods? Did they levitate instead of walk? How was he supposed to tell the difference?

Wait.

A group of people passed Din on the other bridge and his eyes were immediately transfixed. They weren’t levitating, but everything else about them looked straight out of the mental image Din had been using this entire time.

Three figures, hooded and cloaked in coarseweave robes of a deep red, walked unhurriedly behind two armed soldiers. Their blaster rifles held to their chest on standby, they were donned in black combat gear and what looked to be dense, black chainmail covering their heads. The links fell like water down to their chest and possessed no discernible features – no eye sockets or mouthpiece – bar the way the mail settled over their faces. The peak of a nose and curve of a forehead, nothing else.

Was this the way outsiders saw Mandalorians? Surely not. His helmet concealed his appearance but gave him a name, a purpose. Those mail masks looked like they were made to wash away the identity of anyone who wore one. They didn’t look real.

These guys were just…walking around. After looking for so long, Din always assumed sorcerers existed the way the Tribe had; secretly. They might not even be sorcerers, but these guys looked like they knew shit about magic, and that was as close as he’d gotten since his journey began.

It was probably why his next move wasn’t as calculated as it usually would’ve been.

“Hey, you.”

Din called across the wide open space between the bridges, the audience roar of the water beneath turning the space into an arena. He approached the edge of his side slowly as both faceless guards turned, placing themselves between him and their charges.

He held up a hand in peace, the other hovering over the butt of his blaster should he need to draw it quickly. Neither guard lifted their weapon but kept them tucked to their chest, the barrel pointed down. Ready.

“A Mandalorian? On Pamarthe?” A voice rose in Basic from the group.

One of the guards jerked his head marginally, not expecting one of the robed men to speak. With some reluctance, he stood half a step to the side for the one who spoke to get a better look at him. Even with just a hood, the thickness of the material shadowed the man’s deeply wrinkled face effectively.

“In full regalia too, how rare.”

An uncomfortable feeling surfaced in Din’s stomach, like he was a wild, exotic creature kept in captivity by Core planets for their inhabitants to ogle and stare at.

Whatever assumption Din had about these men and their secrecy, was wiped clean when the one who spoke pulled his hood down, revealing an elderly human man with stringy, grey hair combed back from severe, heavy brows. His charcoal eyes set Din on edge, a strike of lightning tensing his spine with instinctive awareness.

“I have some questions for you,” Din responded, ignoring the obvious appreciation the man had for his armor. This was nothing new for a Mandalorian.

The two figures that remained hooded looked towards each other, unfazed by his words. The man with the unnerving eyes arched one of those thick brows, thin lips twisting into some semblance of a smirk.

“I understand you’re not from here, Mando,” he explained slowly, raising Din’s hackles from the condescension in his tone, “and whoever sent for you has obviously given you a wasted journey, I fear. But we are not questioned by anyone.”

“That’s about to change,” Din retorted, he’d had bounties like this before. Big fishes in small ponds that shit themselves the moment he struck back. He didn’t need to waste actual energy into scaring people, their spines were usually brittle enough to snap from a growl.

But something about these people did unnerve the Mandalorian. The way he knew not to underestimate the reinforcements gang affiliates could call to overwhelm him with sheer numbers rather than skill. They obviously knew that too, because the grin never left the robed man’s face.

He merely reached back to pull his hood back over his head, a leer of contempt shining in those flat, black eyes when he turned back the way the group had been walking before Din interrupted, “We shall see about that, Mandalorian.”

One guard kept him in his sights, flanking the rear as his companion led the group away. He didn’t turn back around until they were some distance away and even then, Din knew their muscles must be tense in anticipation for him to strike.

Part of him wanted to. To force them into submission and answer the questions he had. Two guards were nothing to a warrior of Din’s caliber and they knew it too. But something stopped him. There had been observers to this exchange, passers-by who slowed to watch and Din realized by their hushed whispers that he’d done something wrong.

One such person actually approached him, the whelp with the crush. Bryn.

“Mister, Mister Mando—” came the thickly accented greeting.

Maker give him strength.

Din’s eyes flickered to the boy, even as his helmet remained trained on the group slowly growing smaller the farther they walked away. When Bryn waved a hand in front of his visor though, thinking he hadn’t heard him, Din’s impatience won out, and he growled, grabbing the boy’s wrist to yank down.

“What?”

“Ow, ow ow—” Bryn complained from where Din had twisted his wrist subconsciously. The warrior released him with a click of his tongue, annoyed, “By Llyrian, you’re strong. Though, I’d expect nothing else from a Mandalorian…given the stories, but—”

“What is it, boy?” Din interrupted.

