#and I hope eventually my head will clear and I can find my voice again

[monsterfloofs]

Lost Voice

I know other creative folk can relate to this, how it feels when you lose your artistic voice. It’s like losing a language that has been second nature to you. Now, all of a sudden you’re floundering, and your head is filled with smoke.

[harrysfolklore]

the carlos sainz roast

summary: it's carlos' 30th birthday and what a better way to celebrate it than roasting him. wc: 2.8k

folkie radio: happy birthday to the smooooth operatorrrrr. i hontesly LOVED this idea that randomly popped in my head and writing it was sooo much fun, i hope you like it !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Carlos Sainz was turning 30. The big 30.

You wanted to do something special to celebrate it, something out of the ordinary that he would never forget. After spending multiple hours on the internet looking for ideas, a brilliant one came to your mind: A roast.

"So all of you will take turns roasting me? Like making jokes about me?" Carlos asked, looking at you from the couch as you pitched him your idea.

"Exactly, baby, It's going to be so much fun!"

The next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of preparations. You sent out invitations, coordinated with the other drivers, and gathered embarrassing photos and funny stories about Carlos.

The night of the roast, you transformed your living room into a makeshift comedy club, complete with a small stage and a spotlight. Each driver that arrived at your house complimenting your effort.

As everyone settled into their seats, you stood up and tapped your glass with a spoon to get their attention.

"Welcome, everyone, to the Carlos Sainz Roast!" you announced, catching Carlos's eye and winking at him. "We're all here to celebrate the man, the myth, the legend... the one who always leaves the toothpaste open - Carlos Sainz Jr. on his 30th birthday. And what better way to show our love than by mercilessly making fun of him?"

Laughter rippled through your friends as Carlos playfully rolled his eyes, "Thank you, amor, that's very nice of you."

You playfully blew a kiss his way before speaking again, "Now, before we start, let's remember the rules: keep it funny, keep it respectful, and try to speak slowly so Max can understand." You shot a teasing glance at Verstappen, who grinned and shook his head.

"First up, we have Charles Leclerc, Carlos's teammate and the only person who can make Carlos look slow on a good day. Charles, the floor is yours!"

Charles stood up, straightening his jacket as he approached the makeshift stage. He cleared his throat dramatically, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Thank you for that introduction," Charles began, "You know, when I first heard Carlos was joining Ferrari, I was excited. Finally, someone to make me look good! But then I realized, with his luscious hair and chiseled jaw, he was going to steal all my sponsorship deals. So I had to step up my game."

The room erupted in laughter, Carlos included.

"But seriously," Charles continued, "working with Carlos has been an experience. He's like a Spanish version of Google Maps – always recalculating, never quite sure where he's going, but somehow ends up in the right place eventually. That's why I had no doubt in my mind he was going to find an amazing car to drive next season, my bet was on the Safety Car but he opted for an even slower car, a Williams!"

Everyone erupted in laugh again, making Carlos shake his head with his eyes closed, "That one was low, Leclerc."

Charles took a moment to catch his breath, then added with a grin, “And Carlos, now that you’re 30, you’re officially a veteran in the sport. But don’t worry, no matter how many years go by, you’ll always be the guy who can make a Ferrari look like it's in a constant state of panic. Cheers to you, mate!”

You grinned at Charles as he stepped down, patting Carlos on the shoulder. "Alright, that was pretty good, Charles," you said, "But let's see if Lando can top that. Norris, you're up!"

Lando bounded up to the makeshift stage, his trademark cheeky grin plastered across his face. He adjusted the microphone, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the birthday boy, Carlos 'Smooth Operator' Sainz," Lando began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know, when I first met Carlos at McLaren, I thought, 'Wow, this guy's got it all – talent, looks, charm.' Then I realized it was just his hair products messing with my senses."

The crowd burst into laughter, Carlos included, you ran a hand through his famous locks and he gently grabbed it to place a kiss on your palm.

"If I'm being completely honest," Lando continued, "Carlos taught me so much during our time as teammates. Like how to perfectly time a dad joke in team radio, or how to look devastatingly handsome while finishing P7. Essential skills in F1, really."

The room erupted in laughter once again, with Carlos shaking his head in amused disbelief.

"Carlos, you're one of my best friends," Lando's tone softened slightly, "Even if you did spend most of our time together trying to teach me Spanish pickup lines that work about as well as Ferrari's strategy team."

"But I have a girlfriend and you don't, mate. Even with my bad pickup lines." Carlos jabbed, making you throw your head back in laughter.

As the laughter died down, Lando raised his glass. "To Carlos, the man who proves that you can be devastatingly handsome, irritatingly talented, and still somehow likeable. Happy 30th, mate. May your midlife crisis be as smooth as your overtakes."

Lando stepped down from the stage, approaching Carlos who stood up from his seat to give him a hug.

"Love you, mate," you could hear Carlos say, making you smile.

"Next up, we have Fernando Alonso, Carlos's longtime mentor and fellow Spaniard!" you announced, making everybody clap as Fernando took the stage.

"Ah, Carlos. I've known him since he was just a little karting prodigy. Back then, I thought, 'This kid's going places.' Now, 20 years later, I realize I was right – he's gone to every midfield team on the grid!"

The crowd roared with laughter as Fernando continued, "But seriously, I always thought Carlos had potential, and I was right, he's got the potential to be the second-best Sainz in Motorsports!"

Carlos playfully rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his drink.

"But let me tell you something, Carlos," Fernando's tone softened slightly, "You've made all of Spain proud. You've shown that with hard work, talent, and a famous last name, anything is possible in F1. Well, almost anything, winning a championship might still be a stretch!"

As the laughter died down, Fernando raised his glass. "To Carlos Sainz Jr., the man who proves that you can be a great driver, a fan favorite, and still be overshadowed by your dad at family dinners. Feliz cumpleaños, amigo!"

Fernando stepped down from the stage, approaching Carlos who stood up to give him a warm, laughing embrace. As they parted, you stood up to introduce the next roaster.

"Now, let's hear from someone who's known Carlos since their early days in Formula 1. Please welcome to the stage, the reigning world champion and certified cat lover, Max Verstappen!"

Max sauntered up to the stage, he adjusted the mic and grinned at Carlos.

"If it isn't the new old man of the grid," Max began, earning chuckles from the crowd. "You know, Carlos and I go way back to our Toro Rosso days. I remember when we first met, I thought, 'Wow, this guy's got great hair.' Then I realized that's all he's got!" everyone laughed once again, "Back at Toro Rosso, Carlos was always so dedicated. He'd spend hours studying my telemetry, trying to figure out how to be as fast as me. Spoiler alert: he's still trying!"

The crowd roared with laughter, Carlos included, as he playfully threw a napkin at Max.

"But in all seriousness, Carlos," Max continued with a grin, "you've always been one of the most hardworking and determined drivers on the grid. You never give up, no matter how many times you've been dropped by your teams mid season."

Carlos laughed, raising his glass to Max in a mock toast. "Thanks for the reminder, Max."

"Carlos, you're one of the best guys in the paddock. With your resting bitch face and all, you're always there with a helping hand. Even if your driving skills are debatable," he added with a wink. "Happy 30th, mate."

Max stepped down, and Carlos stood up to give him a hug, both of them laughing. You took the mic once more, "Thank you, Max, for that trip down memory lane. Now, let's welcome to the stage a man who's known for his infectious smile and his matchmaking skills. Please give it up for Daniel Ricciardo!"

Daniel bounded onto the stage with his characteristic enthusiasm, flashing his famous grin.

"G'day, everyone! Carlos, mate, happy birthday!" Daniel began, "You know, I've known Carlos for years, but my proudest achievement was introducing him to his lovely girlfriend, YN," you smiled at this, feeling Carlos squeeze your hand, "I thought to myself, 'This bloke needs someone who can put up with his golf obsession and his constant need for mirror checks.' And boy, did I deliver!"

The crowd erupted in laughter, with you and Carlos exchanging amused glances.

"I remember the day I introduced them," Daniel continued, "I told YN, 'Look, he's a great guy, but be prepared for endless conversations about tyre management and the perfect hair product.' Little did I know, she'd be nodding along enthusiastically!"

You playfully rolled your eyes as the audience chuckled.

"But seriously, folks," Daniel's tone softened slightly, "watching these two together is like watching a perfect pit stop - smooth, efficient, and occasionally involves someone getting sprayed with champagne."

Carlos pulled you closer, placing a kiss on your cheek as everyone 'aww'ed.

"Carlos, mate," Daniel concluded, raising his glass, "you've found yourself a keeper. Someone who can navigate your mood swings faster than you navigate Eau Rouge. YN, love, you've got yourself a man who's smoother than a freshly paved track... at least when he's not tripping over his own feet trying to impress you."

Daniel stepped down from the stage, approaching you and Carlos. You both stood up, enveloping him in a group hug, all three of you laughing and thanking him for his words.

"Alright, that was brilliant, Daniel. Now, let’s hear from let's hear from someone who's about to get very familiar with Carlos's driving quirks. Please welcome to the stage, Carlos's new future teammate, Alex Albon!"

Alex strode up to the stage with a playful grin, adjusting the microphone as he faced the audience.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my new teammate, Carlos Sainz," Alex began, "You know, when I heard Carlos was joining Williams, I thought, 'Great, someone to help push the team forward!' Then I remembered his time at Ferrari and realized he's just as confused about strategy as the rest of us."

The room erupted in laughter, with Carlos good-naturedly shaking his head.

"But seriously, Carlos," Alex continued, "I'm excited to work with you. I mean, who wouldn't want a teammate who's been through more teams than I've had podiums? Toro Rosso, Renault, McLaren, Ferrari... Williams is just the latest stop on the Carlos Sainz World Tour, isn't it?"

Carlos raised his glass in mock salute, chuckling along with the audience.

"I have to say, though, I'm a bit worried," Alex said, feigning concern. "I've seen how competitive you are, Carlos. I just hope you remember that at Williams, we're usually racing against the clock, not other cars. But hey, at least you'll always beat the safety car... probably."

"You know, Carlos, I just realized we have something else in common besides our great hair and questionable career choices. We're both proud members of the 'No Appendix Club'!"

The room burst into laughter, with Carlos nodding in amused agreement.

"That's right, folks," Alex continued, "Carlos and I have both had our appendixes removed. I like to think it makes us more aerodynamic, but let's be honest, in Carlos's case, it's probably just made room for more hair product."

Carlos playfully patted his hair, eliciting more chuckles from the audience.

"But seriously," Alex said, "I suppose this means we're perfectly matched as teammates. We're both down an organ, so when Williams inevitably asks us to give 100%, we can honestly say we're already giving everything we've got - minus an appendix, of course! Happy birthday, teammate, here's to a season of driving a tractor, but at least we'll be together."

Alex stepped down from the stage and approached Carlos, who stood up to give him a hug patting his back.

"Now, let's welcome to the stage a man who needs no introduction, but I'll give him one anyway. Seven-time world champion and fashion icon, Lewis Hamilton!" you said and everyone clapped.

Lewis sauntered up to the stage with his characteristic cool demeanor. "Carlos, my man," he began, "I've got to hand it to you. You've had quite the career. Toro Rosso, Renault, McLaren, Ferrari, next year Williams, it's like you're collecting team merchandise,"Lewis grinned mischievously as he continued, "You know, Carlos, I've got to thank you. You've done such a great job warming up that Ferrari seat for me. It's like you were my personal seat heater all along!"

The crowd roared with laughter as Carlos playfully buried his face in his hands, and you rubbed his back comfortingly while chuckling.

"But seriously," Lewis continued with a grin, "You've made that Ferrari seat look good. I just hope I can live up to your legacy of looking devastatingly handsome while trying to figure out what on earth the pit wall is thinking."

Carlos laughed, shaking his head in mock despair. "Thanks, Lewis. I appreciate the… kind words."

"You know, Carlos, I've always admired your ability to stay positive," Lewis continued his roast, "No matter how many times you've been dropped from teams, you always manage to smile for the cameras. It's like you've mastered the art of looking happy while screaming internally. I'm taking notes mate!"

After a few more jabs Lewis concluded his roast, several other drivers took their turns at the mic, each adding their own flavor to the celebration. George joked about Carlos's infamous beach photos, Pierre told some stories about their Toro Rosso days and even Oscar joked about being surprised about being invited since him and Carlos always push each other off the track.

Finally, it was your turn. You stood up, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as you approached the stage. Carlos looked at you with a huge smile.

"Well, well, well," you began, locking eyes with Carlos, "what can I say about Carlos Sainz that hasn't already been said? He's talented, he's handsome, and he's the only man I know who spends more time on his hair than I do."

The room filled with laughter as Carlos nodded in mock pride.

"But seriously, living with Carlos is an adventure," you continued, "He's always talking about smooth operations, but let me tell you, there's nothing smooth about the way he leaves his socks all over the house. It's like living in a minefield of sweaty foot prisons."

Carlos threw his head back in laughter along with the rest of the guests.

"And don't even get me started on his competitiveness. Everything's a race with this guy. Brushing teeth? Race. Getting dressed? Race. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to overtake me in bed yet!"

The room erupted in cheers and wolf whistles as Carlos turned a shade of red.

"But in all seriousness," your voice softened, "Carlos, you're the most incredible person I know. You're kind, passionate, and you never give up, whether it's on the track or trying to convince me that paella is a breakfast food."

You raised your glass, "To Carlos, the love of my life and the smoothest operator I know. Happy 30th birthday, mi amor. May your future be as bright as your smile and your pit stops be faster than your hair routine."

As you finished, Carlos stood up, his eyes shining with laughter and love. He pulled you into a tight embrace as the room filled with applause and cheers.

"I love you so much," he whispered into your ear, kissing your temple softly.

"Well, folks, I think we've successfully roasted Carlos to a crisp," you said with a grin. "But before we wrap up, I think it's only fair that the birthday boy gets a chance to respond. Carlos, amor, the floor is yours!"

"Wow," he began, his accent thicker than usual, "I'm not sure whether to feel honored or insulted. But I guess that's the point of a roast, right?" He paused as chuckles rippled through the room. "First off, I want to thank all of you for being here. It means a lot that you'd all take time out of your busy schedules to come and insult me."

Carlos thanked each of his friends with a blend of humor and sincerity, making everyone laugh. He playfully teased Charles about making him look good on track, jested with Lando about the success of his Spanish pickup lines with you, and expressed gratitude to Fernando for his mentorship while vowing to become the best Sainz in motorsports.

"And finally, to my beautiful girlfriend," Carlos's voice softened as he looked at you, "Thank you for organizing this amazing night, and for putting up with me every day. You're the real smooth operator here."

The room erupted in cheers and applause as Carlos stepped down from the stage. You met him halfway, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug once again.

"Happy birthday, amor," you whispered in his ear, pulling away to kiss him softly.

[pickingupmymercedes]

It was bound to come out - Lewis Hamilton NSFW

Part 2. - A Wolff Cage

request: "Can we get Toto finding out that his daughter is dating Lewis, but in the worst way possible? Maybe he catches them together in a compromising position yk. I love your smuts, so I'll leave it to you" - Anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Wolff!reader

warnings: unprotected sexual activities.

Wrap it before you tap it guys

wordcount: +2K

a/n: My mind ran with this one and everything you asked is there, but with a twist. Hope you enjoy it and sorry for taking a bit ❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

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Y/n groaned loudly as the sunlight streamed through a sliver of the blinds, her head pounding and her stomach turning from the aftermath of the night before.

She reached for her phone, squinting at the bright screen in the somewhat dark room.

Her eyes widened in horror as she saw the barrage of missed calls and messages. Her father, had called multiple times, along with Susie and her own mother.

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she tried to piece together what could’ve cause all that.

Lewis stirred next to her, yawning and stretching his arms. "Morning, beautiful" he murmured, pulling her closer. Y/n barely registered his warmth, her mind racing as the fog of the night began to clear.

And then it hit her—a wave of cold, hard realization.

She had gone into a fit of bravery. An urge to stop hiding from the world. To shout at all the corners of the world, like a schoolgirl, that she was in love with the one and only Lewis Hamilton. And that he loved her back.

Her eyes darted back to her phone, the messages from her dad glaring at her like an impending doom.

"Oh my god," she muttered, sitting up abruptly. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" Lewis blinked, now fully awake, and sat up beside her.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice still groggy with sleep.

"I've just outed us in the worst possible way!" Y/n exclaimed, her voice a mix of panic and disbelief. She ran a hand through her hair, her eyes wide with horror. "I accidentally sent the video to my dad! My dad, Lewis! Toto freaking Wolff!"

Lewis stared at her for a moment, processing her words. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, followed by a chuckle. "You're joking, right?"

"I'm not joking!" she shot back, her voice climbing a few octaves. "Do I look like I'm joking? This is not a joke! My father has seen a video of us... the one video that couldn’t leave my phone!"

Lewis leaned back against the headboard, an amused glint in his eyes. "Well, at least now he knows" he said, shrugging with amusement dancing in his features.

Y/n stared at him, incredulous. "That's your takeaway from this? Lewis, this is a disaster! Why did I do that? And now my dad seen that... and Susie... and my mom!"

Lewis wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his side. "Hey, it's going to be okay" he said, trying to soothe her. "It's not the end of the world."

"Not the end of the world?" Y/n echoed, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Lewis, we just went public in the most embarrassing way possible! My dad is going to kill me. No, worse, he's going to kill you!"

Lewis chuckled again, clearly more amused by the situation than she was. "Love, it’s done now. Please breath." he said confidently. "Besides, I think I can handle Toto and from what I know, so can you."

Y/n buried her face in her hands, groaning. "This is so bad. So, so bad."

Lewis gently pulled her hands away, lifting her chin so she looked at him. "Y/n, it's going to be okay," he repeated, his voice soft. "We'll figure this out. And honestly, it was bound to come out eventually. Just, maybe not like this," he admitted with a chuckle, "but still."

Y/n sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I can't believe this is happening," she muttered.

Lewis kissed the top of her head, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "It'll be fine," he assured her. "We'll talk to them, explain everything. And who knows, maybe they'll be happy for us."

Y/n gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah, happy that their daughter and one of the most high-profile drivers in F1 decided to announce their relationship via accidental sex video"

Lewis grinned. "Trendsetters," he joked. "They can’t complain we’re not being transparent"

Y/n couldn't help but laugh, despite the situation. "You're a menace" she said, shaking her head and unlocking her phone, finally opening the first few messages, one from Susie catching her eye.

"As much as I’m shocked, I hope those ‘I love you’ were for real. Lewis is always welcomed with us. We’ll deal with your father, don’t worry."

A small, involuntary giggle escaped her lips. In the midst of the chaos at least someone had a sense of humor.

It was raw. As raw as a homemade sex video usually is.

None of their faces was truly visible. But his tattoos, the known birth mark on her back and their voices could be distinguished by anyone.

It started with Y/n adjusting the camera to the side of the scene, Lewis asking her if she was going to make him wait much longer as one of his hands pumped his already rock-hard dick.

