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fangirlstorycreator · 1 year ago

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The Legend Of The Lost Princess ♡ Chapter 21

"It looks like a boar has been through hear recently, its heading north. Keep quiet and follow me" Blackwall said readying his weapon and slowly moving forward into the brush. "So uhh...what do you think that girls name is? I bet its something like 'saraphina' or maybe 'anastacia' you know, something really-" "I'm sure she'll tell us her name when she wakes up" "Yeh, yeh your right...or maybe 'Abigail' or-" "Will you just shut up for once! I'm trying to concentrate hear" "Hey man, it's not my fault I'm trying to make pleasant conversation hear" "Is it pleasant conversation? Or do you just love the sound of your own voice so much? Whatever it is, just please be quiet, and stop bringing up that woman. When she's ready to wake up she can tell us her name, just leave her alone and stop trying to guess things about her that you don't know" "Alright fine! I don't see why your getting so defensive about her, you wouldn't even let me help you with her earlier-.....oooooh!" "Oh what? Why are you looking at me like that?" "Yooooou like her!" "Stop talking b#llsh#t" "You like her! Oh this is brilliant! All this time you seem like the boring and glum warrior, but it seems you have a soft spot-" "I don't have a god damn soft spot!" "Yeees you doooo!" "If you don't shut the f#ck up right now, I'm going to tie you to this tree and f#cking leave you hear! Got it!" "Alright, I'll stop..." "Good" "......(whispers) softie" "What did you say?" Nothing!" "Its had better be nothing, now come on, were getting close"

As they were doing their thing together, Cael and Logan were collecting fire wood to bring back to camp. "So Cael? What do you thinks going on between Y/N and Taligaro?" "Isn't it obvious? He's smitten with her" "I definitely think there's a spark there, she's a beautiful woman so it's understandable why he would like her" "She is beautiful I'll tell you that, but she's just not my type" "I know Cael, I know she wouldn't be" Him and Cael share a flirty smile before Logan coughs awkwardly, and asks "So umm, what do you like in a guy Cael?" "Well that's an interesting question Logan" "I'm just curious, that's all" "Ok...well honestly, if he's kind and friendly then that's something I need in a guy. Plus...I'm not a fan of hair" "Hair?" "Yeh, how do I put this? A like a guy who can pull off the bald look, something about no hair on his head, just attracts me to them more. But that's just my opinion...." Cael turns around to pick up some more wood, and Logan runs his hand over his smooth bald head, blushing a little to himself. They carry on making flirty small talk before they make their way back to camp together, seeming to get to know eachother a lot more. Meanwhile back at the camp, you check on the young woman, but she still hasn't woken up. So you sit beside Taligaro who is on a log facing what will be the fire area. "How are you holding up?" "I'm alright, it's still a little sore" "Hear, I managed to make some milk of the poppy. Take it, it will help with the pain" "Thank you Y/N" You hold out the little vial as he takes it, his fingers brush against yours as he touches you, you both feel the warmth of eachothers fingers, and hide the smile you both have at the sensation. He pops the cork out and swallows the milk, hopefully that should kick in soon. "What do you think they'll bring back for dinner?" "Well the boar was really nice the other night, I wouldn't say no to another one. What about you Y/N? What do you think?" "As long as it's something edible I don't care, I'm starved!" You both chuckle, and you look up to the stars.

"This may be a forbidden forest, but the sky makes you feel like you've been transported to somewhere else. Its beautiful up there" Taligaro looks up too, then to you, he can see the stars reflecting back into your eyes, it's like a galaxy has imprinted on them, he's practically hypnotised. "Your right....it really is beautiful..." He manages to look back up to the stars before you notice him looking at you. "Back to the subject of food, I certainly hope they remember to bring enough for her too" You say looking over at the still sleeping woman. "The poor thing must have been to hell and back, I can't imagine what it must have been like to be trapped in the body of a murderous wolf for so long" "That story about the man who made the house, that was ages ago, I wonder how long she was trapped like that? And will she even remember?" "Whatever happens, she's free of it now. Let's hope she's alright when she wakes up" "I hope so too" "Is that why you stayed? To keep an eye on her? I thought Blackwall was?" "Yeh he was, but he suggested I stay, he thought her waking up to a camp of random men might frighten her. But if there was another woman, it may help her feel better" "That's a clever idea, I'll give him that" "Also I wanted to keep an eye on you" "Why? You've already bandaged me up and given me milk of the poppy" "That doesn't change that fact that I want to make sure your ok" He swings his head back with a smile. "You know, I knew you were a kind person when I met you, a little sarcastic but still kind"