“I—well, I’d be careful with the Sentinels,” Bryn frowned, looking out towards the group Din had been contemplating jumping, “They’re a law onto themselves here, not a good idea to get on their bad side.”

The Sentinels…where had he heard that name before?

“I can handle myself, kid.”

Bryn’s hazel eyes widened at the perceived offence he’d caused Din, waving a hand in front of him, “Of course!” He mumbled something in Pamarthen, a rapid string of words Din couldn’t understand before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “I don’t know how to explain in Basic, but even the rhaer has limited power over them.”

Din arched a brow, unseeing to the boy who only had his stoic, unmoving helmet to go by. Now that was surprising. The same leader who had fleets of airship carriers and land far as they eye could see was not wholly in charge of certain people who lived on it? That was something he would have to ask you about later.

“I get it,” Din rumbled, Bryn still valiantly trying to describe such a niche topic in his second language, “thanks.” He tagged to the end, frowning when the young man smiled. Had Din ever been this green? This insufferably…hopeful?

Unlikely.

Bryn was young, likely only eighteen or nineteen years old. He hadn’t seen a fraction of the horrors someone even ten years his senior would have.

“No problem, Mister Mando,” Bryn puffed his chest, proud of himself.

“Just Mando, is fine,” The Mandalorian sighed, feeling a headache coming along already and desperately wishing he could remove his helmet to pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave it off.

"Mando, wizard." Bryn nodded, “What’s brought you back here so soon? Did you find Commander Carria last night? He came looking for you, but you’d already left by then. I told him you’d planned to go to the Tipsy Hart since I said that’s where I thought he would be but obviously not, since he showed up at the spaceport—”

“Picking up my ship,” he grunted in a desperate attempt to stop the talking and turned back towards the spaceport.

Was this what Din had to look forward to when the kid started talking? Thank the Maker he seemed to age at a snail’s pace so he’d have a few years before that hopefully started. His thoughts screeched to a halt, a mudhorn colliding with him when he remembered it didn’t matter when the kid spoke, he was going to be with his own kind, not Din.

It soured his humor further, and when Bryn took it upon himself to walk with him, Din almost took it out on the poor kid. But the realization that he wouldn’t experience the child talking the way Bryn was now softened the warrior marginally, enough to not shoot him.

“The Razor Crest, right? She’s very old,” Bryn continued conversationally.

Huh. Maybe he would shoot him after all. Did he speak so candidly about everything on his mind? Din wouldn’t like to know how women reacted if he told them exactly what was on his mind the way he was to the warrior now.

“Never call a woman old, kid,” Din heard himself say as they walked into the makeshift hanger where the Razor Crest sat, “Whether she’s a ship or the girl you marry.”

“Oh,” Bryn replied quietly, mulling his words against whatever it was that took up the mind of a boy his age.

Sex. Usually sex.

Din snorted, what was his excuse then? Age evidently didn’t matter, when a man had a woman like you in his bed night after night. How could he not think about your body, your sounds, your pussy squeezing every drop of come from him whenever he got the chance?

“No wonder Llysa got mad at me when I said she was too old to learn how to pilot a Mantaris…” he mused to himself, scratching the back of his head where two delicate braids met the tie that held his hair in a messy tail.

Oh boy.

Din stopped by his ship, typing in a code on his vambrace to drop the shields and open the ramp. The kid was a disaster and even worse, he had no idea he was. There was a call in Pamarthen from across the harbor and while Din couldn’t understand most of it, he recognized Bryn’s name.

The boy shouted something back jovially despite the impatience in the other man’s voice.

“I gotta get to work, but it was nice seeing you again Mis—Mando.”

Din dipped his head in acknowledgement, watching as Bryn started jogging in the direction the voice came from. Something compelled him to speak though, an effect that Pamarthens seemed to have on the warrior.

“Bryn,” Din called, partially hoping the kid wouldn’t hear him. No such luck. He looked over his shoulder at the Mandalorian, slowing down and Din snorted to himself. Annoying as he was, there was something refreshing about Bryn. While he hadn’t seen the terrors you or he had in the war, he represented a new hope for a future untouched by what happened.

“Encourage that girl to learn,” he rasped, dipping into the pot of knowledge he’d accumulated from you, one that grew larger by the day, “don’t underestimate her.”

Confusion crossed Bryn’s face and he wondered briefly if his words had fallen on deaf ears, but after a moment, an unguarded smile lit his face and the boy nodded. With a lazy salute as a parting thanks, Bryn left on his way back to work and despite not getting any information from the Sentinels, Din didn’t feel the entire journey had been a waste.