He was spread out on a leather coach, wearing only a simple white t-shirt, while Y/n had a black thong and her breasts out for him to catch as she giggled her way back to his lap.

The video focusing as she climbed on him, her back to the camera. Laughs and some talk could be heard coming from them.

One of his hands held her by her waist, bringing her close to him as she leaned down to kiss him, his other hand cupped at her breast. Their moans as they kissed crystal clear in the video.

Then she breaks the kiss, adjusts her legs on top of his as he places her thong to one side of her ass, she reaches for his dick and aligns it to her core. Lewis asks “You good?” and she nods to him.

She drags his length onto her folds a few times and then sinks down, his hand on her waist grasping at her skin, her breathing visibly getting heavier and their moans filling the air.

As Y/n settles down onto Lewis the camera captures the way her back arches, the subtle movements of her muscles under her skin, and the way his hands explore her body with a familiarity that speaks of how intimate their relationship was.

Lewis lets out a low groan, his head tipping back against the couch, some of his loose braids now visible. Y/n starts to move, her hips rocking in a slow, teasing rhythm.

Lewis's hands travel from her waist to her hips, setting a steady pace and guiding her, and she leans forward, her breasts pressing against his chest.

Their breaths are heavy as their movements increase speed.

The sound of skin against skin mixes with their gasps and whispers, turning the video into an erotic symphony.

Lewis murmurs something unintelligible, probably a praise as his voice is husky with desire. Y/n responds with a breathy laugh, her fingers tangling in his scalp as she pulls him into another heated kiss.

As the camera continues to record, Y/n's movements become more urgent, her moans rising in pitch. Lewis's grip on her hips tightens, his own movements becoming more forceful, meeting her thrust for thrust.

Lewis whispers her name and praises time and time again. "Look at you," he groaned at some point, his hands gripping her harder, guiding her movements. "Taking me so well."

Y/n pulls back slightly. She cups his face with one hand, brushing her thumb over his lips before leaning down to kiss him again, softer this time, more tender.

The video captures the moment Lewis’s breath hitch in his throat, Y/n laughs as she adjusts her posture, she scoops his face in her hands and sits on his lap. His dick still fully inside her “I’m nowhere close, Sir.”   

Y/n's playful taunt lingered in the air, challenging Lewis with a swing of her hips. He responds with a low chuckle, the sound resonant, vibrating through the video. The camera captured his hands as they slide from her waist to her hips, holding her steady.

"Oh, is that so?" he murmurs, his voice a rich amusement.

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he controls his breathing. His lips find the curve of her neck, planting slow, deliberate kisses that make Y/n shiver.

The camera picks up on the subtle shifts in their bodies, showing the intimate dance between them. His hands trace the contours of her body, from the curve of her waist to the swell of her breasts, as he slows the pace, savoring every touch.

With a controlled grace, Lewis lifts Y/n off his lap. He stands, holding her effortlessly, her legs wrapped around his waist, her back arched as she clings to him. He lowers her onto the couch, the leather cool against her skin.

The camera captures the moment she lands, her head just out of frame, leaving only the sight of her body from the shoulders down and him hovering over her.

Lewis kneels in front of her, spreading her legs apart with deliberate care, positioning one leg to the side and the other wide open. The camera zooms in, focusing on her fully exposed core, her arousal glistening in the soft light.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice husky with lust. "So ready for me." His hand glides up her inner thigh, caressing the sensitive skin, his fingers barely grazing her flesh. He teases her clit with the tip of his cock, eliciting a shiver from Y/n.

"Is this what you wanted, love?" he asks, his voice low with seduction. "To be laid out and taken like this? For me to make you beg?" His words are accompanied by the slow, teasing movements of his hips, the head of his cock barely brushing against her entrance.

Y/n's breathing grows ragged, her body arching towards him, desperate for more. "Yeah" she breathes, her voice a soft plea. "Please... I need you."

"You’re so beautiful when you're needy," he whispers, his voice a dark, intimate confession. He watches her, his fingers now tracing circles on her swollen bud. Her moans become louder, her hands gripping the couch cushions as she writhes beneath him.

Lewis leans in, his breath hot against her ear. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he murmurs, his voice a promise. "Every inch of me, love. You're going to remember this."

As her moans continued, Lewis waits for the perfect moment. Her head tilts back, exposing the delicate line of her throat.

In one swift, powerful motion, he thrusts into her, burying himself to the hilt. Y/n gasps hard, her body jerking in response, her back arching off the couch. The camera captures the force of the movement, the way her body reacted and then how she melted around him, her hands flying to clutch at his arms.

"That's it" Lewis growls, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want this." He leans back, his hands gripping her hips as he sets a relentless rhythm.

His thrusts are slow, but deep and powerful, each one punctuated by a low grunt of pleasure from him.

Y/n's moans mix with his, the sound a symphony of pleasure and surrender. She wraps her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back as she meets his thrusts. "Gosh" she gasps, her voice breathless. "Don't stop... please, don't stop."

Lewis leans down, his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm not stopping," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "Not until I've made you come, love. Not until I've felt you shatter around me."

He shifts his angle slightly, hitting a spot that makes Y/n cry out, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her body responds instinctively, her hips bucking against him, seeking more.

Lewis's hands slide up her body, one hand cupping her breast, the other tangling in her hair as he pulls her into a heated kiss.

Their kisses are messy, desperate. Y/n pulls back, her head falling back on the couch, her mouth open in a silent cry. "I’m gonna ... I'm so close," she whimpers, her body trembling.

Lewis growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels her tightening around him. "Come for me" he demands, his voice a harsh whisper. "I want to feel you, Y/n. Let go for me."

With a final thrust, Y/n's body goes rigid, her body trembling around Lewis. She cried out, her nails raking down his back, her breathing shaken. Lewis follows less than a minute later, Y/n still out of breath as his own orgasm tore through him as he buried himself deep inside her.

Lewis collapsed onto her, his head resting on her chest, his hands still gripping her hips. Y/n wrapping her arms around him, holding him close.

The camera records their quiet afterglow, the only sounds their slowing breaths and the occasional soft murmur. Lewis's hands continued to caress her, soothing and loving.

Lewis lifts his head, looking down at her with a soft smile. "You're incredible" he murmurs, his voice tender. "I love you."

Y/n smiles back, her eyes shining with emotion. "I love you" she whispers, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "Always."

Before the video cuts off to an end, it’s clear when his seed sneaks its way out of her as he lifts her body up a bit so he lies on the coach and brings her back to his chest, his lips coming to rest on top of her head.

______________________________________________________________

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[sleepyjuice]

protective jj protextiive jj protecitice jj ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

yup yup yup say no more ‼️

one thing about jj is that when he loved someone, he was also fully committed to protecting them at all costs. his circle was small, so when he cared about someone, he would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

but with you, he fully knew he would die before letting anything happen to you. and it sure was a task having a beautiful girlfriend, because to strangers eyes, you were just a pretty face and a pretty body, and that was just a blessing and a curse to jj.

keggers always brought out the creeps, and jj’s blood pressure was always just a bit high every time the two of you went. he would still enjoy himself, but he didn’t miss the way guys would stare at you, eyeing your body as if you were just anyones to have. you weren’t naive about it, you knew people stared, but as long as no one tried to touch you or talk to you, you didn’t let it bother you.

but of course, you didn’t live in a perfect world so trouble was bound to find you every now and then. you had a few drinks and you were feeling good. you had spent the day with jj and this was a great way to end the night together.

“yo jj, I can’t get this keg to tap, can you help me real quick?” john b approached you and jj, gently squeezing the blonde boy’s shoulder.

“yeah I got you,” jj answered, turning to you once he spoke, “c’mon, let’s go baby.” he nudged your waist, nodding towards the direction of where john b had ventured back off to.

you shook your head, “nah it’s okay, kie’s gonna be here any minute and I told her I would wait for her here. you go, I’ll be okay.” you assured him with a smile, not missing the hesitation clear on his face. he didn’t want to leave you alone, but he also didn’t want to make you feel like you couldn’t be independent and handle yourself alone for a minute.

he inhaled sharply before responding, “alright, alright, yeah. I’ll be right back.” he told you, giving you a quick kiss before going off to help john b. you took another sip from your cup, pulling out your phone to check if kiara had texted you.

“no way a pretty girl like you is here by herself.” a man’s voice startled you as you looked up from your phone, a touron, presumably had wasted no time invading your space as soon as you were alone, great.

“yeah, no, I’m not. but I’m not interested. so thanks but no thanks.” you told the man, looking back at your phone, hoping that for once, a man could have the ability to read the room.

“jesus, entitled aren’t you? can’t even let me say more than one sentence to you before being a bitch?” the man snapped, his ego obviously bruised. you did feel a little nervous now, uncomfortable with how quick his demeanor had shifted. instead of responding, you turned to walk away but were stopped when his hand grabbed your shoulder harshly, yanking you around to face him again.

he had opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by a fist to his jaw, and you jumped back in surprise at the sudden violence unfolding before you. you weren’t shocked to see that it was jj who had punched him and you set your cup down as jj kept going at him, reaching from behind your boyfriend to grab onto the fabric of his tank top, trying to pull him off of the guy.

“you think you can just touch girls, bro? when her back is turned to you?” he spat, tensing when he felt someone touch his shirt, glancing back for a moment to see that it was you.

“jj stop, stop, it’s not worth it, please.” you pleaded with him to stop, grateful that he had stepped in to help, but it wasn’t worth him getting potentially hurt over or in trouble.

“you’re a fragile ass bitch, dude. fuckin- apologize to my girl and then fuck off. I’m so serious right now.” jj eventually stopped his punches, but kept a grip on the guys shirt as he forced him to face you. he was indeed a bitch, because he barely muttered out a little ‘I’m sorry’ before stumbling back and hurrying away from the two of you.

“jesus, I leave ya alone for not even two minutes and these douchebags think they can try some shit,” jj rubbed at his now bleeding knuckles before pulling you into his chest, his hands rubbing at your sides, “you okay, pretty girl? you’re not hurt are ya?” you shook your head in response, relaxing into his touch. you hated when he had to resort to violence, but you did understand it in this situation. you were just proud of him for not losing control this time.

“I’m okay, thank you for saving me. that was lowkey hot as fuck.”

(not me getting carried away ummmm oops thank you anon <3)

[deathbxnny]

Heyy! May i request gallagher, sunday and boothill with a reader who is like furina?

(hiding her problems and fears while acting happy and quirky)

~🎀

I absolutely love this idea, especially because it's about Furina, who I also love, hehe!! I also made this into a teen reader, which I hope you don't mind, anon!! I'm just craving some platonic stuff lately. So thank you for this request, Anon, and I hope you like my post!!<33

Content: Platonic relationships, teen reader, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation/brainwashing for Sundays part, father figures hsr men, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》GALLAGHER

Gallagher saw through your facade with ease yet didn't dare push you to reveal your true self to him for a multitude of reasons. He mainly, however, didn't want to overwhelm you, figuring that you hiding your true self was just a coping mechanism for a darker past you were desperately trying to keep away.

And so he let you prance around the bar in your fake grandiose personality, whilst he kept his eyes on you at all times just in case. He knew you'd break eventually, and not because he necessarily wanted that to happen. He just knew that a young kid like you couldn't hold out forever.

Whether you do finally let the facade drop one day or not is up to you in the end, however. He makes it clear indirectly that he's there for you no matter what. And even if you never reveal your darkest fears to him, he'll always watch over you anyway as well.

》SUNDAY

Sunday also immideatly notices that your rather loud and proud personality was all a facade to hide a dark past even he had yet to discover. And unfortunately for you, he doesn't shy away from confronting you for your own good. Some may say that it was a little harsh or maybe even reckless, but Sunday always believed to know better.

This most likely leads to you having to drop your mask and tell him the reasoning behind your fake smiles and quirky behaviors. Whether through your own will or his own is up to you to decide, although he also sees no shame in either. If it helps you, then he'll stop at nothing to make you feel better.

You can get angry at him, you can cry to him, you can also bury your face into his shoulder and let yourself get comforted by his sweet, soothing voice as well. He doesn't mind it. Even if some of it is influenced by his tuning ability. But you can't blame him for using his power on you, right? You understand that it is for your own good, yes? He just wants to help you.

》BOOTHILL

It takes a bit for Boothill to realise that your personality is fake, mainly because he sometimes finds himself doing the same thing at times. He only notices that something is amiss when you suddenly burst into tears, overwhelmed by your hidden emotions at last. And it all suddenly clicks in his head, that he couldn't help but knock on it in self-disappointment.

He's not good with emotions, but he likes to think that he was once good with kids. He'll pull an arm around you, pat your head, tell you that it's all good and to just let it alllll out to your old man Boothill. He doesn't mind your tears staining his steel, an old memory of him soothing a young toddler coming to mind when he allowed you to cry into him.

He knows that as galaxy rangers, you should be independent from him, fully able to be on your own and deal with your emotions as they come. But he finds himself simply making you promise to be yourself from then on as you continue on your journey together. He may be breaking some rules... but it's all good in his book, If you're happy with it, too.

Alrightttt... I hope this was okay Anon!! And thank you again for the request, I loved it!!<33

[guiltyasdave]

sun is going down

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?

a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.

Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?

The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.

You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.

“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”

It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.

Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.

You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.

Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.

The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.

You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.

Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.

Please don’t let it be a trap.

They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.

The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.

You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.

“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”

The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.

“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”

The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.

“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.

She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.

“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”

You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.

You take another steadying breath. You can do this.

“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”

Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.

“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”

You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”

She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.

“It’s just you down there?”

You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.

The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.

Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.

You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”

The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.

In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.

You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.

You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.

“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.

“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”

“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.

“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”

But he shakes his head, humming again.

“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.

You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.

“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.

“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”

“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.

“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.

“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.

You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.

“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”

You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”

“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”

“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.

She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.

“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.

“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”

She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”

You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.

You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.

Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.

You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.

Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.

Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.

Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.

You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.

“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”

She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”

You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?

You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.

When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.

It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[slimybeth69]

Touch

Summary: The Mandalorian is quite interested in what you've been doodling. What happens when he finds out?

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags- eventual angst, slow burn, graphic depictions of wounds and violence, eventual non-con, eventual therapy speak, Grogu, Mando takes off his helmet, so much shit happens in this story.

This was very much inspired by the legendary Rough Day. It's such an incredible story and so well written. Don't have as high hopes for this, it's mostly just me being horny for Din Djarin.

unbeta'd, probably not proof-read because of my ADHD.

SORRY EVERYBODY ELSE

Chapter 2 ->

“What are you doing?” He asked raspily through the voice modulator. You roll your eyes. It’s the second or third time he’s asked you that since you guys found a place to let the child run around and play. Eat a creature or two. 

“Nothing.” You said it for the second or third time. He says nothing in response but you can feel him looking at you. Maybe. You’re never sure with the helmet. That stupid helmet that makes you look right back at your stupid face every time he says something stupid to you.

Okay. That’s a little harsh, per se, but he’s been harsh on you for everything lately. Little messy in the ship? On you about it. The child crying? On you. Something that you had absolutely no control whatsoever over happening inside, around or to the ship? He was fucking on you.

It was exhausting honestly. If it hadn’t been for the credits and honestly, the cute ass kid you might not have stuck around. But you were so desperate to get away. Apparently so desperate you asked him for a ride out of the Canto Casino. No, you begged.

And for whatever reason– it's clear to you now it’s because he needed someone to be mean to– he said yes. And then offered you seventy-five credits a week for as long as you stayed and watched after the kid and cleaned up after both of them. You drew the line at cooking anything because you experienced a burn first hand once, and will never do that again. Not even after he offered three extra credits a week. Not happening, Mando. No way.

Especially not for him . Being so mean all the time. 

You could see Mando out of the corner of your eye shift and try to see what you were doing in your notebook but you dropped your shoulder over it and pulled it tightly into your chest. 

“What’re you doing?” You turn your head to look at him. 

“Trying to see what you’re doing.” He said simply. It was so frank, yeah, that’s what he’s doing. Obviously . “What are you doing?” The little inflection in his words made your heart race for a second. As if he might actually be interested and not just bored of watching the child run around in the grass after small creatures to devour. 

The first time you saw the child eat something, it horrified you, but it grew to be just a little endearing the way he’d chase after it, jump and pounce on it a few times and then snatch it up for a lil’ snack. Just a quick one; the way he’d swallow it hole. You lost track of how long it’d been since then but it wasn’t a long time. Just long enough for you to forget to keep track anymore. 

“Why are you so interested?” You ask him, keeping the notebook tightly to your chest. Mando sits back and looks forwards.

“I don’t know.” He garbles through the modulator.

“Then you don’t get to see.” You tease but you wonder if he even knows what that is. Teasing . 

He’s never even once cracked one little joke with you in all this time. So probably not. Either that or he thinks you’re incredibly unfunny. Which is a possibility. You did try very very hard to impress him with whatever weird homemaker skills he expected you to have. You had literally none so he was very thoroughly unimpressed , to say the least. 

The dirty clothes and dishes around the ship were one thing, but it was the child's incessant crying that really made him ‘ raise his tone’ with you. Not really but he did say in a few very colorful words that you needed to do better. 

But really you just needed to bond with the little green sucker. Mando had thrown you into this ship with that thing? Baby? You really didn’t know or care, but he threw you in there and then shut the door and went on his merry way. For four days. Without even so much as an introduction. 

The kid was scared shitless of you for the entire time Mando was gone. It took the child almost two weeks to warm up to you. You didn’t know where anything was, or what to do, and were left to fend for yourself. It took you exactly thirty minutes of crying to figure out that the child wanted to be outside and the kid didn’t have any kind of harness or tether. Which was terrifying because what if you lost it? You had been so scared the child was going to run away but the kid didn’t. Well... did at first and then you tired it out; chasing for what felt like two hours. 

Then only once did the child have it's fill of an entire ecosystem of poor unfortunate creatures smaller than your foot, did he go back and lay himself down in that floating bassinet in the ship.

You had to lay down on the floor beside him after shutting the ship up, just to rest your eyes for a minute because that kinda cute little thing– asleep in that floating orb– had tired you out. And you didn’t wake up until that cute little thing had pried your eyelids open to show you the mess he had made. Pulled out everything that he could get his six little grubby fingers on

That had been day one . Things had gotten a little better since then. A little .

Every time you turned your back to clean up one mess, the little cutie would just run in the opposite direction and make a different mess somewhere else. This was the hardest job you’ve ever had. Easily. The child was a handful. There was something about the way he snuggled into when it was time for bed though, and it stole the heart right out of your chest. The way he’d bring you different colored rocks and bugs and show you them in wonder and amazement before he tried to eat them. When Mando was gone, it was just you two so you had plenty of time to bond, the Mandalorian was busy. Very busy indeed. 

Busy informing you that you didn’t put things away correctly, didn’t wash things the way he liked and needed to figure it out. You had to explain to him that people normally get at least a couple hours of training. Maybe a tour around, to show them where things are and where things go . He didn’t seem to understand that the reason you weren't doing a great job straight away was partially his fault. Or he just didn’t care. 