"You thought that?" "I thought many things about you. Like, how on earth was this woman able to defeat me at my own game? With blindfolds on too, and I also remember when you came back, the relief I felt was like a weight being removed from my chest. I didn't know our paths would cross again in the castle, but I'm so glad it happened" "Me too Tal, it may be a dangerous road ahead, but it's nice to share it with a friend. It's nice to share it with you" "I couldn't agree more Y/N" Right after he said that, you both hear a noise coming from the woman, she was staring to wake up. "Tal, she's waking up!" You run over and kneel at her side, being quiet as not to scare her. "Hey, its alright. Your safe now, can you hear me?" You ask gently as the woman's eyes start to open, they flutter a little and she seems confused, until she looks right up at you, and sits up immediately, hugging you tightly as waves of emotion shower her. "It's-it's you! You save me!" "I what?" "I-I saw you! I was trapped in that ring! I've seen many men hold it, but they never knew to free me, but you did! You freed me of that curse! I thank you" She pulled away so you were now able to look at her again, she was very alert and she started to take in her surroundings. "Where-where am I? How did I-?" "Its ok, when you changed into a person again, we brought you with us to make sure nothing bad happend to you. My name is Y/N, what's yours?" "Luna, my name is Luna" "Its nice to meet you Luna, this is my friend Taligaro" You say as you wave him over, he kneels down beside you and gives Luna a kind smile.

"Hello Luna" "Hi....What happened to the other men?" "You know about the rest of the company?" "I remember, when I was the wolf. I couldn't control what it was doing, it was in complete control of me, I couldn't stop it. But I remember....oh god I remember everyone who came in contact with that ring. I couldn't, I tried but I couldn't..." She started to get really upset as she remembers seeing all the people die when she was a wolf. "Its ok Luna, it wasn't you. We can see that you didn't want to do it" "I didn't, but I remember. I remember seeing you and this man, and some others in that building. One had white hair, two had dark hair, and one had no hair at all" "That's the rest of our company Luna, they're just off at the moment getting some firewood and food" As soon as you say that, Luna's stomach growls like she is starving. "Don't worry, they wont be long. And when their back we can eat, and you can spend some time just getting used to being back in your normal body. We'll understand if you don't want to tell us what happend" "Not...not yet" "That's ok, you take as long as you need to"

As you and Taligaro help her feel more comfortable, Blackwall and Jareth are still on the trail for this boar. "Are we close?" "I think so, the tracks are looking more fresh. Get your weapon ready Jared" "For the last time! Its J-" "Shhh!....Somethings wrong...look" Blackwall and Jareth walk into the open space, where the tracks suddenly end. "What the hell? Where is it Blackwall?" "I don't know, the tracks suddenly stop right hear, it's like its vanished into thin air" "Well how is that possible? Boar can't just magically disappear? Can they?" Blackwall looks up into the trees above him as Jareth is hastily searching around the ground. "They don't just disappear...but it seems that we weren't the only ones hunting it...." "What?" "Look up...." Jareth can see something in Blackwalls eyes, it looked like fear. He slowly looks up to where Blackwall was looking, and that's when he see an enormous and monstrous looking creature. It was very long and had the body of a boar tangled up in its coils, dripping with this oozing slime, the same colour as itself, vibrant and glowing green. It fangs were bigger than a dagger, and its eyes were filled with terror. When it spotted Blackwall and Jareth looking up at it, it gave them a hungry look. "Sh#t!"