It had been far too long since you and the child went on your own adventure together.

Fallow Ridge was the perfect spot for it.

You could’ve taken him to a village closer to the house, but that far north didn’t see much traffic and information would be harder to come by. Fallow Ridge was more central, about an hour away by speeder and boasted some of the best bakeries on the island. Located just off the main artery of roads leading to the Seat, it wasn’t uncommon to see members of other clans passing through on their journeys.

After Din had taken off to Stag Seaport and double checking your comms still worked in case he needed to find you, you bundled the little alien into his brown satchel and were off.

You hadn’t been lying to Din when you said you’d need to pick up supplies. No one had lived in your house for over six years and apart from the things Kyr left for you, there was little more than mothballs and dust in the cupboards. Not to mention clothes. After Din had unceremoniously ripped one of your two remaining pairs of pants last night, you were in desperate need of new ones.

Parking your speeder just outside the low stone wall that marked the perimeter of town, you nodded politely in greeting to a group of young pilots half-dressed in the pants of their flight suits, sleeveless undershirts displaying the antlers of their Mark proudly against tanned skin. You wondered if you knew them, they looked young enough to have been children when you left – like Bryn – so the changes would’ve been drastic enough for you to be uncertain.

Cobblestone buildings sat on mismatched levels across the uneven terrain. Some further up on hills where small paths branched off from the main street, while only the roofs of other houses could be seen from where they were situated further down an incline.

The kid was mesmerized as the bustle of daily life overwhelmed his senses. A hum of chatter, welcoming and lively, mingled with the sounds of trade as people shopped, gossiped and generally appeared untouched by the ravages of a post-war universe.

But the scars could still be seen, quiet as they may be.

Absent figures, a disparity in the number of people your age compared to older generations, more cybernetic prosthetics than before from both the bombardment and returning rebels. Even the prices in the transparisteel of shops were higher than you remembered, significantly higher. But that’s what happened when you had a destroyed spaceport; trade became complicated and therefore, expensive.

“What do you say, cutie?” you looked down at your hip where the child was babbling happily with distracted grabs to anything and everything he wanted to explore, “Food or clothes first?”

It was a redundant question, the second the word ‘food’ left your mouth, his large eyes were sparkling with an excited coo.

“Good idea, maybe we can grab more fiore buns before they sell out for the day too.”

His ears wiggled eagerly, the memory of his small mouth blue from the berry jam inside the buns last night making you laugh quietly to yourself. You weren’t the only one who was a fan of them. Even Din seemed to enjoy the uniquely tart flavor, opting for a second without needing much convincing.

You wandered from stall to store, taking advantage of the freshness that came from an agricultural planet. The bakery – thankfully – still had fiore buns coming out of the oven and, after a sample, you left with a baker’s dozen. The kid complained when you stopped him from crawling into the bag to get at them, knowing there’d be none left if you gave him an inch.

When you got to the grocers – for preserved foods you were more familiar with on ships and other planets – you were suddenly struck by the reality that you weren’t on another planet, or on a ship. You were…here.

An emotion surfaced in you, one you weren’t able to translate into Basic. Hireach. A Pamarthen term with no real translation that was used to express both homesickness and nostalgia. It was a complex mix of melancholy and happiness, grief and yearning for something that still existed but was irrevocably changed.

You felt it as you followed familiar paths that were missing…something, and no matter how hard you tried to put your finger on it, the answer seemed to get more and more tangled, more indefinable.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad emotion, nor was it indicative of any great tragedy. Truly, to experience hireach was only possible when you had good memories attached to it. Hireach illuminated the irreverence of time, how your former life now fit like a shirt much too small. How it strained across your shoulders and back, not painful but…uncomfortable. No matter how much you rolled your shoulders and tugged at the material, it never seemed to sit right anymore.

“Hullo?”

You were shaken back to the present by the shopkeeper behind the counter. A bag of supplies between you, the woman looked at you with a mixture of confusion and caution.

“Sorry, I was klicks away, how much did you say?” you reeled off, scrambling on autopilot to regain your footing in the conversation instead of how strange it all looked and felt.

“Forty-seven credits total,” the woman smiled, the action tight and somewhat forced.

That was certainly different, but you couldn’t blame her for being mistrustful. With everything going on, it was no wonder people were on edge. Speaking of…

“Terrible business, isn’t it? The children.”

The seamless slip into what some might call ‘gossiping’ was familiar territory for the shop-owner, and it thawed the suspicion you’d garnered from your spacy attitude. Her shoulders relaxed and with a morose expression, she nodded.

“Aye, the poor wee things. May Amhra guide them home.”