It’s . fine .

It’s almost like he’s a bounty hunter who has no patience for anything besides the child. 

And he’s got barely any for the green baby, so, it’s been a very pleasant time so far.

Maker. Okay. You’d also have very little patience for anything if you had to wear that beskar all the time. He was always in that suit, always. You hadn’t even caught a glimps of a wrist or his neck. Nothing. Not even an ankle. You knew the Mandalorians couldn’t let anyone see their faces, like ever , so you understood but, sheesh. It was always on. You didn’t even know what he did at night because you were usually asleep with the child before him. And he was always up before you.

 You told him once you’d blindfold yourself just so he could breathe if he wanted to. He’s never taken you up on the offer, surprisingly. 

So now in the present, still sour with him for being mean and because he’d never answered your question about what color his hair is, you doodled what he might look like in your little notebook you always had on you. Mostly pictures of the child because he was slowly winning you over with those eyes. And because he’s all you seen for however long you’ve been out here. But Mando had been back for a couple days. Longer than normal. You’d been spending a lot of time together, the three of you.

So for the last couple days you had been compelled to doodle Mando. What he might look like under that helmet and in some of your more explicit doodles– maybe what he looked like under that suit too.

The beskar protected him well. 

Too well.  

Maker. 

Okay, no. The beskar saved his life, protected him. Absolutely. But like, it left everything to the imagination. Which was frustrating. Because as much as you wanted to leave where you had been living, you had imagined seeing another person besides the child and Mando at least once. Maybe get a night off and talk to someone about something other than the kid, the ship and the bounty he’s currently after. 

Alas no, you’ve been stuck on the ship and now the primal desires inside of you are starting to flicker like a little flame. Tiny. Unnoticed by you, even. The doodling really was mindless at first, but your mindlessness was what Mando’s lower stomach looked like.

The notebook was still pressed against your chest. 

“So I can’t see?” He asked, looking at the child playing in the field. 

“Nope. Sure can’t.” Even if he had told you why he wanted to look at your notebook, you wouldn’t have let him. He would have had to pry it from your cold dead hands, and then you’d have been fighting him from whatever afterlife there could be. Fighting for the last shred of dignity you have. 

“I could take it from you.” He said like he had been inside your fucking head. Your heart is beating inside your throat and you unintentionally grip it tighter against you.

“I know.” You say. Your whole body frozen in fear. Like, was it a threat? An observation he had just made in his head? “ Why would you do that?” 

It was a weird thing for him to say. You’re leering at him over your shoulder, watching to see if he makes any sudden movements towards you so you can toss your notebook in the small fire he’s made. You might do it anyway because what is he even talking about? Taking it from you?

“Because.” Emotionless rasp from the modulator. “I’d like to see.” No inflection. Nothing. Just staring at the kid who was jumping off the ground slightly trying to catch a small flying bug. He couldn’t get it. 

But it had been said nicer than the other times. You couldn’t put your finger on it because it had sounded exactly the same, honestly, but there was just something behind the words he chose. 

I’d like to see.

Like he was some little kid who just wanted to look at what you were looking at. So innocent. Like he wasn’t a bounty hunter who had killed so many people in just the short time you had known him. And he wanted to look in your notebook. 

And now you had to tell him no again. Because what the shit? You can’t show him the very detailed drawing you’ve done of his pants pulled down to just the base of him and his curly patch of pubic hair that rents space there. You have no idea what the base of him looks like, it’s all made in your head. 

But the doodles are there. Sure are. In the notebook. That’s not imagined. No. The notebook and doodles are there. The notebook happens to be opened up to a page that has the deep indentation of muscles on both sides, a v of just pure rock hard strength and power that lead down to where you’ve been thinking about touching him lately. The little trail of hair that leads from his belly button; where you would oh so love to place your tongue, all the way down to where that v meets right–

Okay stop it right now, this is too much, you’re getting distracted from the point. You very carefully flip back multiple pages of the notebook so that there’s no chance that he could see what you’ve been working on as of late. But now, you peek down and check to see– the drawings of the child, okay. Phew. 

You hold up the notebook. You have to pull it back a couple inches when he tries to take it. He tilts his head down at you for just a moment when you do that and then looks back to the page you’re showing him. He studies it for so long that you wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Your arm is starting to ache. You've been holding it for so long. 

“You’ve captured his greeness quite well, somehow, without color.” He says, still emotionless but… did he just try and exchange banter with you? 

“We can hang it in the ship, right above his bassinet.” You tease. He’s so damn particular with his ship. Not wanting you to change anything . So there’s no way that he’d let you hang up a doodle of anything.

“That’d be fitting.” 

Oh my Maker. Please give me strength to deal with this- this- whatever this is. Because what he happens to be, is impossible. Impossible to read. Impossible to predict. Nothing about him is like anyone you’ve ever met.

“What was on the other page?” His modulator voice scares you, laying there silently on your stomach with your eyes closed. If you had a free hand you would have pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose in slight annoyance. But you didn’t. You were laying on the free one and still holding the notebook. But when he said that , you pulled it back into your chest.

“What other page?” You snap. You can feel the heat rushing to your face. 

“The one you’re hiding from me.” 

Okay , Maker. Real nice. Real real funny. Give him some emotion now .

This is the first time you ever wished Mando would stop talking. Except for when he was mad at you. But now, he’s chatting you up and you wish he’d shut up. Just leave you alone.

Very funny, Maker. 

“I’m not hiding anything.” You say it so matter of factly like you’re willing it to be true. 

“I saw you.” 

“You didn’t see anything. I’m surprised you can see anything behind that helmet.” You flutter the notebook back at him in dismissal. 

Mando is silent for a long time.

“It actually helps me see-” 

“ Oh Maker . It was a joke . Do you know what a joke is?” You exclaim. “I know the helmet allows you to see better. I know that. I was making a joke.” You’re so frustrated now that you actually move your hand from under your chest and put your two fingers on the bridge of your nose and sigh. 

“You’re-” He pauses for a long time. “-annoyed with me?” 

You’re not expecting him to say that.

“I’m not exactly pleased , no. But I’m not annoyed. No.” You explain to him.

“So can I see the other page, then?” 

You throw the notebook in your bag quickly and snap it shut. 

“I think you should see if you can us food to eat, maybe? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” You think for a second, “I’ve never seen you eat, actually, so, maybe you're not. I don’t know.” You speak nervously, the words continue to come out even though you wish you’d just shut up. “I know the kid is probably full off whatever thriving colony of small things he’s decimated. So, I’ll put him to bed while you see if you can find dinner or something.” You get up, take your bag with you and go grab the child from whatever life threatening way he’s found to entertain himself and bring him into the ship with you.

You set everything down on the floor behind the cockpit– your makeshift bedroom– and give the child a quick wipe down with a damp cloth, making sure he doesn’t have any crud or muck in any of his little fold or behind his comically large ears. And then you rock him to sleep. It takes ages– so long– for him to finally settle down and relax. He closes his big eyes while you rock him for more ages until you’re sure that he won't wake up when you lay him down. 

Which is annoying , because he can put himself down for a nap no problem, little thing tires itself out murdering small animals and just lays himself down when he’s tired, passes out within minutes. The minute the sun goes down? Nocturnal. The child has no idea what you mean when you say it’s time for bed. 

You tried to let him put himself to sleep once and Mando told you that he’d cut your credits in half if the kid ever cried like that again. It was worse than crying. It was wailing and screaming unlike anything you’ve heard in your life. The child must be rocked to sleep at night. That was an every night routine.  You deal with the child.  When Mando was around, he’d get you food during that time.

Once you were back outside, a meal had been caught and cooked for you. You assume that in your absence he fed himself, comfortably knowing you’d be gone for the next several eternities putting the child to sleep. 

“Thank you.” You’re hungry. Starving actually. You hadn’t realized how hungry you actually were. All your time and energy has been focused on keeping that little green baby alive that you have sometimes forgotten to take care of yourself. You keep yourself clean, yes. Easy to do when you have to clean the child every day. Eating and all the other stuff? Eh. Forgotten about now that the kid’s around chasing bugs and feeding himself. 

It’s fine. You’re thankful regardless because traveling around the galaxy, seeing things you’ve only ever heard about in stories . Even if you haven’t spoken to a singular other person besides Mando and the child. You have seen such incredible things and for that, you are thankful for Mando.

Very thankful.

Okay! Okay. You’ve gotta be in heat or something. Something! Because why is the way he’s looking at you is making between your legs throb? Okay now you know something is really wrong with you because what the stars, he’s got a helmet on. He could be looking over your shoulder or just over the horizon behind you but he’s got his gaze turned right to you. It’s like you can feel his eyes on you. You wonder what color they could be. Blue? Brown? Green?

“Pretty good.” You say, holding up whatever he caught and killed for you. You stopped asking what it was because you didn’t always like the answer, but it was always… edible. 

“So. That page?” 

You roll your eyes at him. Why oh why is he bringing it up again, the sun has gone down now and it’s been so long since that conversation. It’s old. Dead. Buried. 

“You’ve never taken an interest in anything I do, unless I’m doing it wrong, and then you scold me for it. Now, I’ve got one thing that’s mine and you’re trying to-” You’re huffing at him, actually annoyed now.

“A secret ?” He’s curious. An emotion. 

“It’s not a secret, it's just not– it’s not something I want other people to see.” You say very truthfully. “I don’t think.” You add to soften the statement. He’s actually talking to you about something besides the usual things.

“Why?” 

Maker, with the questions?

“Because.” It’s a simple response but it’s all you’ve got. 

“It would make me upset?” You look over at him and he’s positioned in exactly the same way he was when you looked away from him. Staring at you. You think. At least now he’s talking to you. 

But how do you answer that? 

Because yes, it would make him upset. It would make him very upset. It’d make you very embarrassed, and you think that's what's most worrying. The possibility of having to sit in the ship with him after. Now he knows that you’ve been thinking about him? Like that ? 

He can leave you here. It’s fine. You’ll figure it out. 

“No.” You lie to him. Then you feel bad for lying to him because you’re unsure if he’s even capable of lying. You’re not sure. He does seem like an innocent soul, minus all the killing. “Okay. Maybe. I don’t really know what upsets you other than when I mess something up, so I don’t really have much to go on.”

“I’m sorry.” He says and it forces the air out of your lungs like someone just punched you in the back. “I’ve–I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

Maker, what is going on? Am I dead? 

“I shouldn’t take it out on you. You do good with the child.” 

You’re completely stunned. You cannot form a sentence. You cannot even think. Did he just compliment you? And apologize to you? Surely, you’re dead. 

“Thanks.” Is all you can manage to say and now, he’s warming up to you and you’re throwing water on the fire. 

“You could clean better, though.” 

And then you laugh because yes, you’re still alive and he is actually the Mando you barely know. And he did just apologize for being mean. And took accountability. And insulted you. 

It’s late now and the child will be awake in a couple hours. You’re asleep. Enjoying the thin mat that’s your bed and your warm blankets. You’re in a dream floating amongst the stars and skies, Mando’s floating with you, touching you so sweetly, and then, there is a hand on your arm. A strong one. 

It’s almost alarming, but then you open your eyes and it’s pitch black. So dark. Darker than you’ve ever seen it in the ship and now  it is entirely alarming. You go to scream but there is a warm hand over your mouth. 

“Don’t.” The modulated voice says quietly in the dark. You immediately relax and the terror stops ripping through you long enough for you to get angry. Very angry. After you hastily wrap the blankets around yourself, you pull your mouth away from his hand.

“Why? Why would you turn off all the lights– every single one? Huh? And then shake me awake like that?” You’re whispering, shouting at him. Your heart is still pounding and his hand is still tightly wrapped around your upper arm.

It’s quiet for a long time

“I didn’t shake you.” 

“Oh my Mak-” You whisper. “You know what I mean, you startled me awake in the darkness. Might as well be the same thing!” You’re exasperated. You had just fallen asleep and now this? Being throttled awake the way you just were? What was he gonna yell at you about now? What had he found that had made him grab you the way he had? Was still grabbing you.

“Sorry.” 

The raspy modulator voice in the dark is terrifying. Even if it’s being nice to you.

“What do you want?” You grumble angrily. “I was sleeping so well– so well and you’re throwing me around in my sleep.” You go to turn over but he stops you, squeezing your upper arm tighter. 

“I saw it.” It’s quiet, but there is some emotion behind the words. What emotion? You can’t be sure just yet. It’s something you’ve never heard from him before. It’s hard to tell in the void you’re in.

“Saw it? Saw what? How can you see anything here?” The sleep is still heavy in your brain and you’re also still terrified. Yes, less terrified knowing that it’s Mando gripping you like this in the dark and not an intruder, but why is he doing this? That is terrifying. Horrifying. 

“The page.” 

You gasp in even more pure, real horror and pull your arm from his grasp but he doesn’t allow it, he grips you tighter and in the dark you can hear him breathing under his mask. You thought you were scared before but not like this. Your heart is threatening to break free from the bone cage it’s safely hidden behind and you feel like you’re going to be sick. Your stomach is clenching and twisting inside of you. Sweat starts to bead your forehead and the back of your neck. 

“ Okokokokokok I’m so sorry. Please don’t kill me please, Mando, plea– I’m really, really scared to die and I don’t wanna go like this . In the dark? No. No , ple–  not in front of the child! Okay?” The silence around you now is deafening, you can’t even hear him breathing anymore and if it weren’t for the choking grip on your arm, you would think he had left. You’re begging for your life because this isn’t how you imagined dying. Not over doodles.

“I’m not mad.” He says quietly. Still raspy but soft. 

“Y-you’re not?” You’re too stunned to say more. Ask why, see if he liked it, nothing else comes to mind. You’re glad he’s not going to leave you outside to fend for yourself tonight. 

“Did you- did you think I was going to kill you?” Raspy modulated whispers come out of the darkness.

“Yes!” You whisper at him with a still beating like crazy heart in your chest. It’s about to burst out of you. “Why wou-” He cuts you off.

”They’re good.” He garbles quietly. 

“What is!? What’s good?” The fog in your head hasn’t lifted at all, and you’re so confused. What the stars is he talking about.

 “I looked at all of the pages.” He sighed out. It didn’t sound as gentle as it may have  meant behind the voice modulator. Still garbled and distorted. 

All the pages? All. Of. The. Pages. There were doodles of yourself in that notebook. Doodles of what you look like behind your clothes. The other pages in that notebook held secrets, real secrets and now you were even more mad at him. He could just invade your privacy? You got to have no secrets while his whole existence to you besides what he chooses to tell you? Unacceptable. The anger was bubbling under your skin now.

“You did what!?” It was still whispered as to not wake the child. “That was in my bag! You went through my stuff to get it? Are you sick?” He was holding on to you tighter and it was starting to actually hurt now. “Ow!” You snap at him and tug your arm away quickly and this time he lets you go. 

“Sorry. I had to know.” Garbled attempt at an apology from the darkness. You realize then that he hadn’t had his gloves on. You had felt his skin on yours. Hot calloused skin against yours. Gripping you the way he had been. You’d have bruises in the morning. Of his very real fingers on your flesh.

“You’re sorry!? That’s it?.” You have to force yourself not to yell at him because if this wakes the child up and you don’t get to go back to sleep, you’re going to quit. Walk right out. “You still haven’t answered my question!” He hadn’t. What did he want from you? If it wasn’t to kill you for seeing the drawings, then what did he want?

Nothingness surrounds you. For so long, you’re staring into the emptiness waiting for something . Some kind of response and then you hear him clear his throat. 

“I forgot what you asked me.” His garbled confession comes through in the dark. 

“You forgot? I just asked you wha-”

“The way you draw... it’s incredible.” You can hear him rustling through pages in the dark. The fluttery, scratchy sounds of pages, like a notebook. 

“A-are you-” You stumble over the words because you can’t actually believe this is happening. “D-do you s-still have it ?” You are fuming. “It’s so fucking dar-” and then you gasp loudly at the recollection that he  has night vision in that fucking helmet of his!

The child cries out softly in his sleep and you hear him rolling over and you and presumably him, freeze for what feels like forever before you accept that the baby is still asleep. You don’t know because you don’t have night vision. Then you whip your head back in the direction he’s in. You think he’s in. You honestly have no idea. There is no light coming in from anywhere and your eyes haven’t adjusted at all in the dark. 

You check your face to see if he’s blindfolded you. You pat your hands over your forehead and eyes when you’re completely sure that you’re just now blind for however long he wants you to be, you let your arms drop to your sides in frustration. 

“You’re still looking at it!” You point into the darkness accusingly, remembering he is in fact still holding your notebook. “Are you still looking at it?” You move your finger in a semi circle when you can’t actually decide where he’s kneeling beside you. The darkness is so disorientating. You have no idea where anything actually is anymore. 

“I can’t stop looking at it. I’m sorry.” He confesses from somewhere in the dark. “The bodies you drew are j-just so beautiful.” 

“They’re doodles.” You’re sweating. What is he doing in the dark looking at your doodles? You reach out into the darkness and you hear him take a shuffled step backwards, towards the center of the room. 

“What was your inspiration for them?” His raspy voice is different, like he’s not really here with you, it’s like he’s on that page with them.

“Just… my imagination ?” You lie in hopes he’s going to believe you. 

Silence. 

It’s anxiety inducing. He’s just somewhere in the darkness. With your notebook. 

“The woman's body is my favorite. She’s so…” Garbled modulator trails off. 

Maker. He has a favorite?  

You’re now hyper aware of the fact that if he can see your notebook in his hand, he absolutely can see you too. Oh Maker. 

Why was it suddenly so hot? When did it get so hot?

Your whole body is now prickled with sweat that he’s standing there in the dark. Assumed to be looking right at you and your artistic notebook.

There had been nothing sexual about your doodles at first. Really. They were just the only thing besides the child and the inside of the ship. And sometimes the fields he’d take you to, like the one you’re in now. So all of those things are in that notebook too. But he was looking at the couple pictures you decided to draw of yourself, because the human body is a work of art. Yours and Mandos just happened to be the only bodies around. 

“Just my imagination.” You don’t even know what you’re saying. Just words you’ve strung together fall out of your mouth for no reason known to you.

Silence for so long, you’re sure he’s not there anymore.

“Y-you already said that.” Modulator speaks in the dark.

“I did? Are you sure?” You’re one hundred percent sure you didn’t.

“Yes.” 

“What do you want? Why did you wake me up? Why are we just standing in the dark?” The questions are firing out of your mouth at the speed of a blaster pistol. “What? What do you want from me?” 

Mando say’s nothing for a long time. You cross your arms over your chest uncomfortably in the quiet. 

“Is this you? The woman?” He taps on the pages and you hear him do it in the dark. “Is this what you l-look like under your c-clothes?” 

“Why are you talking like that? What are you-” You’ve never heard him speak the way he is tonight, no. He’s commanding in his tone and what he says. Mando doesn’t stumble over his words. 

“Answer the question.” He interrupts you. “Please.” His tone is much more firm now. You’ve snapped him out of whatever trance he was in. 