Noone at the camp knew what was going on at the time, and Cael had just come back to camp with Logan and they had their arms filled with firewood. "Hey guys-oh! She's awake!" "What did you say Cael-oh your right!" They put all the wood down and approach you, Tal and Luna. "Hey guys. Luna, these are our other company members, Logan and Cael" "H...Hi Logan, Hi Cael" She was still a little nervous, but somehow she knew that they didn't mean her harm. "Its good to see your finaly awake Luna, you've been out of it for a good couple of hours now. Are you doing ok?" Cael asked kindly. "Yeh, I suppose. It's not everyday you come out of a curse that turned you into an enormous hairy beast" "Your right about that" Luna smiles, then starts looking around to see if anyone was behind them. "What is it Luna?" You ask her "Its nothing, I just thought there were 4 of them?" "Oh! Yeh the other 2 are out hunting at the moment, I'm sure they'll be-" Your suddenly cut off by the sound of Blackwall and Jareth far away, shouting and screaming, with the sound of clashing swords. "They sound like their in trouble!" Taligaro stated "We should help them-"

"Ah ah ah Tal, your not going anywhere with that arm" "But they're-" "I'll go and help them, I'm sure it's probably just a bigger boar than usual, I'll be fine. You stay hear with the others ok? I'll be right back, and Luna, everyone hear will keep you safe ok?" Luna gave you a small smile as you grab your double ended spear and run in the direction of the noise. "Is she going to be ok?" Luna asks Taligaro "Yeh she'll be alright, she's a strong woman. You know, that's actually how I first met her. She approached me when she wanted to complete a contract, slaying a basalisk" "No way!" "Absolutely, you want to hear the story?" "Absolutely! Please!" As Taligaro tells Luna the story about how you guys met, you were just metres away from Blackwall and Jareth. You jumped through the large bush and see the danger for yourself, they weren't fighting a boar, they were face to face with a Viperconda. You have seen a Viperconda before, they are horrid hybrids of coal viper and anaconda, they are constrictors as well as biters with their enormous fangs filled with venom. This thing was big, about a 3 rd of the size of the basalisk, but still big enough to crush a human being if it had the chance. Its trying to strike at Jareth and whip Blackwall with its tail, but it luckily hadn't hurt them yet. You see a chance to jump in and injure this thing, so you slip behind it when its looking at Jareth and you slice right over its scales, cutting it deep before it tries to bite Jareth. "Y/N!" Jareth shouts when he sees you, thankful that you had come to save them, the snake let's out a loud and monstrous hiss, spinning its head around to face you and hits you so hard with its head that your thrown back against a tree. It knocks the wind out of your lungs as your back hurts from being thrown. "Y/N!" Blackwall shouts as he tries to run over to you, Jareth does too, but the snake does the same to them, whipping its tail and knocking them over onto their backs. But that's when it gets dangerous, you try to stand up and grab your spear, but the snake slither over to you and wraps you completely in its coils, squeezing you so much that your unable to breath. It stares into your eyes as you are filled with terror, you were so scared you were about to die, and you couldn't breath as it kept squeezing. It opens its mouth showing its fangs, its about to strike at you before a blade is sliced right through its neck, taking it clean off, and the snakes coils relax, allowing you to breath and regain freedom.

You fall to your feet, gasping for air as you feel the pain from the constriction all around your body. Blackwall is above the snake, standing and pressing on its head as he held the blade he used to slide through its neck. He spits on its body before he drops the blade and tries to help you to your feet. "Hey, are you alright?" You couldn't deny you were frightened and shaking from that whole experience. "I-I couldn't breath, it-it was so tight-oh god-" "Hey hey its alright" Blackwall can see your getting upset, he puts his arm over your shoulder to try and help you with your shaking, you try to take slow deep breaths to calm down, despite the tears running down your cheeks. Jareth walked up to you two and tried to help you too. "Its alright Y/N, it's dead, there's no danger anymore ok? Just breath" Jareth offers his arms out for a hug and you graciously accept, trying to wipe the tears away, Blackwall walks back over to the snakes body and he plunges his weapon into it again, and again. It looked like he had some frustration towards the animal, but if he wanted to take his anger out on it, who are you to tell him to stop? He sliced at this thing, until its stomach contents split open and its insides fell out. "Uurrgghh! Gross Blackwall!" "Ah quit being a baby...wait...what's that?" Blackwall knelt down to the body and he could see something that shouldn't have been inside a snake, it looks like a ring. Blackwall isnt someone who is grossed out by this, so he just reaches in and picks the ring up, wiping it on the ground to take a look. "What the hell is that Blackwall?" "It looks like some kind of enchanted ring? Why would a snake eat a ring?" You then say "What if it was similar to what happend with the wolf ring? Maybe the snake ate someone who was wearing it?" "It seems like the most logical option"