“Amhra guide them,” you echoed distractedly, glancing around the shop.

“If she can’t, then the rhaer will,” the shopkeeper nodded confidently, ringing up the credits you handed to her and talking about your childhood friend as though he were a god among men, “I don’t think there’s a man on this planet more determined to find them.”

Her confidence in Kyr comforted you. Hopefully, the rest of Clan Carria held the same sentiment. It was one thing to be perceived as a ruler, but it was better still to be seen as a guardian. And Kyr Carria was the embodiment of the lone stag watching over his herd; silent, observative, strong.

Who else did that sound like…

“I’m sure he’s doing everything he can,” you added to the conversation diplomatically.

“Lot of lions coming through these parts too, looking for Skyla,” she handed you your change, “and nothing against them personally, but where was that urgency when our fawns went missing?”

There was an edge of frustration in the woman’s tone, her brows furrowing with a downturn of her lips. The friendship between Clan Carria and Clan Leyghin was strong, but it wasn’t immune to skepticism and misgivings. Skyla Leyghin’s disappearance was treated differently because she wasdifferent. Regardless of how equally tragic it was for any child to go missing, the only daughter and heir to the most steadfast clan on the planet was a devastating blow.

“Hopefully, with so many people looking for her, they’ll find the others too,” you navigated the statement carefully, empathizing with her annoyance but put in an awkward situation of being tied to both clans intimately.

She mulled over your words, nodding curtly in response, “What chance do any of those wee fawns have, if they’re only a secondary thought?”

It was your turn to pause, considering her rather…wise observation. Uncomfortable as it might be, you couldn’t deny the truth behind it.

“Kyr cares, they’re not second in his eyes,” you said by way of answering because truthfully, you didn’t know how to answer her. She was right, and it made you more uncomfortable as both a medic and as someone who now knew what it was to love a child. It had always been this way though, but absence from your planet had enlightened you to the reality that you didn’t agree with it.

“I believe it’s Rhaer Kyr to us,” the shopkeeper corrected you coolly, her eyes turning suspicious momentarily, likely contemplating either your view on him or relationship to him, “we don’t all address him so familiarly anymore, keep that in mind.”

Bantha balls.

He was just Kyr the last time you were here, he’d always been just Kyr. But he wasn’t, was he? He was descended from gods, if the stories were to be believed. He now sat as ruler of Clan Carria, one of the most powerful clans on Pamarthe. He was never just anything, you had simply lived your life so close to the sun that the light and heat became normal.

For the first time, you experienced a burn for flying too close to it.

“Right…” you trailed awkwardly before giving your thanks to the shopkeeper, parting with her as politely as possible as you left the store.

The child was getting fussy in the satchel by the time you dropped everything off in your speeders saddlebags, bored and you figured there wasn’t any harm in letting him stretch his little legs.

“Wanna walk for a bit?” you asked, lifting him out to place on the ground beside you. You could do with a slower pace for a while.

After stopping by a small media store on a whim that – thankfully – had different holovids of Moray and Faz than the one the child already had, you spotted two pylbucks and their riders walking down the main street.

Their fur a beautiful copper color, ivory horns curled back from their heads. One had a splodge of white in the middle of its head carriage, and the other a splatter of white over its left eye. They must have been by the same sire. Powerful bipedal legs with ivory talons similar to their horns clicked along the stone with every step and the child was utterly enthralled by them as they grew bigger and bigger the closer they came.

These weren’t just regular pylbucks either, these were bred with a specific purpose in mind. Intimidation and control. War. That meant the men riding them were guards themselves, dressed casually as one held the reins loosely in one hand while he carved something. His pylbuck shook its head with a grunt, short mane catching the sunlight. The rider – unperturbed – looked up from his work and leaned down to pat the long, wide neck of his mount affectionately.

You, however, were more curiously distracted by the striped tattoo where Carria antlers usually were around the bicep. With a variety of lengths and width, the double-loop emulated the stripes of an apex predator.

Pamarthen lions.

These were some of Attycus’ men.

“You’re far from the Hearth,” you exclaimed pleasantly as you came within earshot of the two soldiers.

“Quickest way to the Snags,” the younger of the two men called back, bringing his pylbuck to a halt beside you and flashing you with an easy smile.

“To the search party?” you asked, inattentive to the soldiers smile. These two might have more information.

“Aye,” the second soldier stated, “we’re part of their relief.”

 Kyr was due to return tomorrow, that made sense. To have a relief party though, meant they’d had no luck in finding the children thus far, which wasn’t likely to change by morning. You tried not to let your disappointment sink into despair at the thought.