“Maybe.” It’s not even an admittance of guilt and you’re already blushing in embarrassment. 

“It’s beautiful.” He’s breathless and somewhere in your notebook again. Presumably touching it with his ungloved fingers. 

In between your legs twinges. 

“Thank you.” You’re blushing so hard you think your cheeks are going to combust.

Then more quiet. For so long. It’s painful.

“Would you l-let me touch it?” He whispers through the modulator. 

“Touch it?” You don’t get it. “You’re holding it, what do-” And then you shut up because you realize what he’s talking about. It comes to you mid sentence.

It’s quiet again now. So quiet. The dark you could deal with if there was just something making some kind of noise beside yourself breathing in the abyss. You’re waiting for a response but you get nothing. A sigh from your nose. 

“You want to touch me ?” You don’t want to say it, but you’re desperate to hear anything in the void. You’re also so tired and sleep deprived because of the child, you might let him if he just got to the point so you could go back to bed. He’s been on your mind for the last week. The only reason you dream anymore, apparently. 

“Yes.” Honest and innocent garbles from the modulator. You smirk. “And-” But he stops. 

“And what?” You’re so curious what else could go along at his request. But he says nothing again. More blistering silence. It’s actually burning the inside of your ears. 

“Watch.” 

Maker, give this mandalorian the ability to say more than one word, please. I don’t know how much more patience I have left inside of me. 

“Watch what? What do you want from me?” You haven’t said no. That’s something you start to notice as you wait for him to respond to you. Haven’t said yes but you also haven’t said no. 

So, what could he want?

“Can I show you?” Your breath hitches in your throat because what the hell could that mean? 

“Oh-okay?” So hesitant. So fucking nervous. Your heart was beating fast this whole exchange with him but now it was beating somewhere in the base of your throat. Hard. 

“Lay down.” It’s said from much closer to you now, startlingly close. You hadn’t heard him get closer. How did he do that? But you obey his order and lay back down on your thin mat on the floor. You can feel him hovering over you. Then suddenly, the blankets are being torn off of you and you're exposed to the now suddenly freezing cold ship. 

He’s exposed you. You wear nothing but a thin nightgown to bed every night. It’s the only thing that isn’t scratchy in your little bag of clothes and it does get surprisingly warm in the ship at night when everything’s closed up. It’s refreshing normally, but not now. Now you’re freezing and your nipples are giving you away in the darkness at how cold and excited you are for what might be about to happen. 

You hear him respire sharply into the modulator and your nipples somehow get harder and that tingle in between your legs is back. You just made Mando gasp ? You’ve never once heard that sound come out of him. Okay, once when the child almost fell out his floating orb, but that was only once and it was different . There had been fear interlaced with that gasp but not this one.

He was admiring you in the dark through his night vision. A gasp of admiration? 

Mando still hasn’t touched you at all besides the painful grasp on your arm earlier but that was it. He hadn’t ever touched you before that, ever. Now he had asked if he could and you were trembling already waiting to see what he had meant.

“Be like the pictures.” He cooed it out, the modulator garbling it all up but still. It was cooed, you heard it with your own ears. But you obeyed again, pulling the loose straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. It was easily wriggled off the rest of you and then, the nightgown was just a mess of fabric in front of your mat. 

“ Oh Maker. ” He speaks so softly it doesn’t even sound like Mando. You start to wonder if it is really him and then he says, “More beautiful. Much more.” He sighs it out and it makes you melt into the mat you're laying on.

You want him to touch you so bad. So badly it is sending electricity through you, starting between your legs. 

“Can you s-spread them?” He asked so cautiously that you were unsure that he even wanted but the sound he made when you bent your knees and let them fall open to your sides made you start to leak from the place he wanted to look at you so badly. 

“Like this?” You knew that, yes, it’s exactly what he meant but you were now so obsessed with listening to his voice that you’d ask him anything to hear him speak. 

“Yes. Yes.” It’s said hastily into the voice modulator, like if he doesn’t answer you’ll close your legs on him. “Just like that.”

You almost jump back at the feeling of the tips of his fingers on you. Pressing so gently into the soft skin on your thighs but you remember why you’re down here on the mat, naked below Mando. That’s all he does, just traces the pads of all five of his fingers up and down your thigh, stroking you with a feather touch. It almost felt like he might not be touching you at all, like you’re imagining it. 

He exhales deeply and it registers from under the helmet. 

“Were you- were you just holding your breath?” You ask.

Quiet, his hand still stroking your thigh so gently. 

“Maybe.” 

You smirk in the dark and rest your head back on your pillow and let him do whatever he wants. Then an ungloved hand reaches and touches you the same way across your stomach. So lightly it almost tickles but you don’t want him to stop so you don’t move. You let everything be still underneath his hands. They move leisurely across your body, never stopping in one place, like he’s scanning the pages of a book and using his hands to follow along. 

You’re covered in goosebumps and almost quivering under him but it feels so fucking good that it doesn’t matter anymore. You reach out and try to put his hand where you’d like it but before you can touch him he removes his hands and you’re left alone in the dark again. 

He’s gone. You’re sure of it and you’re on the verge of tears when he says from the dark.

“Will you touch yourself?” This wasn’t a demand or an order, this was a sweet question asked by that innocent man who wanted to look at your notebook earlier. 

“You want me to do what?” Deadpan response to what’s asking of you. Because what in the stars is going on? Please help me understand, Maker. “You wanted to do it a minute ago?” Confusion. 

It’s not like you're confused about what he wants you to do, you have been with a man before but not like this and he definitely did not ask you to do that . No one else has even seen you do that before so why does he want you to do it all of a sudden? Like he’s at the theater and you’re the midnight showing. He stays silent for so long that you’re sure he left. 

“I w-want to w-watch,” Garbled muttering. “-you touch.” Now, you’re sweating again because the idea that maybe he wanted to touch you had you shivering on the floor in front of him, but now, the idea that he wants to watch you do one of the most private things you’ve ever done right in front of him? On the floor? And worse, you can’t even see where the fuck he is now that he’s pulled his feather touch away from you. 

Sweating. It’s beaded across your forehead because what? You’re still thinking about what he’s just said when a strong, hot calloused hand cups your dripping sex with much more force than before. He’s pressed the flat of his four fingers and his palm against you. It draws a gasp from you in the dark and you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover them because if the kid woke up now you’d throw yourself off a cliff.

The child thankfully, doesn’t wake up. Just cooing quietly in his floating orb.

“I-,” He starts again in the dark, to talk to you again but he’s so hesitant to say it, you can hear him from inside the helmet stumbling again over his words. “I just want to w-watch. Here” 

You exhale so loudly and so hard because again, why? What does he get out of it?

“Were you just holding your breath?” He asks in the darkness.

Yes. You had been. Maker. 

“Maybe.” You retort quickly, the heat in your cheeks is back and now you’re embarrassed again. 

“What if I ask nicely ?” The garbles do nothing to hide the tone behind his voice. He’s aroused. Deeply aroused and Mando wants to watch you masturbate. 

An instinctual buck upwards of your hips slips his middle finger between your folds and instead of pushing away, he pushes back against you and you feel the rough skin of his hands against you and starts to slowly drag his hand up your middle. 

Oh, Maker, you feel him. This is not a feather touch. No, it's so much more. It’s like all of your senses have been heightened in the dark. You can feel everything. Every ridge and callous and the heat, oh Maker he’s so warm. Like he’s been held to flames until the exact moment he reached out to touch you. You feel like hes branding you with his finger it’s so fucking hot.

“S-so wet.” He sounds like he's in awe of what you’ve been hiding from him between your legs.

As the tip of his finger leaves you, your hand brushes his and his whole body is hot like his fingers had been, you feel as though you’ve been branded again but now, your head is spinning and he probably could have really branded you and you wouldn’t have cared. 

It’s too much, he’s been talking for too long and you know what he wants now, you don’t care why. You’re too tired, you’re too excited. You secretly have been wanting just this, well not this exactly but whatever this is leading to, you want him to give you that, so you do what he’s asking in hopes that he will satisfy you, do something other than just watch.

Mando rests one hand on your knee that’s closest to him and grips it so gently it's almost like it’s not even there at all. But regardless, your hands have found what he wants you to touch. 

“Yes.” He sighs softly. “Like that.” There is a sound of relief to his voice like he’s been anticipating this for so long and now it’s finally happening. Your two fingers start moving in slow, lazy circles. You dip your fingers down to your entrance and coat them in your slickness, moving them back up to your aching clit and tightening the motion, speeding up slightly. 

Mando’s fingers dig into you. Not hard but enough to know that he’s still there, he’s still watching. You wonder if he’s naked now, or if he still has his suit on?  He definitely doesn’t have his gloves on anymore but you wonder what else he could be doing in the dark. He’s just watching you touch yourself? Watching as your fingers start to move with meaning. It’s starting to feel good… so good. It’s good enough to make you close your eyes, little pants leaving your nose as the stimulation courses through you.

The hand on your knee is gone and you’re shuddering with the idea that he’s had his fun and now he’s most surely left you to have to finish what he started in the dark but no, his hand’s cupping your breast now. Squeezing it gently in his hand. Like it’s the most fragile and precious thing he’s ever seen. One finger moves across the curve of your flesh and drags so gently across your hardened peak.

“Oh Maker .” You pant, because you’re holding your breath again. It was such a small, gentle touch you’re barely sure it was there but then he grips you, is feeling how soft and fleshy your mound is and your fingers move faster because this is the most erotic thing you’ve ever done and it feels so good to have the burning hot heat of his hand on you and you’d wish he’d touch you more and then he does. It draws another gasp from your chest when he take your nipple between his fingers and gently starts to twist and pull and roll it between them.

“Don’t stop.” He says as your fingers start to slow at the new sensation he’s giving you. “Please.” He’s being so polite, and his voice sounds so breathless. It’s making you wetter than you’ve ever been, its practically gushing out of you. You can feel it dripping. 

Mando just holds you, his fingers still pulling and twisting your nub between his fingers. You slide two fingers into yourself now, and curl them upwards against your g-spot. You hold your breath again so as not to moan or groan or make any noise at all because it’s so quiet in the ship you’re sure it’ll wake up the child. It’s futile, you gasp softly and arch your back into his hand. It’s so good. You haven’t made yourself feel this way in so long and you can’t stop now. It’s so good, the little growing ball of warmth and pressure building slowly inside you.

“Oh M-maker.” You hear Mando whisper softly into the darkness. And then he’s still. Watching you plunge the two fingers back inside of you. “So b-beautiful.” He says it so exasperated.

The sounds of your excitement are audible within the ship's walls. Like it’s echoing. Your fingers are plunging in and out of you now, your eyes are closed and your heads thrown back as you're getting yourself so close. Close so that he can watch you come.

“May I?” 

You’re so confused because he’s just asked you to do it yourself and now he wants to? Reluctantly, with a small whine of protest, you move your hand and his other hand replaces yours. Two fingers push into you deeply. Gently. He holds them there for what feels like an hour. Not moving, just holding them inside you.

“S-so, so wet.” He’s breathless behind his helmet.

 You’re sure the sun is going to rise before you see bliss, and then it’ll be too late because the kid will have woken up. 

Then he withdrawals them.

“Go ahead.” He says.

“That’s it?” You’re disappointed. It’s evident in your voice.

“Keep going.” 

So you do. You replace your fingers and his hand starts to grope you again. Moving now between your two supple mounds. And then you hear him.

Over the wetness between your legs and your own ragged breathing, you hear the soft sound of skin slapping skin. He’s touching himself, he used your juices as lubricant to touch himself. To rub all over himself. Now the thought that Mando is kneeling on the ground over you in the dark, watching you about to bring yourself to orgasm, touching himself with your wetness just about does it. 

Your fingers speed and curl against your spot and you let your head fall back. You try so hard to keep your breathing steady, anything to keep yourself from crying out. Biting your bottom lip to try and stifle it, your fingers work faster. You can feel Mando’s body shaking and jolting with each thrust of his fist on himself in the hand he’s using to squeeze your breast. You pull your knees into your body, keeping them spread so he can watch, your head leans forward as you bring yourself closer. The pads of your fingers curling and uncurling against that place deep inside of you over and over again, the feeling of your palm pressed against your clit is too much. The sounds of his soft moaning send you over the edge though, his hand gripping your chest the way he is, like his life depended on it. Squeezing you with his strong, hot hand. You can hear the way he’s making himself feel good over you.

“I’m gon-” But the words are stolen from you as he pinches your nipple, the rest of his hand still groping you. He’s panting for lost breath in his search for pleasure. 

“P-please. D-do it, m-make it wetter.” He stutters and his breath is also ragged now, the sound of skin on skin is more frantic now and his groping at you is sloppy, like he’s can’t control his hands anymore.

It happens, the bliss and the lights behind your eyes. The warmth and pressure in your lower stomach explode and you need to use your free hand to cover your mouth again. Your hips buck up against your own hand as you coax the orgasm out of yourself. Maker, it’s so good. You haven’t had a release like this since before you got onto Mando’s ship.

Now  you hear him groan softly, he grips you tightly, like he had gripped your arm earlier. Your own heart is still racing, and you can barely catch your breath but you feel the warmth on your belly.

Did… did Mando just– Did he?

He’s still hovering over you. The ship is quiet now. Just the sounds of yours and his labored breathing. He’s still groping you, holding on like he’s going to float away into the void if he lets go. 

He definitely did. And he still is. He’s still letting go on your stomach, you can feel every time he empties a new rope onto your belly. 

You lay there, hands at your sides, panting. 

It’s tempting, to reach your hand up and swirl a finger to what he’s delivered to you and then taste him. You’ve never done that but something inside of you is screaming to do it. So, you take one of the two fingers that was just bringing you so much joy and you slide it through the puddle on your belly and bring it to your lips.

Mando gasps softly and grips you tighter. He’s still watching. 

He’s salty and musky and it’s different, but it’s good. It’s something you’d let him give you more of if he wanted. You’re still sucking him off your fingers when he pulls away.

Maker. Please, you don’t want him to leave-

Mando’s fingers are at your entrance and he’s running the first digit of two between your folds, he’s not even really inside you. Just tracing your opening. Teasing you. Then his fingers are gone. 

It’s so quiet again. He left you in the dark with his good time spent still all over your belly. Running both hands over your face, dragging them down your cheeks in exasperation. 

All these new thoughts are going through your head at warp speed and then you hear from so close to you, his modulated breathing. 

“Are you still here?!” Whispered exasperation.

It's been so quiet again for so long.

“It’s my ship. Where would I go?” 

“Oh my Mak-” You’re almost in tears because he’s right. Where would he go? His bed is just across the room. “What are you doing?” 

“Tasting you.” 

You’re now a puddle in front of him. His fingers are back at your entrance again, still, just tracing and coating themselves in your wetness. Then they’re gone again.

“You’re delicious.” 

Mando was still tasting you. Currently. Doing it as he spoke to you. You hear him let out the softest sigh of satisfaction as your flavor touches his tongue. 

“I like it.” It’s said like you should know it. Like you’ve accused him of taking too much from between your legs. 

“Okay.” Is all you can manage to say because you’re hoping he does it again, you keep your knees open in anticipation but he doesn’t. You don’t hear him breathing anymore either.

You lay there and slowly close your knees. Brush the hair that’s gotten in your face away and sigh. Wonder where the fuck Mando is in this Maker forsaken dark room. You hear him now, shuffling across the room and he’s getting closer to you. When had he left? 

Mando kneels down beside you again. Maybe this is round two? So you slowly open your legs for him but he stops you with his hand and then you feel the coolness and dampness of fabric on your belly. The Mandolorian is cleaning you off, wiping you tenderly, not missing anything. He reaches down and wipes between your legs. Very thoroughly. You wish he’d move the cloth and touch you again but his touch is gone again. 

You almost groan in disappointment but you stop yourself. You didn’t hear him leave.

“You really are so beautiful. Just like the pictures.” He garbles quietly.

“They’re doodles.” You explain into the void.

“Who was the man?” 

You stay silent. 

“It’s from my imagination.” You say quietly, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment again. 

“So a made up man in my beskar?” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Maker what do I say? 

“Okay.” You retort. He doesn’t say anything for a long time and you wonder if he’s still there in the darkness next to you. You don’t dare reach out for him in fear of being rejected again. He didn’t let you touch him earlier even though he got free reign. 

“I don’t look like that.” 

“Okay?” You whisper again, exasperatedly. 

“I’ll pose for you next time you want to doodle. ” And you hear it, the sarcasm in his voice. You honestly didn’t even know it was possible for him to do that or if he knew what it was. 

Then you hear him walking away. He’s gone, back to be a part of the void and watch you in the darkness behind his helmet. You put your nightgown back on and lay there on your thin mat on the floor behind the cockpit. Mando gets into bed, you hear him moving in the sheets. 

It’s still so dark and you wonder how much sleep you’ll be able to get before the child awakes and returns to his normal state of chaotic green cuteness.

If Mando ever asked you to do it again, you would. Not in so many words next time, but yes. You would. 

Your notebook. You wonder if he put it back in your bag but it’s too dark and quiet to check now. 

Hey, let's chat real quick.

So, this was the first Pedro character fic I ever wrote, and it was so heavily inspired by the legendary Rough Day (I'm saying it twice so no one can said I never said it)

It was supposed to be just a quick, hot, sexy little one-shot between you and The Mandalorian, but I ended up spiraling out of control and wrote over twenty chapters.

I have one chapter left until it's completely over and I thought I'd start posting it here so that once the final chapter is done-- I can post it to AO3 and Tumblr at the same time.

I'm pretty critical of my own stuff-- but this one particularly.

My disclaimers are- there will be spoilers to everything- season 1-3, the book of Boba Fett, and maybe even other things- I don't know because I didn't watch any of it.

All the crazy Mandalorian facts that come up in later chapters are just researched online. I misuse Mando'a and Manda'lor constantly so... punch me right in the face if you want... or yell at me in my asks.

Let me know if you like it with comments and reblogs and like and all that good shit. I love them.

[senualothbrok]

Here

Summary: After you save him from Orin's clutches, Gale has some things to work through. You show him that he is not alone.

Featuring a fireside chat with Astarion.

A response to this anon ask. I hope you like it 💜

Word count: 2.1k

Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort. Gale x reader/Tav.

AO3 link

A/N: You can watch Gale's reactions to being rescued from Orin's lair here (at 12.32) and here.

Thank you so much @dekariosclan for beta reading and being my marvellous Gale consultant, as always!

****

His scream tears you from sleep. It is shrill, piercing, a desperate flinch against untold horrors. You reach out for him as he gasps, clawing at his orb scar, choking for breath.

When you touch him, he thrashes, still caught in the talons of his nightmare. You see the scars left by Orin in his cloying sweat, his shaking frame, his subsiding shouts as he crumples into you. He cannot hide them from you, much as he tries.

“It was a dream.” You press his head against your chest, twining your fingers through his tangled hair. “You’re safe. You're home.”