"Its then that it hits you "Oh my god! Guys I forgot to mention, she's awake! We should head back to camp" "Really? She's awake? But wait, we can't go back without some food for the rest of the group-wait a second? Where's Blackwall?" Jareth said confused, it was then that you both hear a loud squeal from behind the bush and Blackwall is dragging a fresh boar out. "Ah, show off!" "Whatever man, let's get this back to camp. Y/N? Are you ok?" "Yeh, I'm ok" "You don't look it, you look like you've seen a ghost. Are you sure your not hurt from the snake attack?" "It was painful at the time but...I'm alright" You lie, your arms and around your ribcage is still hurting a little, but the fear is what's staying with you more, you just can't seem to shake it, but you lie to them all the same. "I'm not dead or missing any limbs guys, let's just get back" "Alright Y/N" Jareth quickly smiles and says "Hey Y/N! You said she was awake! Is she nice? What's her-" "Hey sh#t for brains! Help me carry this thing will you? You go on ahead Y/N" It seems Blackwall can see though your façade as he gives you a sympathetic look, so you make your way back to camp with Jareth and Blackwall following behind.

#thomas ian griffith #sensei targaryen #general taligaro #general taligaro x reader

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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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Just some headcanons about Din and his birth family:

Din doesn’t remember much about life before his cin vhetin. Trauma is funny like that. He has vague impressions of a family, of dark eyes and warm firelight and laughter. Sometimes, the tiniest thing - a snatch of a melody, the scent of wood chips and fresh falling rain - will catch him off guard, send his mind reeling straight back to before, but the memories are garbled, and dwelling too long on them hurts.

There’s a certain gentleness about Din that he inherited directly from his father. Bahn Djarin was a soft-spoken man. He was an artist and a musician, well known in certain circles for his hand crafted string instruments, and he loved his family deeply.

Haphe was much more of a spitfire. She had eyes that flashed and a very expressive face that was quick to laugh. She was vivacious, mischevious, and always knew how to make even the most mundane chores into a fun game.

Haphe worked as a medic in the houses of healing.

Bahn met Haphe when she was a student and he was a street performer. Busy as she was, Haphe rarely missed a weekend show. She’d dance and she’d sing, throwing winks in Bahn’s direction until his face burned and his fingers nearly stumbled. Later, Haphe argues that it took Bahn over a year to finally ask for her name. By Bahn’s count, it was eight standard months.

Din had a sister, Retha, who was eleven months and three days younger than him. They were inseparable growing up.

If Din was Bahn’s child, then Retha undeniably belonged to her mother. She dragged Din into all kinds of trouble, and nearly always got away with it.

It rained often on Ad Vetina, and evenings in the Djarin house were usually spent indoors. Bahn played the methyrhanda while Haphe taught the kids to dance. Energetic fandangos and folk dances slowly gave way to more moderately-paced lullabies, until finally, the children were worn down and Bahn put the music away.

Then came story time. Bahn was an excellent story-teller, weaving fantastic adventures from the most mundane of origins. A stray cat glimpsed in the garden became an exiled prince of his people, the abandoned swallow nest at the park inspired a triumphant tale of a family reunited. The kids listened, spellbound by Bahn’s soft voice and the ethereal flicker of firelight that cast mysterious shadows on his face, and Haphe was shocked to find that each day, she could love her husband more.

Retha was a child who could never sit still. She craved adventure, and Din learned The Sigh from a very early age.

One summer morning, when Din was seven and Retha was six, she asked him to walk her to the river. Retha loved the water, but Din was indifferent. The river was cold and wet and smelled a little funny, so Din blew Retha off in favor of a particularly interesting book he’d just started.

Nearly an hour later, Din noticed that the house was too quiet. He checked Dad’s workshop, knowing that Retha sometimes liked to badger him there. But Dad was alone.

Din tore down the hill to the river, dread coiling in his gut like a live thing. Retha was fine. She sat perched atop a large rock at the edge of the far bank, laughing and waving to him. Rolling his eyes, Din decided to join her, if only to rebuke her for swimming alone. But the water was high after last night’s rain, and Din slipped on a wet stone and tumbled headfirst into the current.

He nearly drowned that morning. Retha sobbed for days, and Din forgave her immediately, but he never forgot. He’s hated the water ever since.