“Has there been any news?” you ventured to ask, perhaps a little too nosily but you’d never gotten anything in life from sitting pretty and passive.

The soldiers appeared amiable though, and you didn’t feel the need to be totally on your guard around them. The older of the two, a handsome man with long blonde hair streaked with silver sat up straighter in his saddle where he’d been reclined as he whittled something small and beige in his hand.

“Nothing yet, miss.” His grey eyes followed the child as he waddled closer to his mount and tried to reach for one of the pylbucks’ short, raised front legs, “It’s like they’ve all just vanished into thin air.”

“How is that possible…” you wondered aloud, crossing your arms at the paradox of the situation.

“That’s the scary part,” the younger soldier added, propping his heel up on the saddle easily to rest his elbow on it, “it shouldn’t be possible.”

“Aye, but there were cases like this before,” the blonde mentioned, dismissing the younger man’s quizzical look, “during the first Galactic war, lots of kids all over the galaxy went missing inexplicably.”

“Yeah, but that was a war,” his partner answered with some impatience, as if this wasn’t the first time it had been brought up, “and it wasn’t just kids, people in general were never heard from again. Killed in combat, sold to the Hutts…there were more ways to go missing than trees in Siodam’s Forest.”

You listened intently, taking a leaf out of Din’s book and gathering more information by observing and absorbing than inserting yourself into the conversation. You had to agree with the younger soldier, it was like comparing Gungans and the Naboo; they were nothing alike. The situation during the Galactic war was widespread, and indiscriminate. What was happening now was intentional, calculated.

“Careful,” you crouched to scoop the child up when one of the pylbucks noticed the little menace tugging at the fur closest to its talons, causing the creature to try shake the tickle away.

Your movement pulled the soldiers attention back to you from where they were debating the situation amongst themselves. The younger of the two frowned in confusion, glancing between the child and you and likely trying to reconcile the logic behind the pairing. The older man merely smiled, crow’s feet and laughter lines revealing themselves on his features.

“Don’t let that cub out of your sight, miss,” he rubbed his unknown craft on the rough leather of his thigh to polish it of any splinters before leaning down from his pylbuck to hand it to the kid, “both our clans have lost enough already.”

The child eagerly took whatever the man gifted him and when you caught sight of the roughly whittled lioness mid-stride, you were reminded of all the good that had been overshadowed by your apprehension in coming home. Where men defended their lands with the same knife they use to craft toys for children.

The little bogwing was enamored with his lioness, keeping her clutched tight in his small hand and babbling incomprehensibly at the soldier who listened attentively. He must have been a father himself, his patience that of a parent willing to listen to the same thing over and over.

“Thank you,” you translated, running a hand gently over the top of the bogwing’s head, “may Siodam lead you down safe paths.”

Both soldiers dipped their heads graciously at your words and with a nudge of their heels into the side of their mounts, they took off again. The child waved happily after the men, shaking his new toy in hand. They left you in a far happier mood than you were when leaving the grocers, light refracted kindness banishing the shadows momentarily.

Walking with a lighter step, you veered down one of the paths off the main street. You only had to untangle the lioness twice from where the child had somehow managed to get it wrapped in your hair. You were still extracting a few strands as you bumped the door open into a little known boutique hidden amongst the glades. Sewn by Saeda.

It sold the most comfortable, most flattering pants you’d ever owned. There was some witchcraft in the way the material shaped your ass and thighs, and you’d happily thank Saeda for selling her soul in order to procure it.

A bell – ancient and unusual – rang overhead with a gentle tinkle.

A woman looked up from her work at the noise, flashing you with a welcoming smile as she draped the measuring tape she’d been using around her exposed neck. Shiny, onyx hair was gathered in a messy nest atop her head and flyaway strands framed her face in a way that was usually carefully crafted by stylists, but you knew immediately was natural.

She was a beautiful woman. Olive skin practically glowing with deep, moss green eyes rimmed in thick, dark lashes. When she stood, you wondered if she had any bones at all, and wasn’t just pure, fluid energy with how effortlessly graceful she was.

“Welcome! Is this your first time here?” she asked pleasantly, her accent difficult to place, but likely from the more southern archipelago. Where the clans of Olvaer and Tahru resided.

“The first in a long, long time,” you admitted on a chuckle, letting the child down once you were certain he was preoccupied with his lioness and wouldn’t get into anything he wasn’t supposed to.

“Ah, you were probably expecting to see Saeda,” the woman sounded somewhat apologetic, “she’s semi-retired now, so I help out a few times a week. You can call me Zyra.”