He does not speak for a long time. His eyelashes flutter against your skin, his heartbeat jolting through you as he searches frantically for his glade of calm. When he eventually finds it, you feel his hands come to rest on the small on your back, steadying, anchoring. You hold him, torn apart by a gratitude as strong as grief. He is here. You could have lost him, but he is here. You will never let go of him again.

He clears his throat. When he moves back to look at you, his smile does not quite meet his eyes.

“My apologies, my love. I didn't mean to wake you–”

His voice is hoarse, broken. You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologise for, Gale. Absolutely nothing.”

He looks away for a moment. You know you have a brief opening, now, before the mask comes up, before the jolly dismissals and self-deprecating quips resume their well-worn routines. You place your hand on his cheek.

“Gale, you know you can talk to me, don’t you? Everything that happened–”

He jerks his head, taking your hand in his. His skin is clammy, and there is a hollowness in his gaze, though it is still tender as rain-kissed earth.

“I'm fine, Tav. Please don't worry yourself.” A brisk smile of reassurance, warring with the dark circles under his eyes. “Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.”

You are about to object, but the kiss he plants on your cheek is swift and firm. When he rises from your shared bedroll, you feel bereft.

“I'm quite alright. Nothing that a bit of fresh air and a quick walk won't cure.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, squaring his shoulders. The walls are up, and he is retreating into the night. Even as you ask, you know what his answer will be.

“Should I come with you?”

He huffs, bending down to kiss your forehead. “No, please. Rest. I deprived you of a good sleep tonight, and gods knows how many nights before this. I want you to take what rest you can for our battles ahead. I won’t stray far. Don’t worry.”

You cup his face tightly, desperately. “I love you.”

This time, his eyes smile before he turns away. “I love you too.”

*****

In the distance, streaks of dawn tease at the bruises in the sky. Sleep is a triviality that eludes you. You huddle around the campfire, fretting, trying not to mark the hours that Gale has been gone. Trying not to imagine all of the nightmares which were until recently Gale’s reality.

You fail. You think of how Orin must have flayed Gale’s mind from his body as he struggled, powerless and alone. You imagine his terror, not just of torture and death, but of the orb inside him. And you wonder whether he despaired as he waited, doubting that his love would come for him, fearing that his friends had forgotten him. Convinced that he was once again abandoned to die.

‘Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.’

You bury your face in your hands, a chaos of panic, love and guilt. It takes you a moment to register the presence beside you.

“Gods, you look awful.”

Astarion is peering at you like he is examining a torn gown. A trickle of blood stains his collar, the triumph of a late night hunt. He wrinkles his nose as he studies you.

“Do I need to have a word with Gale about laying off on” – his hand circles vaguely – “whatever it is the two of you do at night?”

You do not have the energy to glare at him. Instead, you glance towards the edges of camp, scanning for signs of Gale’s return. When you see nothing, you sigh. Astarion arches an eyebrow.

“Do I really need to explain why Gale might not be in the mood for that?”

Astarion tilts his head. There is understanding in the pause that follows. Astarion had been the one who helped you get Gale down from Orin’s altar, after all. He had seen the turmoil in Gale’s eyes, the blood on his limbs before the healing spells. He had felt Gale’s resistance when you both laid hands on him, easing him up. The fractured moments before Gale’s usual cheery gratitude snapped into place. Astarion would have recognised the signs better than anyone.

“He’s been having nightmares,” you manage. “But he won’t talk about them. He woke up screaming tonight. Then he went for a walk. He’s been gone for two hours.”

Astarion frowns. “If you’re worried for his safety, the wizard is more than capable of blasting people to smithereens.” He purses his lips. “Assuming he’s not magically restrained, like Orin managed–”

You wince at your rising dread. Gale is an archwizard, you remind yourself, not a defenceless babe. You fight the urge to smother him in care, to protect him and keep him safe at all costs. It is not what he needs. But perhaps you do not know what he truly needs.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Astarion stares at you for a while. He leans back, brows furrowed, and you suddenly wonder if you give him enough credit. Perhaps there are things Astarion sees, despite his usual habit of deflecting things with thinly veiled insults.

“Sometimes, there are things that are better left unsaid.” He curls his lip. “Even for Gale.”

You ignore the barb, spinning towards him. “So Gale should just soldier on? Stiff upper lip, the show must go on? Even when he’s falling apart?”

“So dramatic, darling.” He tuts. “Who’s falling apart? He seems fine to me.”

You clench your hands. “The nightmares are getting worse, Astarion. Gods knows what Orin did to him.”

From the feathering of Astarion’s jaw, you know he can guess.

“And he won’t talk to me. Like he doesn’t want to be a burden. Like he’s sorry…” You scoff. “As if it’s his fault, that he’s the one who let me down.”

Astarion narrows his eyes. “If you’re suggesting that it’s your—”

“No, no,” you huff. “No, this isn’t about me. It’s about Gale.”

Astarion sighs. His gaze is weary as a scar.

“Some things are too horrific to share, darling. So atrocious that it’d be a nightmare to even hear them. He just needs to grit his teeth and get through. Survive.”

You struggle to keep the anguish from your voice. “Does he have to do that alone?”

Astarion’s mouth tightens. He averts his gaze. “Maybe that’s what he’s used to.”

You are taken aback by the resignation in Astarion’s words. Conviction rises in you, an unstoppable tide that weaves through the tents of each and every member of the family you have found.

“But he isn’t alone anymore. He doesn’t have to keep it to himself. He isn’t a burden, and there’s nothing he could do or say to drive me away. I’m here for him. We’re all here for him.”

There is a quiver in Astarion’s features. You have a sense of a door cracking open. A glimpse of something ancient and hidden.

“It takes a while,” he says quietly. “To get used to that. To believe it.”

The silence that falls over you is both heavy and light. Within it, a lifetime of loneliness and fear crashes against the battle-forged bonds of love and friendship. And you believe, with every fibre of your being, that love will endure.

Astarion jerks his head behind you. You turn, your eyes filling as they fall on what they seek.

“But if anyone can remind him,” you hear Astarion chuckle, “it’s you.”

*****

When you return to Gale’s tent, you try to settle him, but he is a flurry. His movements drag with exhaustion, yet are manic with determination.

“Is there something I can get you to help you sleep? A cup of tea? A warming spell? Do you need a–”

You embrace him. His breath catches, and you clasp him so close you can feel the points of muscle and bone. The weight of him, the miracle of him beside you. You will never take him for granted.

“Just you,” you whisper. “Here, with me.”

His lips tingle against your neck, his grasp tightening around your waist. For an eternity, neither of you let go. You are haunted by the shadow of your separation, chasing away Orin’s ghost with the strength of your need. When he dips back, his brows are steepled with concern.

“You’re troubled.” He traces his thumb across your jawline. “What troubles you?”

After all this time, he still does not understand. He cannot see how someone could love him so deeply that his pain becomes their own. He still cannot believe that someone could respond to his love by giving him their whole heart. That you could love him as he loves you. An outpouring of the soul. A sacred offering, steadfast and unending.

“That you’re troubled.” Your fingers interlace with his. “That you think your struggles are a burden to me - that I wouldn't want to share everything with you, including your suffering.”

He grimaces so sharply, it is almost a flinch.

“My love,” he heaves. “You quite literally have the weight of the world on your shoulders. It torments me to know I’ve added to that load, rather than easing it. If I weren’t such a fool to fall for Orin’s trap–”

You shake your head. The force of it stills him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Gale. What happened wasn’t your fault. And what you’re going through now…You don’t have to pretend that everything’s alright. I know it isn’t. I hear it, I see it, every day, every night.”

His eyes widen, the wrinkle between them deepening. You sense the knee-jerk apology that bubbles within him. Your grasp his hand tighter, the words tumbling from you like the sea surging against the shore.

“I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll never abandon you, no matter what happens. You can tell me anything. Everything. Whatever you want. And you can trust me, just like I trust you. Just like I know you love me, and will always be there for me.”

For a while, he does not speak. His gaze roams your face, searching for signs of doubt, hesitation, disapproval. But all you can give him is love.

You draw him back, sinking down to your bed roll. He softens as you curl into each other, his arm wrapping around your body. Your head nestles between his neck and shoulder, and you breathe in the sour tang of his sweat. He inhales deeply, nuzzling into your hair. Memorising you, just as you are soaking him in.

“You kept me alive, you know,” he whispers. “When Orin toyed with me, tore at me. The thought of you, your courage, your kindness. Your love. She could never break me, no matter what vile cruelties she inflicted. I had you.”

Your tears trail into the nook of his collarbone. His voice trembles.

“My foolishness, my carelessness… it could have got you killed. And when you saved me – when, yet again, you saved me from the precipice – I resolved to do better. I told myself the least I could do was cause as little hassle as possible.”

You lurch forward, your vision a blur as you take his face in your hands.

“Gale,” you breathe. “I love you more than anyone and anything. You are not, and will never be, a hassle. A burden. Never. You're the man I love, and you're everything to me.”

His eyes are bright as he brushes away your tears. You watch the shadows lift from his features as the truth of your heart washes over him, wave by wave. Slowly, reverently, he presses a kiss to each of your palms, holding them against his cheeks.

“What have I done to deserve you?”

There is awe in his voice. Wonder. And shimmering within it, the beginnings of acceptance.

You lean forward, circling the tip of his nose with your own. He lets out a shaky breath, his hands weaving around your back, pulling you closer.

“You don't need to do anything. Just be here, with me.”

You smile into each others’ lips, two rivers joining in the sea.

“I can do that.”

********

A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think as always, so don't be a stranger 🫶

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[youaresimplylovely]

Lando Norris x really sick reader please!!! (Self indulgent I think I’m close to death rn 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏)

My Poor Baby

Pairings: Lando Norris x Sick!Reader Summary: Lando takes care of his sick girl <3 Words: 417 Proofread!! A/N: love this so much!! Hope you get well soon and for requests, im accepting them and they are open!! So keep them coming!! Alsooo, dividers are designed by me <3

"Baby?" Lando called you out, taking his coat off and hanging it in the coat racket next to the front door.

"Baby? Where are you?" He reiterated with concern in his voice, his eyes sharply looking all around the downstairs trying to find you. Eventually, he decided to check upstairs. Maybe you were there. He hoped. He opens the door of your bedroom to see you all huddled up with the blankets, stuffed toys, and the endless pile of tissues on the floor.

His heart shattered seeing you all sick, his eyes were full of concern. Approaching you softly as he sits next to you on the bed. He pulls you in for a tight hug, he knew he shouldn't be doing that but his baby was sick. He didn't care if he did too.

You pout seeing your boyfriend hug you, a loud sneeze comes out of you but you didn't sneeze exactly right on his face. "Nooo i'm gonna get you sick." You say in your clearly congested voice.

Immediately pulling away from the hug as you sneeze somewhere that wasn't close to Lando. You groan, taking another tissue to clear out your stuffy nose, throwing the used tissue on the pile of used tissues. You look at Lando with puppy eyes, you were so ill that you were on the verge of tears.

You pout, burying your face on his chest while you sob relentlessly even if you knew that you weren't supposed to get close to him. "I feel awful Lan!" You really did, everything hurt. Your head, your whole body, your nose from all the blowing you did.

"I know baby, i know, I'm here." He coos, wrapping his arms around you again.

"I'll go make you your favorite noodle soup and i'll feed you. We can cuddle and stay in bed all day and watch our favorite tv show. Is that good for you baby?" He hums softly, grabbing a tissue to help you blow your nose.

You sniffle, smiling happy at your boyfriend being so caring. You blow your nose in the tissue. You were gonna cry again but you didn't instead you hugged him tighter. "I love you." you mumble, burying your face on his neck.

"I love you more my poor baby but you won't be so poor now because you have me and i will take good care of you. Even if it means getting myself sick too." He smiles softly, planting a kiss on your forehead.

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[roosterforme]

In the Line of Duty | Rooster x Reader

Summary: During preparations for a dangerous mission, Bradley finds comfort in writing his thoughts down for his unborn child to eventually read. There's always a chance that he won't make it back, and his final plans involve safeguarding the most important item he brought on his deployment with him.

Warnings: Angst, deployment, pregnancy topics

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley was in the same tiny room with the same seven people for the nineteenth day in a row. He was sweating, too aware of his surroundings. He could hear Reuben breathing next to him. He could hear Admiral Turner's wristwatch counting off every second. He could hear the plans being laid out, but he could barely focus on them.

"The political climate is rapidly changing," the admiral said. "This bombing run is essential, however it will undoubtedly lead to a hostile environment for our allies. Getting the timing just right is essential to a successful mission."

He'd been telling the aviators the same things for days, and while Bradley knew somebody's best interest was at heart, he wasn't really sure it was his. Or Reuben's. Or anybody's in this fucking claustrophobic room. But what choice did he have but to sit here in his flight suit, reeking of jet fuel until he was released?

"Also," Admiral Turner said, his voice laced with exhaustion, "we'll be keeping a close watch on the weather. If you fly this mission, it's going to be a rough takeoff and an even rougher landing. And that's not even mentioning the elements you'll encounter in the air."

Bradley could feel it. The aircraft carrier was a massive vessel, nothing like a cruise ship or anything smaller. It was built to withstand typhoons and hurricanes, but he could still feel it. The movement was getting worse by the hour now. There were deckhands and petty officers walking around with seasickness bags. People were running from the mess hall left and right. The only thing that could be said of this small group of aviators in this tiny ass room was that professional fighter pilots had all traces of motion sickness eliminated from their bodies during flight training, never to be heard from again. He wasn't uncomfortable, but he could still feel it.

"And with that final precaution, I've made my selection for the three pilots who will fly when I say it's time to go." Bradley knew it in his bones even before he heard the admiral say, "Vandal. Patches. Rooster. Everyone else will remain on standby. You're all dismissed."

As he stood, Reuben stuck his fist out. "Congrats, man," he said, and Bradley reached out as well to bump fists. Being chosen was an accomplishment; Bradley always wanted to be chosen. He always wanted to perform to the best of his ability. But his thoughts were so heavy now, filled with new hopes and fears. 

"Thanks, Payback," he replied, following his friend from the room and into the noisy reprieve of the cool hallway. There were people rushing around as the two of them made their way to the mess hall. "But if I have to sit in that room for another day, I'm going to lose my mind."

Reuben laughed as he started to load a tray with food. "I love how the weather is too bad for us to do any training runs, but in the same sentence, we're told to be ready to fly a mission in this. It's like they're steering us right into the worst of the storm."

They were. Bradley could tell they were. There was something strategic about the open water location, but they were absolutely heading into the worst of it. He just hoped it would clear up before he was called out on deck to fly. 

"It's a good thing I haven't barfed in a Super Hornet since that very first time," he said, also piling food that he knew would taste like cardboard onto a plate.

"This shit sucks," Reuben muttered, biting into a roll once they reached an empty table. "We got any more of your wife's cookies back in the bunk?"

Bradley smiled as he looked at the questionable meal in front of him. "A few." He bit into the steak and grimaced. Everything you cooked at home was better than this. He'd trade his whole plate of food right now for half of a grilled cheese sandwich made by your hands. Just thinking about it had his stomach growling louder. "You already ate most of them."

Reuben popped another roll into his mouth and chewed it up before saying, "Rooster, you've got a hot lieutenant commander who can cook for a wife. And a baby on the way. Come on, man. The least you can do is spare some more of those cookies."

Once he let his thoughts drift, Bradley knew it would take hours to get focused on his job again, but he couldn't help it. When he left home, you looked the same as you always did. You'd been complaining about your weight gain and bloating for weeks, but you looked just perfect to him. He wanted to get back home to see if you had a bump yet. He wanted to get home and talk to the Nugget. But he'd already been gone for three weeks, and he hadn't been given a single chance to call or FaceTime with you. 

He hated having no idea how your most recent doctor's appointment went. There were probably new ultrasound photos sitting right on the kitchen counter, but it could be weeks before he got to see how much the Nugget grew since last time. He should be a home, catering to your every whim and building the massive jungle gym for the backyard.

"Are you excited?" Reuben asked, breaking through his thoughts. "You've got what, like five more months to go before you're a dad?"

"One hundred and eighty-six days until the due date," Bradley replied with a grin. "And yeah, I'm pretty fucking excited. It's all I can think about." He tried to finish all of the food, but he set his plate aside and said, "Let's go eat some of those cookies."

An hour later, Bradley was sitting in his bunk, nibbling on the rationed baked goods while Reuben snored across the room. He took this opportunity to get out the pink and blue striped notebook which he affectionately referred to as the Nugget notebook. He'd filled half of it with his musings, and he figured it would be full by your due date. It was silly, just his random thoughts and some sporadic story telling, but he liked the idea of his kid having all of this to look at later. He uncapped his pen, jotted down the date, and started writing what was on his mind. 

You'll never guess where I am right now. No really. It would be impossible, because even I don't really know where I am! But it's somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, I know that for sure. And while I'm really, really far away from you and your mom right now, the two of you are all I can think about....

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

The weather was so bad a few days later that the gym was closed. Bradley and Reuben stood in front of the locked door in their gym clothes looking at each other. 

"This is fucking wild," Bradley muttered, deprived of the only activity he could think of to keep himself busy. The hallways were pretty empty at this time of night, but everything still felt more deserted than usual. The dining menus had been pared down, presumably because half of the kitchen staff was too seasick to make everything. He was starting to feel anxious. "Let's go workout in the bunk and then finish the cookies."

"Sounds good," Reuben replied. They took turns churning out sets of fifty push ups while the other ate a cookie. They did this until they were both sweating and all of the cookies were officially gone.

"Now what the fuck are we supposed to do?" Bradley asked, but any response was cut off by a knocking on the door. He jumped up, glanced at Reuben, and then opened the door for a petty officer. 

"Bradshaw?"

"Yeah?"

"You requested a FaceTime call? Report to the lounge in thirty minutes."

"Thanks," he said, heart beating wildly as he closed the door. He rushed around the room, grinning and grabbing everything he'd need to take a quick shower.

Reuben just laughed and said, "Please thank her again for the cookies."

"Will do," Bradley replied, making a mad dash for the showers. If he did the math correctly, he figured it was between four and five o'clock in the morning back home in San Diego. He hated calling you in the middle of the night, especially when you were pregnant and exhausted, but he knew you'd forgive him. And he desperately needed to see your face and hear your voice.

His hair was still damp when he jogged along the quiet corridors toward the lounge and took a seat in front of one of the computers. He quickly entered his credentials followed by your phone number, and then he waited and waited. "Shit," he muttered, gripping the edge of the table, afraid the call was going to ring through and then cut off. But then he heard you screech his name and saw you as you reached for your glasses while the light from the lamp on your nightstand illuminated your face. 

"Bradley!" you practically screamed again, your voice scratchy from sleep. "Roo! Are you okay?"

"Hey, Baby Girl," he said, feeling calmer than he had in weeks as you juggled your phone around and tried to sit up fully in bed. "I'm fine. Sorry it's so late."

"No, no, no, this is perfect!" you insisted, rubbing your eye behind your glasses as you tried to stifle a yawn. "This is great."