Din was a quiet child, studious and serious. He liked maths and books, and thought he might want to be an engineer when he grew up. Retha laughed at him. She wanted to be a medic like Haphe, no matter that she didn’t like school one bit.

The only fight Din ever got into was all Retha’s fault. She’d punched a boy in the nose for stealing her book bag and made him bleed. Din jumped in to defend her, and got the stuffing beat out of him for his trouble.

On the day that everything changed, Din woke with a fever. Bahn tutted, and Haphe was convinced that perhaps Din should stay home from class. Retha instantly declared that she had a fever, too, but Haphe wasn’t fooled. Retha was shuffled off to school, and Din was shuffled into bed, and both kids were sorely disappointed.

Din never does find out what happened to Retha.

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

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Okay so a bit ago @atagotiak (Tia) proposed the following on discord:

I do not remember where I have seen this but it hasn’t come out of my brain. But I’m thinking about it now: AU where Korkie isn’t an Obitine baby. Bo-Katan is I tend to think of the Kryze sisters as relatively close in age but they’re animated so it’s not like you can really tell

Which like. Obviously I am on board. This is hilarious, and there is so much potential for shenanigans.

(First part is from a group brainstorm, second part is me outlining a fic concept based on this.)

Bo-Katan has so many issues based around THE LIES, MOM

Tia:

Let’s say Satine had her at 16-17 and so Bo is now 19ish by tcw and this is how she does teen rebellion

Ahsoka and Bo-Katan meet early, and Ahsoka receives some Bitching about how Obi-Wan is being more of a dad to his grandpadawan than to his actual daughter.

Ahsoka: ...does he, like, know? That you're his?

Gel (@gelpenss):

Bo-Katan may be operating under some uh. Some Ideas about what exactly the force lets people sense. She is CONVINCED obi-wan knows and has known since the minute she was born.

Ahsoka asks if she can comm her grandmaster--she wonders if she should bring up that Bo-Katan is Anakin's age--and just goes "So like did you know you have a biological daughter?"

Liz (@lizasweetling):

Anakin is going to feel disproportionately threatened by this news isn't he it's so unnnecessary- she doesn't even like him! they don't know each other!!

Redirect the teenage rebellion into sibling rivalry

Gel:

Anakin is either gonna feel threatened or SMUG in like a horrible goose “that’s not how that works” way Like, if anakin found out bo-katan was convinced obi-wan knew, I think he could be convinced that obi-wan Knew and then he’d be like “HAH HE LIKES ME BETTER HE COULD’VE HAD HIS DAUGHTER BUT HE TOOK CARE OF ME.” simultaneously combined with raging insecurity of “oh god his own blood daughter wasn’t enough for him maybe someday he will just drop me like a hot potato”

Ahsoka and Korkie just eating chips on the side like "wow I don't. Want to be involved in this."

God it would be really funny if Korkie was ANOTHER oops baby that Satine just never fucking told him about.

And Korkie's just like. Awkwardly pretending not to know Bo-Katan because she's so embarrassing.

Tia:

Obi-Wan, once he gets over the shock: and you ran away from home to join Death Watch? You need better taste in guerrilla movements, young lady.

(Anakin has mixed feelings about someone else getting an Obi lecture lbr.)

Tia:

Obi-Wan lectures other people regularly, probably. This is different though. For reasons. No Anakin will not explain the reasons

Gel:

Anakin is just SO allergic to introspection.

Doc (@thisarenotarealblog):

Bo-Katan: oh like you would know anything about guerilla movements... Obi-Wan: I would, as a matter of fact. He then refuses to elaborate

Tia:

Ahsoka & Korkie have 'I'm the relatively well-adjusted one, despite being the baby' solidarity Really it's partly just that the galaxy hasn't had enough time to fuck them up yet I just realized, while definitely not like, the most well behaved or obedient of the kids & young adults. There's still a bit of like. Anakin gets to experience being the good sibling here.

He's such a MESS but he's not a terrorist yet, so...

ANYWAY here's the ficlet I brainstormed last night.

We kick off with a slightly different order of events. Bo-Katan is known to be alive and Out There Somewhere, Causing Problems, but has not yet run into any of the Jedi, and hasn't seen Satine since she ran away from home. There are rumors on Mandalore proper about her being Satine's daughter, not sister, everyone dismisses it.