It would be easy to dislike Zyra simply for being beautiful. Maker, you’d faced enough prejudice and contempt in your field for the same reason over the years. But there was something inviting about the woman, something genuine in the way she spoke. She inspired trust, whether it was in fashion advice or something deeper. She was probably one hell of a saleswoman, that was for sure.

You offered your name in return, a moment of recognition flashing across her eyes before it vanished and she moved around the counter to help you.

“What can I do for you and this adorable little guy today?” she asked, her question making you glance around the store that was teeming with selection. More than you’d seen in a long time. For so long, scrubs, a uniform and more practical clothes were all you wore, it was what you were comfortable with.

“Honestly? I’ve had more clothes destroyed in the last few months than I ever grew out of as a child,” you admitted, the atmosphere Zyra created in the shop making you feel equal parts at ease and confident.

Her brows rose, a sparkle of curiosity lighting her eyes, “For only good reasons, I hope?”

Yeah, you liked Zyra. No banthashit and with a sense of humor. The flush on your cheeks was answer enough, the other woman clapping her hands together once with an excited thrill.

“I know it’s contradictory as someone who makes clothes, but when a man rips them off…” She fanned her face lightly, her skin flushed.

You snorted, making your way over to a table where a variety of sizes and colors of the pants you wanted were neatly folded.

“Okay, yes—but I literally have one pair of pants left,” you complained, laughter lacing your tone as the ridiculousness of the situation made you giggle. You had just met this woman, and yet here you both were, talking about how you liked it when men tore your clothes off.

“Good!” Zyra sniffed from the other side of the table where she was checking for your size without even needing to ask you it, “That keeps me in business, give him my thanks!”

You both burst out into peals of laughter, the small store filled with the noise and you were infinitely grateful that there was only the two of you. Anyone else who walked in would think you both lunatics.

“Actually, I have just the thing for it—” she clicked her fingers while you were wiping the corner of your eyes from getting into a kink of laughter for the last few minutes, “wait here.”

Your brows furrowed lightly when Zyra disappeared in a flurry to the back of the shop, leaving you with the child who was sitting on a small stack of pants you picked out, patting the soft material. His ears were drooping, a clear indication that the day was catching up on him and your new clothes were tempting him to make them his bed.

When Zyra returned though, you hoped he had dozed off with the way your lips parted and face heated at what she brought out.

Could it even be considered clothes? Of course not, you chided yourself, it was underwear. Beautiful underwear, but definitely not something to be worn outside the bedroom. It would be a travesty to cover it up with clothes.

The sensual black set was beautiful enough on its own, classic and understated, but your eyes were drawn immediately to the delicate silver chains that looped in loose layers down the halter-neck of the bra and beneath the bust. You could practically feel the coolness of the metal on your skin, how good it would feel when you were overheated from lust.

But that wasn’t the thing that made you blush, your mind emptying. The matching suspenders were shaped to define and exaggerate your hips and thighs, and it reminded you of something you were certain wasn’t on Zyra or Saeda’s mind when they made it.

Your holster. Namely, the one Din gave you. The same one that drove him feral every time you wore it. Maker, the man had fucked you a few times when you were wearing nothing else. Made of the same black lace and chains, you reached forward to trace one of the silver hoops, mesmerized.

It had been a long time since you wore anything remotely like this, not since you enlisted. There’d never been a reason and then, there’d never been an opportunity.

“Well?”

You jumped when Zyra spoke, the excitement in her voice hushed with anticipation when she saw you admiring the set. Blushing, you dismissed the idea of buying it. You didn’t need it. Maker, you never ended up wearing much at all where Din was concerned, and he wasn’t a man who needed a visual aid to get horny.

Your pitiful excuses fell on deaf ears as Zyra hooked her arm around yours to lead you to a floor length mirror. You could’ve dug your heels in, but your resistance was paper-thin, and you followed her.

“Feeling beautiful is as good a reason as any to spend credits,” she explained, placing the hanging set in front of your body so you might get an idea of how you’d look in it. She didn’t need to, you were honest enough with yourself to know you’d look good in it.

“But if you do need another reason, there’s only two for why a woman buys this set, in particular.” Zyra continued, piquing your curiosity as she handed you the set for you to feel how unbelievably soft it was beneath the lace.

“Oh?” you prodded.

“Either it’s for a man who’s lucky to have you and needs to be reminded of that fact,” she smiled over her shoulder at you on your way to where the child was snoozing on your stack of clothes, “or it’s for a man who knows he is, and deserves to be rewarded.”

Well.

You smiled at her, recognizing you’d discovered a friend in this new landscape of your old life which was a far rarer find than a set of beautiful lingerie.