Bradley laughed and said, "I miss you so fucking much. Wish I was in bed right there with you."

"Me too," you insisted, and he could see the sincerity on your face. "It got chilly here tonight, and Tramp isn't as snuggly as you are."

He wanted to kiss you. He wished he could somehow dive through the screen and end up next to you where you'd pull him right into your arms. His voice was just a whisper as he said, "Tell me about the Nugget."

Your smile was soft, and you bit your lip. "Dr. Morris said the Nugget looked great when I was there two weeks ago."

"Two weeks ago," he groaned, rubbing his rough hands along his face. "Sweetheart... I already missed so much." When he looked at the screen again, you were out of bed and on the move. "Where are you going?"

You flipped on the hallway light and said, "To get the ultrasounds to show you. I left them on the kitchen counter."

The fact that he knew that's where they would be made him smile. When you propped your phone up next to the stove and turned on the light, he felt tears stinging his eyes. You held up one of the photos so he could see the baby, and he had to blink past his blurry vision. "There's my Nugget," he said, voice thick with emotion as you held up a second image. "Fucking cutest baby I've ever seen."

Your laughter sounded beautiful as you showed him a third one. "I liked this one the best. I think it looks like the baby is waving hello."

"Shit," he gasped. "You're right. I can't wait to wallpaper our bedroom with copies of these."

You pulled the baby picture away, and he could see your face again as you said, "You're probably not even joking."

"I'm definitely not even joking."

You leaned on the counter and got a little closer to your phone as you said, "Another week or so, and I can go in for an anatomy scan."

Now Bradley felt like crying for a totally different reason. "You get to find out if the Nugget is a boy or a girl."

"Yeah," you said with a nod. "But I don't really want to do that without you there too."

Bradley looked at your beautiful face and the perfect curve of your cheek. He imagined a little baby in your arms with the same flawless features. "I wish I could get home in time to hold your hand and find out in person. But you know I don't care one way or the other. The only nice thing is that we can start narrowing down baby names soon. I actually wrote down a few that I kind of like in the Nugget notebook earlier."

Your smile was brilliant as you told him, "I can't wait to read all of your notebook entries. And if you're not home for my next appointment, I'll be practically vibrating with anticipation until I get to tell you if it's a boy Nugget or a girl Nugget."

Bradley opened his mouth to say he couldn't wait to come home and spend a full day curled up with both of you. He was about to ask you to pull his UVA shirt up and let him see what your belly looked like now. But the lounge door swung open so hard, it sounded like it was going to fall off the hinges.

"Bradshaw!" barked Admiral Turner. "It's time. Get into your flight suit."

"Yes, Sir," he said before glancing back down to see your face as you started to cry.

"You have to go," you sobbed.

"I do," he said quickly. "Right now. Listen, I love you. More than anything. You and the baby both, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too," you sobbed as your lips trembled. "So much."

"I'll be home soon," he promised, even though he knew he couldn't guarantee anything of the sort. "I love you."

After he ended the call, he ran back to the bunk where Reuben was already in his flight suit and pulling on his boots. It was late enough now that it had to be dark outside, so he was either about to fly another mission without the use of one of his senses, or they were sending him out at first light. Either way, he knew what he had to do, so he pulled his own flight suit on with shaky hands.

The call with you had calmed his nerves right up until the point when he had to abruptly end it. What he wouldn't give to be back home within a week. He'd drive you to the appointment in his Bronco and hold your hand the whole time. Dr. Morris would let you know if he was going to be the dad to a daughter or a son. His little Nugget.

"You ready?" Reuben asked as Bradley finished lacing up his boots. 

He looked up at his friend as he stood. "Actually, no," he said, pulling his duffle out from under his bed. He started rooting through it as he said, "I need you to potentially do me a favor."

"Sure," Reuben replied, "but we gotta get to the meeting room now, Rooster."

"I know," he mumbled in response as his hands connected with the most important thing he had with him. He held up the pink and blue notebook, his voice calm in spite of his nerves as he said, "Just real quick, you see this? I need you to take this back to my wife if anything happens to me."

His friend was silent for a beat before he said, "Alright. I can do that."

Bradley's fingers tightened around the spiral binding holding together all of his thoughts about fatherhood and how much he loved his unborn child. And now his voice shook a bit as he said, "This is very important to me."

Reuben nodded and said, "Understood. I promise I'll take care of it if the need arises."

"Thank you." Bradley kissed the striped cover and propped the notebook up against his pillow, giving it one last look before he followed Reuben from the bunk.

At first light, Bradley made his way out onto the carrier deck through the rain and whistling wind. The mission was on. The weather was miserable, but the plethora of Naval officers deemed this the best opportunity they were going to get to help their allies. 

It was time. Time for Bradley to trust himself. And if he failed, he trusted Reuben to take the notebook back to San Diego and get it into the hands of his wife. Then you'd take care of the notebook for the Nugget. Because if there was one person who was never going to let him down, it was you.

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

I can't deal with how much I've been hurting my own feelings with these two. Should we start a new series? Would that be okay? A tragic, new series? Thank you for reading about and loving them! Please stay tuned. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[azen13]

Hello

might I request the grass ring for purchase?

A Promise To Keep

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Grass Ring: A small, shoddily-woven ring made from dead grass, containing echoes of childhood promises uttered in a land of frost. Maybe the ring’s maker, after disappearing from the world for three months before returning, acted on those vows.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Kidnapping, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Implied Murder, Blood

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Snezhnayan summers are always brief and fleeting. For only a few weeks a year, gray skies part like curtains to let the smiling sun gaze over every mile of the land of frost. Withered fields of grass sway with new vigor, trees awaken from their winter slumber, and flowers bloom in all sorts of stunning shades and hues. It’s also one of the few respites you have from aiding your father and siblings in tending to the house. With the icy waters bordering Morepesok rapidly thawing, the ship your mother sails has finally docked; with her return comes both the occasional small sack of Mora sneakily smuggled from her pocket to yours, as well as a gentle push to go and enjoy the fair weather while it lasts.

With windmilling limbs, you scramble out the front door into the bustling streets of town, and head off to your favorite place. It’s a little past where the dirt path ends: over a fallen tree, down a ravine, back up the other side, and just to the right of the raspberry bushes. Making your way through the last few trees, you find yourself in a quaint clearing. For a moment, you think the world is frozen in amber–both from the tranquility you feel, and how everything from the tallest tree to the smallest fern is bathed in a gilded glow.

“Hi there!”

A squeaky voice shatters the illusion of permanence and manages to make you stumble backwards until you slam into a sturdy spruce tree trunk. Looking into the tall grass, you manage to spot a single sapphire blue eye, then another. With a rustle, a flame of ginger hair and a grin that could span the whole of Teyvat pops out from the brush, framed by a speckling of freckles. “Who are you? What are you doing here? My name’s Ajax, what’s yours?” The boy practically pelts you with a myriad of questions, eyes sparkling with interest.

You mumble your name in response, eyes falling down in fear and disappointment. You had hoped to enjoy some time soaking in the solitude of this little slice of paradise, but the journey seems to have been all for naught. 

You quickly learn the entire life story of Ajax, who follows you home after you tell him you had gotten lost in the woods. He lives in Morepesok with his large family, he likes adventuring, and he likes fishing with his father. Also, he likes you, evidenced by the fact that he won’t leave you alone.

Tailing from behind, still rambling incoherently about all sorts of things, Ajax doesn’t seem to take the obvious hints that you want to be left alone. “...and the fish we caught was THIS big! A-and me and my dad brought it home, and my little sis–I told you about Tonia, right? She’s my younger sister, she’s about this tall and she really likes…” His mouth is a never-ending river of words that only ceases when you slam the door to your home shut.

Hopefully you can go tomorrow and enjoy the warm summer sun before the chill of winter returns once more.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He’s there when you come tomorrow again. And the next day. And the day after that, until eventually, summer’s brief stint has faded away, only to return in a year. At least, you think, you won’t have to ever see Ajax until.

How wrong you are.

It seems the boy is practically camped outside of your house, watching your every move. If you’re carrying groceries, he’s quick to sidle next to you and take them into his own hands. He must think he’s being chivalrous, but you disagree. You try to fight the constant barrage, but find yourself crumbling under it after a while. You start answering his questions, asking some of your own, even. He’s not horrible, just a little overeager.

Soon, you’re happy to call Ajax a friend.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The promise is made on a brisk fall evening, snow and leaves blanketing the ground like a patchwork quilt of white and orange. The two of you sit in a small clearing surrounded by tall grass; you’re reading a book while Ajax breaks blades of grass and fiddles with them in his hands.

“We should get married.”

You frown and close your book. “Why?

“Why not?”

“Because we’re thirteen, your dad doesn’t like me, and my parents think you’re a weirdo,” you say.

Ajax huffs and crosses his arms. He’s pouting, but you can tell it’s just to cover his amusement. You’d both gotten good at that–reading each other like books, able to point out your favorite chapters and lines. “Well we could do it in secret. Or even do it when we’re older,” he says. An epiphanic look flashes on his face, and he snatches a few more blades of grass. Tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, you watch as he weaves and contorts the grass until they form a small ring. 

With eyes full of starlight, he presents the ring to you. “C’mon, please? Just promise me.”

You sigh and hold your hand out. “Okay, okay, fine. If you’ll stop being so annoying, sure.” Immediately, he slides the ring on your finger, boyish glee dancing in ocean-blue eyes. “Pinky promise?” He demands, holding his pinky finger out expectantly.

Of course Ajax would ask to pinky swear on it. The boy always kept his promises.

“Fine.” You loop your pinky around his for a moment, before letting go. “Now let me get back to reading.”

Ajax only laughs, though his eyes stay glued on you.

You didn’t realize that this was both the last time you would ever see Ajax again, and the moment your fate in life was sealed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Days later, you receive the news. Ajax is missing. Supposedly he had gotten lost in the woods. You spent the next few days in a perpetual state of distress, constantly tearing through branches and brambles, desperate to find your friend.

It didn’t take long until he’s found, though not by you. The moment you hear, you race over to his house and knock on the door. Ajax’s dad, however, is the one to greet you. He’s a tall, lanky man with scars that cut through his face and a permanent scowl marring his cracked lips. At the sight of you standing outside his door, his ire only deepens. “Ajax isn’t here. He’s with the Fatui.” 

With that, he swings the door shut and lets it slam only inches from your face.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Time moves on,  and you let your life take its course. You take up a job planning shipping routes for merchants, and find yourself falling in half-hearted love with a sailor. 

He’s a good man. But he is not the man you love.

Soon enough, encouraged by family and friends, a ring is slid on your finger. It’s a simple band of silver, yet it feels like a chain around your heart.

You accept your life for what it is. That is, until one morning, you wake up to still air beside you instead of a warm body. Unknowing of what has actually happened, you get up quietly and begin getting ready for the day. 

After putting on some clothes, you go to the small foyer of your little home, ready to go down to the docks and start working. But when you swing open the door, dull blue eyes as deep as the sea meet yours, a monstrous grin splitting a stranger’s face open. “Aw, it’s been so long! It’s so good to see you.” The man walks past you into your home as though he’s lived there his whole life. As he walks, you notice he’s trailing something in behind you.

Blood. It’s blood. When he turns back to face you, you notice droplets of blood speckled on his cheeks like freckles. He’s still smiling.

“Get out of my house,” you say.

“Or what?”

You hesitate. It’s not like Morepesok has an official police, or even anything close to a militia. “Or I’ll scream.”

The stranger’s smile melts away like snow under the sun, and he steps closer to you. “Don’t you remember who I am?” He asks. 

At the sight of you shaking your head, and you taking another step away from him, the stranger tsks and stalks forwards. A hand moves forward, so fast all you can see is a blur of motion before it captures your jaw, claims it. Its fingers force your face forwards, straight into those storming eyes. “What a shame,” the man sighs, his other hand slinking behind your back. “We made a promise, darling.”

His words shoot like icicles into your heart, rendering you speechless for a moment. “A-Ajax?” You murmur, body beginning to fall limp. The only thing holding you upright are his hands, firm against your skin.

Ajax smiles, but it isn’t a sweet smile of summer innocence. His smile is jagged and icy, full of frost. “It’s me,” he confirms. You can vaguely see mirth swimming in his eyes, as though he thinks you’re so shocked to see him, so elated to know he’s still here. But in truth, you’re terrified. After all, it’s not exactly a challenge to make the connection between the blood on Ajax’s cheek and your missing husband.

“Did…did you?”

“Come on, darling,” Ajax responds, sweeping you off your feet into a bridal carry. “We made a promise, didn’t we? And you know how the saying goes.” The man chuckles quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We made a promise. And you broke it.” For a moment, you feel fear unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “But don’t worry. I know that you didn’t want to marry him. You were waiting all those years for me, weren’t you?” He presses another kiss to your head, holding you closer.

You try to speak, but Ajax shushes you. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you what real love looks like.” With a steady gait, he begins walking outside, looping around your home to where a carriage is waiting. Gently, he brings you inside and deposits you on a bench. His eyes are full of hunger.

“That’s a promise.”

[polakina]

intensified senses

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

rating: explicit

outline: being highly recommended by his lieutenants, miguel decided to recruit you into the spider society. wary of you at first, he kept a distance. but you were persistent on getting through the cracks of his stony exterior

warnings: cursing, fluff, eventual smut, miguel being a sarcastic bitch, pining, flirting, masturbation (male), blindfolding, sensory deprivation, blowjobs, unprotected sex, riding

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist

II

He watched you from afar at first. Crouched from a high tower, dressed in inconspicuous clothing and hiding in plain sight. You came highly recommended. Jess and Ben spoke rather fondly of you, of your loyalty, bravery. You took care of your neighbourhood, of your city. And you were damn fucking good at it.

Miguel didn’t see it. He looked at you with a rather cold stare as you perched from a rooftop, your headpiece laid beside you as you looked out towards the streets. You crouched there with a bagel in one hand, iced coffee in the other. Your suit was all yellow, like the sun. The spider on your chest a deep orange. The sunset made it shine brightly. A pretty amber in the light. Miguel just sort of scowled at you. 

“What do you think, O’Hara?” Jess came through on his earpiece, crackly, but clear enough to understand.

“She’s…you think that she could join the society?” He asked incredulously. “She’s a kid!”

“She’s actually similar in age to you, just with a better skin care routine,” he heard her chuckle lightly.

“That’s funny,” he responded coolly. Sarcastically. As he usually did. But he trusted Ben and Jess’ judgement, and to be fair, he was trying to expand the spider society further. So perhaps you would be an ample addition, in his eyes.

-

You knew someone had been watching you for a while. You felt eyes on the back of your head. For what reason, you weren’t sure, but they didn’t pose a threatening feel. So you let them be.

It wasn’t until you felt their presence behind you that you felt that something needed to be done about it. You heard his footsteps quite a fair distance behind you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight. He was big. Very big. Putting your headpiece back on, you stood up straight and kept looking ahead of you. It was only when you felt him get a little closer that you sent your webs in his direction. You heard him grunt as he was webbed to the rooftop door, stuck in place. 

That’s when you turned around to face him. Glad that your face was covered, he wasn’t able to see the look of surprise on your face. The way your eyebrows raised or your mouth fell slightly open. Goddamn. He wasn’t exactly what you had expected to be following you all these weeks.

Dark curly hair. Reddish eyes. A waistline that would put any model to shame. The man was built like a brick wall, but with a face carved from a God or something. You blinked back into focus, not letting him distract you right now.

“Who are you?” You asked, trying to conjure a sort of authoritative voice to not seem so young. Or small. Which you were in comparison right now.

“That isn’t important right now,” he said, struggling against your webbing. “I need you to come with me. I’m recruiting you. That’s the reason I’ve come to find you. Not so we can chitchat and braid eachother’s hair.”

You laughed a little. Miguel ignored how his heart leapt a little at how pretty it sounded. “Wow you’re really good with your people skills. Has anyone ever told you that?” You walked a little closer to him, still hesitant. “Unless you tell me exactly who you are, and exactly what you’re doing in my city, I’m not going anywhere. And by the time that webbing’s structure decomposes enough for you to break free, you won’t find me again.”

He just sighed at you, rolling his eyes out of impatience. “Okay, I’m over this.” talons protruded from his hands in replacement for his fingers, and he sliced through your webbing. Shit, you put so much effort into that webbing too. He sauntered towards you, hips swaying as he looked down at you with a deeply disinterested glare. You backed up until your legs hit the edge of the rooftop, pinning you between him and the ground below. You could have just jumped. Leaned back until you fell from the roof and swung through the streets, far away from him. But you couldn’t. It was like you were frozen in place. “You’re coming with me. One way or another.”

You stepped up onto the ledge, almost as tall as he was now. “As much as I’d love to come back to what I assume is a cute little lair, I’m going to have to pass.” You fell backwards off the ledge and watched his eyes widen as he went to reach for you, but he wasn’t quick enough. Clearly his spidey senses weren’t kicking in today.

You fell, looking towards the ground as it got closer and closer to you. 

But you never did reach it.

It was a blur, a flash of coloured lights blinded you for a few moments. There was a pressure on the back of your neck, as though someone had grabbed you harshly, penetrating skin from the pain it inflicted.

Instead your body collided with a solid stone floor. Hard. you felt somethin crunch as your body hit the ground, sending shooting pains through your entire arm. Blinking your eyes a few times, you adjusted to the bright fluorescent lighting around you. Screens were put up on every wall, a large computer sat atop a much larger desk was raised above you.

“What the fuck?” You whispered, pushing yourself off the ground. Turning slowly in a circle, you tried to gauge where you were, until you came face to face with him again. “You! Where the fuck have you brought me?” You started swinging at him. You don’t really know why. It was a defense mechanism, you guessed? But you swung at him nonetheless. Pointless as it was, it made you feel better.

He just huffed and shook his head, batting away your hands and feet as they came at him, as though they weren’t even hurting him. It wasn’t until he grabbed your wrist which you injured, feeling the dislocation in the bone. You hissed in pain, trying to pull away, to no avail. He said nothing, just snapping it back into place and your cry echoed throughout the room. 

“Asshole!” You cried out, turning away.

“You’re welcome.”

“I wouldn’t have even been hurt if you hadn’t have kidnapped me!”

“I told you I was recruiting you for something.” His voice was so plain, so boring, so calm. Not a smidge of emotion or humanity in it.

“You could have asked nicely! Maybe explained the situation before…teleporting me to your shitty office,” you breathed heavily.

“You didn’t give me a chance. This was the only way.” He turned towards the desk, making his way up to it. You followed, rolling your wrist to alleviate the pain. 

“So why am I here? And who exactly are you?” You walked to the desk, taking a seat in the chair and spinning in it until his face became blurry. You came to a sudden stop when his hands fell hard onto the arm rests, his face inexplicably close to yours. You held your breath as he scowled down at you.

“Get. Off. My. Chair.”

“Who. Are. You.”

He rolled his eyes. But it wasn’t he who answered your question. It was a woman. “Miguel, you’re back! And you brought company. So this is the Lemon Spider? I expected something…different.”

“Lemon Spider? That is not my name,” you chuckled, looking over to see a blonde woman on the screens.

“Well, LYLA is my name. And Lemon Spider suits you, so Lemon Spider is your name.” She smiled, her grin was big and bright.

“And you’re Miguel? I’m glad someone finally told me.”

Eventually Miguel explained why he’d brought you to him. The Spider Society. Hundreds of spiders from hundreds of different alternate realities protecting the canon events and ensuring nothing disrupted them. His lieutenants had recommended you after close observation of how you handled situations within your own universe. You were small but quick, good at getting in and out of places that others couldn’t fit. You had heart. You never acted out of anger, or revenge. Only when someone needed you, needed your help.

It was a noble cause. One that, of course, you would have signed up for yourself if Miguel hadn’t first brought you here against your will. The man really needed to work on his people skills.

-

Months later, you had worked your way up the ranks. A valued member of the society. Even Miguel was impressed. Not that he ever showed it. You’d even met some other spiders. Pav and Hobie being the ones you were closest with whenever you got a chance to see them.

But Miguel was always the one you wanted to see the most, but you tried to keep that your own little secret.

“So…how ya been?” You asked, spinning on the desk chair once again as he leaned over the desk beside you. He rolled his eyes once again, but his mean demeanour had slightly softened with you around over time. Even LYLA had noticed it, once asking him if he did in fact begin to soften towards you. She earned a low growl in response and never spoke of it again. 

“Busy.”

“As always,” you huffed, looking at the same thing he was, a screen with a lot of maps and circles and colours…you understood none of it.

“Shouldn’t you be working? Doing spidey stuff?” He asked, looking over at you, his eyes softening at the way you looked up at him. He brushed it off quickly though.

“My canon events are safe,” you assured. “Besides, I’ll be notified if anything canon related or otherwise is affected or in jeopardy. So until that happens, I have a clear schedule.”

He just looked away, scanning activity on the screen. “Well, that’s great,” he mumbled under his breath, sarcasm lacing his tone.

“Come on, I’m great company,” you smiled up at him.

“Uh huh.”

You sighed, leaning back in the chair, putting your feet up on the desk. “Well, you’d prefer me over Hobie, at least.”

He grunted, pushing himself off the desk and turning towards you. Grabbing both your ankles, he yanked them off the desk, pulling you closer to him, your legs either side of his body as the wheely chair rolled swiftly towards him. “Look, as much as I love the cute little attitude you seem to have,” he leaned closer towards you, his cologne filling your senses. “I have work to do. And you’re a distraction. So either be quiet, or go elsewhere, okay?”

Words escaped you. And Miguel realised exactly what he’d just said. He also realised he’d essentially caged his body between your thighs. You gazed up at him, he noted a little surprise in your eyes, as well as something else. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. Letting go of your ankles, he stepped away. You stood from your chair.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be a distraction now, would I, O’Hara?” You asked, a little smirk playing at your lips. You patted his chest and walked away.

He hated that he watched you leave, completely ensnared by you as you left the room. 

-

You stayed at the base that night, knowing that Miguel had his room set up there, a few doors down from the meeting room. You planned to go back to your own dimension, but it was quite boring back there right now. So you hung out in the meeting room, suspended upside down from the ceiling. Tracking the activity of your own city, you were met with absolutely fuck all. No activity. No spikes in crime or anything altered on your own timeline.

Sighing, you dropped down to the floor, preparing to go back to your own timeline. You would have said goodbye to Miguel, but you weren’t exactly sure he wanted to talk to you right now.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard something. Your ears perked and the hairs on your arms stood up. It was coming from Miguel’s room. You shouldn’t have inspected, it wasn’t your place. But your feet took you there anyway. Outside his door, you pressed your ear up against it, listening intently. At first you thought he was communicating with someone. LYLA, perhaps. Until you heard something else. Groaning? Grunting, maybe. But then you heard moaning. And he was saying something. Your name. Your hand covered your mouth so that he wouldn’t hear you. But he sure as hell would have sensed your presence. Wouldn’t he?

You stepped back, knocking into the wall behind you. His noises halted almost immediately. Hearing his footsteps approach the door, you backed away quickly, but he opened the door before you were completely out of sight. His pupils were blown wide, his shirt discarded and his chest glistening slightly with sweat.

“I thought you’d left,” he said, his voice low, gruff.

“I stuck around, kept an eye on the screens for a little while,” you admitted. It wasn’t a lie, for the most part. “Thought you would have heard me, or known I was still here.”

He cocked his head in confusion. 

“Spidey senses? I always know when someone’s around,” you smiled. But he shook his head in disagreement.

“I don’t have those. Wasn’t bitten by a spider, you see,” he revealed, and your eyebrow quirked. “How long have you been stood out here?”

Your heart dropped. “Um…not long. Was just about to leave anyway, so you get back to…whatever it is you were doing. I’ll see you around, O’Hara.”

You turned to leave until his voice stopped you. “Or you could…stay?” You didn’t turn around at first, but you felt him come up behind you. Close. Very fucking close. His heat radiated onto your back. “I’ve been cold towards you, I know that. I haven’t meant to be.”

“So why have you been?” You spun on your heel, almost stumbling as you came into contact with his bare chest. But his hand on your waist caught you.

“If I let myself enjoy your company as much as I do, I’ll become distracted from my life’s work,” he let his head drop.

Confidence suddenly overtook you and you placed a hand on his cheek, tilting his head back up to look at you. “Sometimes a distraction is what you need to be able to do your job.”

He chuckled. The first time you’d ever seen him do that. “You saying I do my job wrong?”

“I said sometimes, O’Hara,” you smiled. “But maybe a distraction is what you need right now.” Taking his hand, you led him back to his room. You expected him to pull away, but he didn’t, he followed. Miguel shut the door behind him and your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, the only light source coming from his desk light. His hands found your waist from behind you, his breath on your neck.

“A distraction sounds pretty good right about now,” he purred in your ear, kissing your neck softly. You melted into his touch, your legs becoming a puddle. He kissed down your neck to your shoulder and you turned your head, letting your lips meet his in a gentle kiss. 

This was the gentlest you’d ever seen him. Usually his walls were up, and he was cold and distant from everyone. But here…here he was entirely exposed. To you. You walked him slowly to the couch in the corner of the room, the backs of his knees hitting it before he sat down, his hands pulling you closer.

“You said you don’t have spidey senses, right?” You asked, standing before him. He looked up at you expectantly. 

“What are you getting at here, princesa?”

“Just something I want to try.” You pulled the thick ribbon from your hair that tied it up in a bun whenever you were out of your suit. Your hair fell down to your shoulders, falling in front of your face.

“Oh, we’re trying things? So early on?” He joked, a small smile in his voice.

“Oh shush, I think you’ll like it,” you held the ribbon in front of him and he realised what you wanted to do. He nodded, his trust put in you. Covering his eyes, you tied it around the back of his head. “Just have a little faith.”

“In you, I do.”

You knelt before him, so thankful he was just in sweatpants. You weren’t very good at handling belts. Wrapping your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants, you felt him tense up lightly. “Easy, O’Hara. Just relax, okay?”

You looked up to see him nod. Smiling, you continued, pulling his sweatpants down to his ankles. He’d opted to go commando under those pants, and you stifled a gasp at what awaited you beneath the fabric. 

Shit. you knew he was a big guy…but you didn’t expect him to be that big of a guy. Miguel’s cock sprang out of its confinement, hard, long and thick. For a moment you worried yourself that you wouldn’t be able to take all of him. Or even…most of him. But you were too pent up and needy for him that you pushed past it.

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, Miguel shuddered at your touch. He didn’t want to admit it, but it had been a while for him. Having only his own hand to work with, he couldn’t fathom how good it felt to be your hand instead.

But fuck, the second he felt your mouth envelope his dick, he couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his throat. You loved it, the raw feeling behind his groaning and whimpering. Taking him further in your mouth, you sucked slowly, deeply, your tongue circling the tip so his legs tightened under your hand where it laid, resting on his thigh.

You felt his hand travel to your head, fingers entangling in your hair and gripping it with a firm hold. He didn’t push, he just held you there. The more of him you took, the tighter his grip got. His panting and moaning was like music to your ears.

“Shit…shit…” he breathed, raising his hips up off the couch, his dick pushing deeper down your throat. He was about to come, on the verge of it, you could feel it. His head fell back against the top of the couch, his teeth gritted against each other as he felt the precipice of his orgasm fast approaching. “Wait, wait, wait.” He spoke quickly, racing through his words.

You did stop. Pulling away and looking up at him. “Are you okay?” You asked, worried you’d gone too far, too fast.

“I’m fine,” he panted, head tipped towards the ceiling. “But…” Miguel pulled down his blindfold so it hung loosely around his neck. He gazed at you, his eyes coated in a thin sheen, glossed over. “I’m not gonna be the only one who gets to feel this good though.” He pulled you up and onto his lap. You felt his dick twitch beneath you as your face was ever so close to his, inches away from one another. “So now it’s your turn, princesa.”

Miguel smirked, his hand sliding down the front of your pants, gliding under your panties and came into contact with your bare skin. Your breath shortened as his fingers drifted down to your pussy, already soaked from the moments previously, and he smirked at the wetness he felt there. “Already this wet, hmm? Guess it’s not going to take long for you to be able to take me, huh?” He was so smug. So confident. In any other instance you’d find it annoying, but right now you couldn’t have found it more attractive. All you could muster up was a quiet, desperate please.

He smiled, pushing a finger deep inside you and pulling a soft moan from you. God, he could listen to that on repeat for the rest of his life. Moving his finger in and out at a quickened pace, curving his fingertip to hit that sweet spot you could never reach yourself, he felt you clench around him, your eyes begging for more when your mouth couldn’t form the words. He happily obliged, adding a second finger. The palm of his hand grinding against your clit with the added pressure of his fingers fucking you was driving you to the edge quicker than you thought possible. 

He knew it too. Your eyes rolling back, your hips shifting to rock with the rhythm of his fingers inside you. You were close. 

“You want to come, angelita?” He asked, his words dripping with want, with need. For you. He watched you nod frantically. But he slowed his fingers, his other hand gripping your jaw gently, but firmly. “On my fingers, or on my cock, hmm?” He saw the way your eyes lit up at that proposal. “Oh, honey. I think I already know what you want.”

He didn’t even try and take off your pants, he tore right through them instead, his talons scraping against your skin, but never breaking your skin. Throwing your torn clothes across the room, he lifted you up so you hovered above him. Miguel grabbed his cock by the base, running it along your pussy, soaking the tip with your wetness. 

Words escaped you and your mind went numb when he first pushed his cock into you. At first it felt overwhelming, the size of him frying your senses and fogging your head. Only at about half way in, Miguel started to feel resistance, and the look of shock and the overwhelmed tint in your eyes showed him why. “Just relax, conejita. You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, one hand on your thigh and the wrapped around your back.

His praise and encouragement cleared your clouded thoughts. You nodded, taking your time and sinking lower and lower until you reached the base. Letting out a deep breath, you gave yourself a few moments to adjust. Miguel smiled up at you. “Atta girl,” he mumbled, a smirk on his lips. He shifted his hips, rising up into you, purposefully grinding his dick up into your soaking pussy. Fuck, he loved the way you bit your lip to stifle your noises as to not make too much noise. Not that anyone else was here anyway. He wanted to hear you. 

You started rocking back and forth on his dick, the tip hitting something devastatingly sweet every time and it sent shockwaves through your entire body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, nails scratching into his back, digging crescent shaped indents into his skin as you rolled your hips quicker and quicker. Miguel’s hands both found their way to your hips, guiding your movements and controlling your speed. His head dipped down as he kissed your neck, taking your skin between his teeth and biting gently, sucking deep marks into your neck. 

His lips trailed down, passing your collar bones, down your sternum to your breasts. His tongue circled your perked nipple before he sucked identical purple marks into your breasts, kissing along to the other breast as he did, giving the same treatment to both. 

Mumbles and whimpers fell from your lips, flooding the room with your desperation for Miguel’s touch, for Miguel’s praises, for Miguel’s hands all over you. His fingers dug tighter into your hips, grinding you against him hard, his cock reaching the perfect places inside you to make you squirm, to make you cry out his name. 

“You gonna come for me, princesa? Hmm?” He asked, a smidge of cockiness in his tone. He was good. And he knew he was good. You couldn’t deny it, not knowing that even though you were already so overwhelmed by the size of him, mixtures of pleasure and pain that balanced one another out perfectly, you couldn’t deny that you weren’t already craving more of him. 

But the second he started raising his hips to meet yours, you lost it. Your head fell against his shoulder, and his lips attacked your neck, pressing soft kisses there, biting gently. His hand drifted between your bodies, putting pressure against your clit with his thumb. That’s when your body began to unravel, your senses skyrocketed. You gripped the back of his neck so tightly as you felt your orgasm growing closer, your thighs shaking and your movements started to falter in both speed and momentum. 

Miguel sensed it it too, his hands on your hips becoming the sole thing after a point, that kept you grinding on his cock. He was close too. But he held out with all of his focus. Wanting you to come for him first. Needing you to. “Come on, honey,” he purred in your ear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You let out a small cry, Miguel’s name playing on your tongue. Your orgasm washed over you. It wasn’t gentle either, like it usually was whenever you touched yourself. This was powerful. This was like a tsunami. It tore through you, electrifying your veins and causing you to clench hard. Your thighs caged him, closing tighter around his body as you clung to him. You bit into Miguel’s shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, but it didn’t stop him from fucking up into you. He didn’t stop. Not until your orgasm had finally satisfied the both of you. Your body collapsed against him, your chest heaving as you tried to regain all of your breath, filling your lungs to their capacity.

“You okay, conejita?” He asked, raking his fingers up and down your spine, kissing the side of your head. He chuckled lightly as you just nodded, a quiet groan all you could muster up at an attempt for words.

You lifted your head, leaning back to look at him. A gasp escaped your throat as he shifted beneath you once more, his cock twitching. “You didn’t…” Your words trailed off as you looked fown for a split second.

Miguel shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” You asked, a mixture of curiosity and a little embarrassment lacing your tone. 

He smiled, leaning back, running his hands up and down your thighs. “You think I can only last one round, honey? I’m offended,” he laughed jokingly. Your eeys widened a little, and you were slightly concerned you wouldn’t be able to handle more right now. Not if it was as good as that. “Don’t look so afraid, baby,” he whispered, lifting you and your legs wrapped around his waist. He carried you to the bed on the other side of the room, laying your down gently, your head settling comfortably into the pillows as he climbed on top of you, his body between your thighs. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Miguel, I don’t think you know the meaning of gentle.”

He matched your soft laugh with one of his own. Rolling his eyes, he leaned even closer to you, your lips almost touching. “I’ll try to be gentle. At first.” His eyes darkened in the dimmed room and your heart beat just a little faster. “But don’t think it’ll take me more than five minutes to fuck you into this bed until all you can do is scream my name.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hii!

I just came across your empress work with kylo ren and i absolutely loved it.

But i was wondering...

Could you maybe write something like that but with kylo marring a jedi reader to restore balance and peace to the galaxy?

Say That Again

"-- say it," Kylo mutters. His voice becomes shaky, "I want to hear you say it."

Kylo Ren x Jedi!Reader | 1k+ | cw: gender neutra!reader, implied kidnapping, violence/mentions of injury, lovers to enemies, pining, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this req is remix of this anon's and @copiasratsstuff request where basically YN refers to Kylo with his first name and it makes him snap. also T_T i had to send myself this anon ask because i accidentally posted this WITHOUT ANYTHING on the post LMAO. i hope you enjoy it my loves <3 <3 <3 tbh I think this turned out better than what I had in mind slayyyyed

My heart pounds as I run down the halls. My hands were tingling and moistened with agitation. I huff when I catch sight of the space craft.

I swipe an arm and, using my Force, a pair of stormtroopers crash to the side, clearing my passage.

The footsteps thundering towards me grows louder when I get to the ship and pry the door open with my Force. Just as I'm about to get into the vehicle, a scorching blow hits my leg, then my shoulder. A loud cry leaves my lips before I can even think.

Similarly, I hear painful screaming from afar. "Didn't I say to hold your fire?!"

My panic heightens at the echo of that voice. Through the excruciating pain, I tell myself to push forward. This was it, after all, this was the opening to the freedom I was waiting for.

But the next thing I knew, a dark Force overcame me, and I didn't have enough strength to break free of it.

I thud into the arms of my captor, and whine in pain. I clench my jaw and slowly lift my eyes, glaring at him.

My expression is vaguely reflected on the Supreme Leader's black mask. He sighs before speaking, "you reap what you sow."

I growl and hiss, "and soon will you."

He carries me in his arms, all the way back to my prison cell. He sets me down on his bed l, and as he takes off his helmet, I fling him back with Force, making him lose his balance.

The man doesn't topple though. What only happens is his dark hair falls onto his face. He tilts his head, "childish."

I scoff, "I'm glad you're self-aware."

The Sith Lord says nothing in response. He walks off, props his helmet on his cabinet, and opens a drawer. He walks over to me with bandages and ointment.

I raise a brow as he sits on my side, "you're not going to heal me?"

"The pain will be good for you," he replies, grabbing my injured leg with little regard.

I whine and shift to lessen my discomfort. He begins to lather ointment on my laser gash.

As he does this in silence, and as I behold his profile, his nose, his lips, his lashes, I see flashes of the past from his face. I see a memory of when we were younger, both still under the guidance of our master, Luke. I see his sweet smile, hear his soft laugh, feel his tender kiss... my Ben.

Of course, we were young fools in love. Deep down, we knew we could never be; attachments were dangerous. And yet he promised me himself and I promised him myself, and somehow he believes that was the same as us being married.

That was why he captured me. That was why he was binding my wounds. That was why he was unwilling to let me go. According to him, I was the balance the galaxy craved, I was the balance he long yearned for.

"We are married," he says, a-matter-of-factly.

My face sours, "get out of my head."

"Even if you did, even if you managed to run," he turns to me, one hand gripping my knee, "you think I would just let you go?"

We stare at each other for a while.

"After all I've done to have you?" he narrows his eyes.

"You wouldn't be able to find me," I lean in as I retort.

He leans closer, "and yet you would eventually surrender because your heart is weak."

I whine when he pulls the bandage around me tighter than necessary.

"Your soft heart would not bear the destruction I'd exact on the stars to find you," he ties the bandage and turns back to me. He scoffs under his breath, "you and your empathy."

The last of what remained of Ben Solo stared at me. Perhaps I was the only one delusional enough to see it. He was barely there in face, and in soul, I fear he may be lost forever.

I turn away.

He releases my leg and grabs my arm, "take your top off."

I decide not to put up a fight, there was no point. I take my burnt top off so he could wrap the injury on my shoulder blade.

He moves me so my back is turned to him. He stares at my wound for a prolonged moment. I am tempted to look back at him when I realize he felt pity for me.

"You shouldn't have run."

I don't look back, "you shouldn't have chased after-" I hiss when he applies ointment on my burn.