“How can I argue with that logic?”

Missing.

Missing.

MISSING.

Dirt kicked up and staining strong legs. Pacing, pacing, pacing but no one. Not there. Gone.

GONE.

You heard the screech before you saw it, coming up to the house at twilight. The setting sun cast a low light that mixed with purple shadows on the land and turned it into a dream. Or a nightmare.

The noise pierced the skies, sending flocks of nesting birds out of trees. It was like a dying animal, or an enraged one. A primal scream of anger that made your eardrums quake with pain and woke the child from where he slept on your lap.

And there it was, racing across the fields of nerfs grazing in the distance at a speed unnatural even for the species it looked to be.

A pylbuck.

Notes

Llyrian – Pamarthen god of the sea.

Amhra – Pamarthen goddess of the wind and weather, wife of Llyrian.

Maldo Kreis – a terrestrial ice-covered planet where Din crashed the Razor Crest in Part 1 of the New Republic Arc, and in S2E2 of canon lore.

Rhydian – readers older brother who died during the Battle of Malastare in 4ABY.

Hoverball – an intergalactic sport I liken to baseball. I had initially wanted to use get’shuk as the sport Din referenced given it is a Mandalorian sport (similar to rugby) but given that reader was unlikely to know what it was, would make poor Din’s joke fall like a lead balloon. We couldn’t have that.

Fiore buns – a sweet roll filled with bright blue jam and glazed with milk and honey.

Clan Macteer – one of the three sister clans of Macteer (the barrow wolf), Blayd (the maned wolf) and Shunak (the fiore fox). Did you know! The Fiore fox which represents Clan Shunak was called as such because of the blue that tips its ears and tail, allowing it to hide amongst the fiore without being seen

Conservation-droids – something of my own creation, though I’m certain something similar exists somewhere in the lore!

Sentinels – druidic sect of Pamarthen culture, more to come on these guys.

Mantaris – short for a Mantaris-class amphibious medium transport, this iconic ship capable of adapting to atmospheric flight, realspace and underwater. Developed through a co-operative effort between the Naboo and the Gungans to colonise aquatic moons in their orbit, I have transplanted a similar type of ship onto Pamarthe given it is also a predominantly aquatic planet. Quick note, the Mantaris is one of my favourite ships in the entire SW lore! It’s design is beautiful and the creativity behind it truly added something wonderful to the visuals of The Phantom Menace.

Kyr Carria – leader of Clan Carria, around 8-10 years older than reader who knew him growing up due to the friendship between his younger brother Kai, and readers brother, Rhydian. This friendship became something more briefly when reader was around nineteen.

Hireach – I took inspiration for this term from the beautiful Welsh word hiraeth that I learned many years ago in school. It carries mostly the same multi-layered meaning. It’s been described as a combination of homesickness, longing, nostalgia and yearning for a home you cannot return to, no longer exists or maybe never was. It can encompass grief or sadness for who you once were or what you lost. All tied in to the losses of your home not the same as you once remember it. It’s honestly one of the most beautiful words I’ve ever come across.

Moray and Faz – A holoshow cartoon for children. I have assumed that it was popular around the time of, or just before, Stitches as it’s recorded in lore that Han Solo used to let his son, Ben, watch it.

Pylbucks – these are ungulate creatures of my own creation while taking inspiration from the many, many variations throughout SW lore. The closest in appearance, and thus in name, are the kybucks native to Kashyyyk. Master Yoda famously owned several kybucks over his long life, and was known to have an affinity with them.

The Hearth of the Lion – the seat of power for Clan Leyghin, one of three lone peaks dotted across the Pamarthen landscape.

The Snags – nickname given to The Grey Wildlands by locals. An impenetrable area of Siodam’s Forest where speeders, ships and even humans struggle to pierce. A single mile can feel like ten with branches grabbing hold of your skin and clothes, slowing you down and concealing your path.

Clan Olvaer – clan of the solar bear located in the south-eastern islands, more tropical and sandy than the more stormy, rocky islands of the north.

Clan Tahru – clan of the tahg, a horned bovine, similar to a water buffalo.

[foxnonny]

9, 42 "for you'll remember me", 21 and 50... oh and you rawk.

YOU RAWK LIKE GOSH YOUR ART

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote?

OH GOSH I mean favourite... I really really loved writing that short scene between Fenris and Hawke on the Wounded Coast in Hawke’s memory before everything goes sideways like... goddamn it hurt but I loved writing them in that happy settled state. And then destroying it. 

Also, the entire epilogue was really hurtful and cathartic so it felt good.

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song Fields of Gold for You’ll Remember Me.