"You shouldn't have run," he repeats, harder this time.

"Kylo, please-"

"What?"

I look over my shoulder.

"What did you just call me?"

His expression is that of shock and excitement. I quickly correct myself, "Ben. Your name is B-"

"That's not my name," he raises a finger, "that's not what you said-"

"That's what I mea-"

"Say that again, say it," Kylo mutters. His voice becomes shaky, "I want to hear you say it."

I clench my jaw and shake my head. "Your name is Ben Solo."

He releases a deep breath.

I grab his cheeks. It was the first time I had ever willingly touched him, and so tenderly at that, "that is your name. That is who you--"

"Ben is dead," Kylo grabs my wrists, yanking me away from him.

My heart races when I feel the hot air from his lungs.

"I am all that's left," he whispers, brows furrowing. His voice is shaky again, "Ben was weak. He could not even speak his love for you out loud," he shakes his head, "not me. I would make sure the whole galaxy knows my love for you."

I gasp when he grabs my face and kisses me. I immediately shove him away, and when I do, this man with wide, glassy eyes stares back at me.

For once, his face evokes something more than anger out of me. I see his desperation and it pinches my heart.

"Ben-"

"That's not my name," he blurts, snapping out of his trance and jumping to his feet. His moment of vulnerability was over. Staring down at me now was no one else besides the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He wipes his face and blankness falls on his features.

I mean to call his name out again but he speaks before I can.

"I will have a medic attend to your wounds," he says flatly, "don't think to flee while I'm gone."

I watch him walk out of the door.

[pickingupmymercedes]

She's here and she's ours - Lewis Hamilton

Pure fluff.

Series: She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you / She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she won't be the only one / She's here and he won't let her give up / She's here and so is he / She's here and so are we - (they can all be read as one-shots)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +1k

a/n: I'm 100% sure Lewis is gonna be a girl dad, like there's no other option in my mind. Also, I might make this a series of firsts with his kids, maybe 🙃

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_____________________________________________________________

First-borns took longer to come, you’d been told that much, but 26 hours of active labor seemed like a bad joke.

The due date had been almost a week prior, which meant she had to be induced, but at the end of it all a perfectly healthy, and tad bit big, 20.7 inches and 7.3 pounds baby girl had made her arrival in the early hours of a cold, but sunny, Wednesday. 

The three days stay at the hospital also meant all of your and his family had had more than enough time to get to Monaco still in time to chat, have lunch and joke around with you, contractions only ever getting really strong the night before your water finally broke. At a time your perfectly thought-out labor plan had already been torn to pieces.

She was meant to be born in the water, that’s how you and Lewis had dreamt of for months, but being as stubborn as both of you were she didn’t turn and a breach meant being ready for an emergency c-section, if needed. It also meant an epidural would be more than likely required, something you fought your hardest against but eventually agreed to after a couple hours with labor going quicker with the water broken. At the end you still managed to have her naturally, with a second degree tear nonetheless.

But the tiredness, your back killing you, the heartburn, the swollen feet and the pain, none of it took center stage in your mind as you watched your daughter, as weird as that word sounded, falling asleep in her father’s chest.

As soon as she had had her first feed in your breast the nurse asked if skin on skin with the father was something you both would like to happen. His eyes, who had been gleaming with pride since the second the doctor announce she was girl, watered as the nurse handed the infant to a shirtless Lewis, seated at your side in the sofa by the window.

She squirmed a bit as her small body tried to find comfort against his muscular chest, one of his hands almost big enough to hold her entire body while the other supported her neck and head. And as if in a movie, as soon as he spoke, her body relaxed and she contently sighted with the sound she had spent the last months hearing from inside you, a voice almost as constant as yours to her.

“She’s here, babe, and she’s all ours.” You couldn’t really tell if he was telling you or himself that, his eyes wouldn’t leave the infant in his arms and his movements were careful and kept to a minimal

“How you feeling dad?” Your voice breaking the spell he seemed to be under, his eyes shining with love for his family, the one he finally had.

“Amazed, hopeful, scared… in love” He almost whispered after thinking for a bit.

It was Lewis first year with Ferrari, all the excitement and buzz from the move were gone and real life had set in. Redbull were still dominating the grid, Ferrari a bit closer than the previous year, with both driver even managing to snatch a vitory each, but still the focus was now on the new regs for the 2026 car.

The mandatory summer shutdown was the perfect opportunity to destress for at least a week before the chaos started back again and Lewis made sure the ever-shorter time he had for a vacation would be perfectly spent with family and friends alike, somewhere in the sunny Mediterranean ocean.

It was on a hot and clear night that summer that your lives began to really change.

His step mom was talking about how hard it’d become to gain a few pounds of lean mass after menopause had hit, a curiously shy Willow asking her mom what menopause was and getting the period talk on the side while you mentally panicked that your period had been due for at least about 2 weeks, something you completely put to the back of your mind with the craziness of summer shutdown preparations.

You were on birth control, but still it could happen, you both knew that and had agreed on no condoms. Later that night, while Lewis got a late workout in and everyone else went to bed, you franticly looked for the package at the bottom of your suitcase, hoping the damn thing was still there.

Almost twenty minutes later Lewis found you on the bed staring at the night sea, lost in thoughts, shaking and so in over your head it took him at least 10 minutes to comprehend your rumbles about the test, still untouched at the adjoining suite sink, the line that read “pregnant 5-6 weeks” screaming back at you both.

To say the pregnancy took sometime getting used to was a light hearted way to say you went through hell mentally and physically. But still, the moment that tiny creature first kicked you after hearing her father’s voice melted any sign of a doubt left.

You were not only gifting Lewis his most treasured wish, you were gifting yourself a perfect symbol of the respect, companionship and love you two shared. A tiny human you and him got to raise and protect until she went out into the world and left her mark.

As everyone else came into the room to finally meet the newest Hamilton, Lewis’ moment with his newborn was interrupted by his mom getting to hold her newest grandkid, followed closely by his sisters, brother, niece and nephew crowding the sofa he sat just a few moments before.

“Thank you, babe, truly. I don’t even know how to tell you how grateful I am.” His lips kissing your hair from the top of your bed, eyes attentively watching as your girl got passed around.  

“We’ll have at least 18 more years with her, you’ll have time.” You looked up at him to get his toothy smile just as your family walked into the room to complete the party.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

If you'd like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[rosemariiaa]

~Lines We Drew~

part: 2

pairing- Paige x Azzi

a/n: I was gonna post this tomorrow but today was a good day!

warning: language

Enjoy!!!

Azzi’s POV:

My first few days at UConn have been a whirlwind. Classes are intense but manageable, and my teammates have been great—well, most of them. Paige is a whole different story. She’s made it clear she doesn’t like me, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s because of our past or something else I just don’t know of. Whatever it is, she’s not making things any easier.

Practice has been tough, and Paige seems to find every opportunity to make it hell. Most of the time the rest of the team just looks at her like she’s crazy because, honestly, I don’t know what I’ve done to her that bad to be treated like this, but I hope she knows she’s not just going to push me around like a dog.

This morning, we were running drills, and Coach decided to pit me against Paige. Of course, she couldn’t resist making some remark about my shooting form, which is actually perfect by the way. “Nice shot, Fudd, maybe next time try aiming for the basket.” Paige snickered.

I rolled my eyes and shot back, “At least I can make a shot without spraining my ankle.” Her eyes narrowed, and I could see the surprise flicker across her face before she masked it with a scowl. We kept bickering throughout the drill, and eventually, Coach had enough.

“Bueckers! Fudd! Locker room, now!” Geno shouted.

We both hesitated, but the glare he sent us had us moving. The walk to the locker room was tense, and the silence that followed once we got there was even worse. I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me, and it was only a matter of time before one of us snapped.

“What the hell is your problem?” I finally demanded, turning to face her. “My problem? You’re the one acting like you own the place,” Paige shot back, her tone icy.

“Maybe because I’ve actually earned my spot here.” I said throwing my hands in the air. “Yeah, because everyone just loves the shiny new recruit,” Paige sneered, crossing her arms. “But they don’t know you like I do.”

“Oh really , and what exactly do you think you know about me, Bueckers?”

“I know you’re all talk. You act nice, but deep down, you’re just as cutthroat as the rest of us. You’re not fooling anyone.”

The accusation stung more than I expected. I opened my mouth to retaliate, but before I could, the door creaked open, and Laila, a girl i met my first day at Uconn slipped in, casting a worried glance between us. “Hey, Az, you okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

I nodded, but I couldn’t help noticing the way Paige’s jaw tightened as Laila approached me. Why did she care? It’s not like we were friends or anything.

Paige’s glare was sharp, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was angry at me or at Laila. But that didn’t make sense, I pushed the thought aside, focusing on Laila as she pulled me aside to talk quietly. Even though we were trying to be discreet, I could still feel Paige’s gaze burning into us.

“I’m fine, just… annoyed,” I muttered to Laila, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself. Laila gave me a reassuring smile and squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t let her get to you. You belong here just as much as she does babe, you know that.”

“Thanks Lai,” I replied, though my mind was still partially focused on the fact that Paige had been glaring at us the entire time. What was her deal?

When Laila finally left, Paige and I were alone again, but the fire in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by something unreadable. The silence stretched on until it became unbearable, and finally, she stood up, brushing past me without a word.

I watched her leave, trying to figure out what just happened. Why did she look so pissed when Laila showed up? Did she think I was going to talk about her? Or maybe… No. I shook my head, dismissing the thought. Paige Bueckers couldn’t possibly care about me.

———-

Paige’s POV:

I never expected Azzi Fudd to get under my skin like this. I knew she was coming to UConn, but I wasn’t excited about it. Everyone was hyped up about her for god knows whatever , acting like she was going to be the savior of the team. I couldn’t stand it. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, and now, here comes Miss Perfect, just strolling in like she owns the place.

But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that everyone seems to love her. Even my own friends, who should be on my side, are falling all over themselves to help her move in, introduce her to everyone, and make her feel at home. What about me? I thought bitterly. Where’s all this support when I need it?

The accusation hung in the air between us, and for a moment, I thought she might actually cry. But then the door creaked open, and Laila walked in, instantly killing whatever momentum our fight had.

“Hey, Azzi, you okay?” Laila asked softly. Azzi nodded, but my whole body tensed up as Laila walked over to her. I didn’t know why, but something about seeing Laila with Azzi made my blood boil. Laila had a long kind of slim body, a little similar to mine, but of course I had the muscles. She had this long blonde hair dripping down her back..also similar to me. I felt this unfamiliar twist in my chest, like jealousy, but that couldn’t be it. Could it? No.

I watched as Laila reached out and touched Azzi’s arm, and I had to fight the urge to get up and push her away. What was wrong with me? This wasn’t my business. I didn’t care who Azzi talked to, or at least I shouldn’t care. But as I watched them whisper to each other, something ugly and possessive churned in my gut.

I turned away, trying to focus on anything else. The lockers. The floor. My shoes. Anything but the sight of Laila comforting Azzi. I didn’t care, I reminded myself. I didn’t care at all. But when I looked back, and saw Azzi smile at something Laila said, it felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. My fists clenched involuntarily. I hated this feeling. I hated that she could get under my skin like this.

When Laila finally left, the tension in the room was suffocating. I wanted to say something, to demand to know why Azzi even needed Laila to comfort her, but what right did I have? We weren’t friends. Hell, I didn’t even like her. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to scream at her, to demand answers to questions I didn’t even understand.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and stormed out of the locker room without another word, leaving Azzi behind. I needed to clear my head, to figure out why seeing her with Laila had set me off like that. This didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t possibly be jealous. Not of Azzi. Not over something as stupid as Laila talking to her. Right?

But as I walked away, the twisted feeling in my chest didn’t go away. If anything, it got worse. And I had no idea what to do about it.

———-

Back in my apartment, I tried to focus on my assignments, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the locker room. No matter how hard I tried to push the memories away, Azzi kept creeping back into my mind. Why the hell did I care so much? I asked myself this knowing why i did care. But It wasn’t like we were friends. We weren’t even close like that anymore. But everything about her now kept nagging at me.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Studying was pointless. All I could think about was the way she looked at me, the way her voice had risen when she confronted me. And that damn moment with Laila. Why did it bother me so much to see them together?

My phone buzzed on the desk, snapping me out of my thoughts. Nika had texted the group chat, suggesting we all head over to Aubrey’s apartment for a study session and hangout. I almost ignored it, but I figured it was better than sitting here, stewing in my own confusion.

When I arrived at Aubrey’s, the place was already full with energy, KK and Ice bickering, paying no attention to the work we’re actually supposed to be doing. Everyone else was scattered around the living room with their laptops and notebooks. I found a spot on the couch and tried to settle in, hoping the chatter would drown out my thoughts.

A few minutes later, the door to one of the bedrooms creaked open, and Azzi emerged, looking half-asleep with her curls falling down her shoulders and her eyes half-closed. She was wearing black Nike shorts and a tank top, and as she stretched, revealing a sliver of her toned stomach and that damn silver belly button ring, I couldn’t help but stare. She looked effortlessly beautiful, even with her sleepy face and bed hair. My eyes traced the length of her long, tanned legs, and I had to remind myself to blink.

Everyone greeted her with a chorus of “Hi’s,” but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I was too busy trying to ignore the way my heart skipped a beat when she rubbed her eyes and yawned.

Azzi must have noticed me staring because she glanced in my direction, her lips curling into a smirk. “Like what you see, Bueckers?” she teased, snapping me out of my thoughts. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in my notes. “Whatever,” I muttered, but my mind was racing. What the hell was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that, and I definitely shouldn’t be blushing because of some stupid comment.

Azzi disappeared back into her room to change, and I tried to refocus on my work, but when she came back out, looking more awake and dressed in sweats, I found myself sneaking glances at her again. This was getting ridiculous.

As the study session dragged on, I realized I was completely lost on one of my assignments. Everyone else seemed equally confused doing their own thing, except for Azzi, who was calmly working through her own tasks. I knew I had no choice—I had to ask her for help. But the thought made my stomach twist.

After a few minutes of struggling, I finally caved. “Hey, Azzi,” I called over, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Can you help me with this?” She looked up, surprised, but quickly nodded. “Sure.”

I expected her to just explain it from across the room, but instead, she got up and came to sit next to me. My heart pounded as she settled in beside me, her shoulder brushing against mine. I tried to focus on the work, but her presence was overwhelming. We hadn’t been this close in years. She leaned in a little too close, her hair brushing against my arm, and all I could think about was the scent of vanilla and strawberries that clung to her skin. Get a grip P.

“See, this part here…” Azzi began explaining, her voice calm and patient, but I could barely process her words. All I could focus on was how close she was, the warmth radiating off her body, the way her pink and plump lips moved as she spoke. I almost smiled at the absurdity of the situation. Here I was, supposedly hating this girl, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about how good she smelled or how soft her skin looked. It was infuriating, and I hated myself for it.

I forced myself to concentrate, nodding along as Azzi explained the problem to me. I was determined not to let her see how flustered I was. But the more I tried to focus, the more distracted I became. Her closeness was driving me crazy, and I had no idea why.

Eventually, the study session wrapped up, and everyone started packing up their things to head back to their apartments. I was relieved when Azzi moved away from me to help clean up. I needed space to breathe, to get my head on straight.

As I stood up to leave, I caught a glimpse of Caroline teasing Azzi about how close we’d been sitting earlier. I figured what’s the harm in eavesdropping just a little. Azzi laughed it off, but her response made my heart clench.

“She still hates me, Caroline,” Azzi said with a shrug. “I have no idea why, but it’s whatever.”

No idea?

Caroline chuckled. “You sure about that? I saw the way she was looking at you.”

I quickly turned away, pretending I hadn’t heard anything, but my mind was racing. Azzi thought I hated her..well I guess that’s what it would seem like. I thought rubbing my temples. I wasn’t even sure anymore. All I knew was that something about her being here, being so close to me…was driving me absolutely insane and I needed it to stop.

[revelboo]

Looking at you with my big ol eyes to politely ask for more Skids whenever you feel in the mood to write for him. That first part was just so gooood I keep thinking about it ;u;

Sure

Hysteria

IDW Skids x Reader

• Cringing and almost dropping you as you slump against his servos, still making that awful gagging sound as he runs up the ramp while the others cover him. Looking down, he shudders. “I know you’re really stressed, but if you don’t stop purging, I’m going to be doing it, too. Nobody wants that,” he mutters trying to find someone to hand you off to as the last bot makes it back aboard and Rodimus runs for the bridge. Seeing him staring at them hopefully, everyone backs away from him and you. Wanting nothing to do with the mess or the smell. Awkwardly rubbing a servo against your spine, he roughly clears his vents. “Please, stop? Anyone know how to fix this?”

• Throat raw, you lay your cheek against the giant robots hand and cut your eyes up at him. Because you’d been able to understand him. At least you can ask him what he’s going to do to you, those other aliens either couldn’t understand you or didn’t care. They definitely hadn’t been as gentle as he is. Feeling him rub your back and the unhappy worry in his voice eases some of the terror. He wouldn’t care that you’re upset if he was just going to hurt you, right? “I want to go home.”

• Now Tailgate and Trailbreaker, the only two not driven off by your purging take the opportunity to bail on him, knowing you’re going to have to be told that you can’t go home and wanting no part of it. Cowards. And you can’t go home, at least, not yet and that’s not going to go over well. Glaring at their retreating backs, he uses a servo to nudge your hair away from your face and his servo lingers seeing a nasty yellow bruise on your neck. Is that a bite?Venting softly, he wishes he’d shot more of them. Those tired eyes stare up at him, much calmer. No, resigned. Though he’s pretty sure that’s about to change. “So, about that? We’re on a mission and far from Earth, but I promise I’ll try to get you back.” Eventually. Not wanting to tell you it might be years before that happens.

• Eyes closing, you refuse to start bawling. What good would that do? All you can do is hope his promise is worth something. That he’s kinder than your last captors had been. “You’ve been to Earth. Understand my language.” Not really a question, but if there were giant, alien robots on Earth, wouldn’t you have heard about it? That would have definitely made the news unless it was covered up by the government, which wouldn’t really surprise you. “What are you going to do with me?”

• “You’re safe here, there’s other humans onboard. Er, rescues like you. I guess you’ll stay with me for now. I’m Skids.” Not sure how he feels about having a human to care for as you just look up at him, shockingly calm considering the excitement and terror you’d just gone through. But as your eyes stay closed, still not lifting your head from his hand, he hopes that maybe you’re just too exhausted to be scared. There’s no telling what those aliens had done to you before he’d found you or how long they’d had you. Those coverings you’re wearing don’t look like what little he knows of human fashion. Making him wonder if you’re normally this docile or if you’d been broken. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

• Tired down to your bones, you just lay against his servos. Wanting to believe him. Wanting to be safe, not scared anymore. Not hurt. And more than anything else, wanting to sleep. To forget the pain. Curling yourself into his warm hand, he starts stroking your back again as he walks and even though you hate it, you start softly crying.

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