MAN SO MANY THINGS I mean for one I planned the fic while listening to that song (specifically the Eva Cassidy cover) like... it was definitely song first, fic later. It had been on one of my angst playlists for a good long while, so it was always in the back of my head, and I had a pretty severe dissociative amnesia episode a few months beforehand so I was listening to it a LOT and deeply empathizing with Fenris so like... YEAH GOOD SONG PERFECT STORM. 

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

OKAY I ADMIRE ALL OF MY WRITER FRIENDS A LOT BUT I’M AFRAID OF LISTING THEM IN CASE I MISS SOMEONE but honestly the writer that got me into writing fanfic really was FayJay on AO3, who wrote the Student Prince for the Merlin fandom way back in 2010. They also recorded a podfic for it that I honestly listen to at least once every two years; they have an amazing voice and give each character such personality, and their sense of humour just gives me life. I wanted to make a fic like that, something people would read and listen too and feel happy about, idk, I really look up to them as a writer and creator. I’ve never interacted with them really but I hope they’re doing well!

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

.............*SCREAMING* THE IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE

I mean if I chose angst I would probably sneak fluff and smut in there and the same with each of the other choices. I don’t think I’ve ever written straight in any of these categories without some element of the other.

Maybe on the whole fluff? Because it’s uplifting, and I can always find a way to make it hurt :)

THANKS FOR THE ASKS ILY 

[ao3feed-merlin]

Hot Property

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kWT2NY

by Rawks

Gwaine and Merlin go way back, in a very frivolous sense. When Arthur’s pickups fail, they cheer him up by joking about an item on Merlin’s bucket list: a hot threesome. And Merlin gets to strike it off his list.

Words: 3511, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Merlin (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Gilli (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Agravaine (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Valiant (Merlin), Mordred (Merlin), Kara (Merlin), Aredian (Merlin), Percival (Merlin)

Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Additional Tags: PWP without Porn, Porn With Plot, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome, Bucket List, Kinky, Dom/Sub, Bondage, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Butt Plugs, Butt Slapping, Cufflinks, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Office Blow Jobs, fleshlight, Shower Sex, Wall Sex, Voyeurism, Casual Sex, Power Play, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Double Penetration, Barebacking, And lots of plot, Sorry Not Sorry, Drama & Romance, Intellectual Property, Theft, Legal Drama, Dirty Talk, Possessive Arthur, Happy Ending, Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Firefighters

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kWT2NY

[ao3feed-merlinarthur]

Hot Property

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kWT2NY

by Rawks

Gwaine and Merlin go way back, in a very frivolous sense. When Arthur’s pickups fail, they cheer him up by joking about an item on Merlin’s bucket list: a hot threesome. And Merlin gets to strike it off his list.

Words: 3511, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Merlin (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Gilli (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Agravaine (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Valiant (Merlin), Mordred (Merlin), Kara (Merlin), Aredian (Merlin), Percival (Merlin)

Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Additional Tags: PWP without Porn, Porn With Plot, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome, Bucket List, Kinky, Dom/Sub, Bondage, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Butt Plugs, Butt Slapping, Cufflinks, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Office Blow Jobs, fleshlight, Shower Sex, Wall Sex, Voyeurism, Casual Sex, Power Play, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Double Penetration, Barebacking, And lots of plot, Sorry Not Sorry, Drama & Romance, Intellectual Property, Theft, Legal Drama, Dirty Talk, Possessive Arthur, Happy Ending, Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Firefighters

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kWT2NY

[ao3-rickylmerthurj2]

Hot Property by <a href="/users/Rawks/pseuds/Rawks" rel="author">Rawks</a>

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kWT2NY

by Rawks

Gwaine and Merlin go way back, in a very frivolous sense. When Arthur’s pickups fail, they cheer him up by joking about an item on Merlin’s bucket list: a hot threesome. And Merlin gets to strike it off his list.

Words: 3511, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Merlin (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Gilli (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Agravaine (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Valiant (Merlin), Mordred (Merlin), Kara (Merlin), Aredian (Merlin), Percival (Merlin)

Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Additional Tags: PWP without Porn, Porn With Plot, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome, Bucket List, Kinky, Dom/Sub, Bondage, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Butt Plugs, Butt Slapping, Cufflinks, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Office Blow Jobs, fleshlight, Shower Sex, Wall Sex, Voyeurism, Casual Sex, Power Play, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Double Penetration, Barebacking, And lots of plot, Sorry Not Sorry, Drama & Romance, Intellectual Property, Theft, Legal Drama, Dirty Talk, Possessive Arthur, Happy Ending, Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Firefighters

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kWT2NY