Except Anakin. He wants to know if he has a sister (Obi-Wan basically adopted him, right, so that means this Bo-Katan would be his adopted sister, and that's... something). He's paranoid about her taking his place, but also he's Anakin and a little mucky in the head about family, and so he decides he has to know The Truth! of Obi-Wan's possible lovechild with this Mandalorian lady.

Because there are so many rumors and he's. You know. He's Obi-Wan's kid. He doesn't need competition. Ahsoka's fine, he already adores her, and literally everyone said Korkie had taken a DNA test years earlier for the same rumors reason and he's not Satine's.

He hears the rumors and, as one does, steals some of Obi-Wan's DNA (well, he says 'hey, can I borrow your hairbrush' and walks out with it while Obi-Wan is lecturing him for not packing according to the excel sheet Obi-Wan gave him).

He hunts down Bo-Katan, almost gets murdered by her while trying to steal some of her hair, and then fast-talks his way into explaining what he was trying to do.

Bo-Katan is annoyed but like. She's curious. This is the first person she's met that has Kenobi DNA on hand for the test.

Unfortunately for everyone's sanity, the paternity test comes back positive.

Bo-Katan is overcome with rage and shows up back on Mandalore--shocking a number of people who all thought she was dead--and yelling at her apparently mother about lying to her for her entire life and how DARE YOU, WHAT THE FUCK--

Anakin is like. Cheering her on. He agrees that never sharing the truth was a sketch move. Satine's just standing there, waiting for Bo-Katan to wind down, wincing every little bit. Obi-Wan is uncomfortable and a little horrified, and also getting so ready to ream Anakin out for whatever the hell he did. "Why do you assume I did something?" "Did you?" "...yeah."

Satine manages to explain that she had done it first to protect Bo-Katan, and since she'd ended up just as involved in her life as she would have been with the truth, it hadn't seemed particularly important to change the wording around from sibling to parent (Anakin is crying and unsubtly edging closer to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka really wants to not be here) and also Bo-Katan ran away before the birthday where Satine was going to tell her things, to join a terrorist group that wanted to kill the very sister-actually-mother she was so mad about lying to her and also what do you think you are wearing young lady--

"I thought you were mom-ing me because you had that stupid 'eldest daughter syndrome' and our parents were dead and you were old already, not that you were actually my mom!" "Excuse you, I'm barely in early middle age, thank you." "...yeah, no, you're old." "You're grounded." "You can't ground me!" "You're in my house again, I most certainly can!" "For calling you old?" "FOR JOINING A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION THAT'S TRYING TO KILL ME, BO."

There were definitely jokes about Bo being way small and a little slow for her age when she was a kid, because they backdated her actual birth to before Satine's mom died, which means claiming Bo is like. A solid year and a half younger than they claim, which they can't pull off without raising her in secret first, claiming she's an ill child, and then introducing her to people when she's like. Five. Officially six and a half.

Anakin is DELIGHTED to learn that she's younger than him by more than he thought.

If he's getting a sister out of this (shut up, Obi-Wan) then he's going to be a Real Older Brother.

Ahsoka can get the fun and coddling. Bo gets the Vicious Mockery. Anakin wants to ROUGHHOUSE.

(He's just. The worst. It's great.)

Anakin, grinning: you're like. petite. Bo: no, YOU'RE just STUPIDLY TALL Anakin: lol

He carries her under his arm like a really big cat and she wants to FIGHT HIM about it but then Obi-Wan and Ahsoka will get involved, and she can't take three Jedi in combat, which means she'll lose, and then she'll be confined to her room by her Bitch Of A Mom again (she doesn't say that out loud, because Anakin has Feelings about loving and respecting mothers, and can lecture just as long as Obi-Wan can, which Bo was unfortunate enough to find out), so she just to just HANG THERE

She can't even get her ARMOR because she's a "threat to public safety" and "known menace with a history of violence" and "loyal to a fringe extremist group meaning to kill many government officials" it whatever and it's just like SO rude

Doc:

Tangential comment: I love the idea that when Anakin feels like it he can lecture like obiwan "I learned from the best"

#Bo Katan Kryze #Anakin Skywalker #Satine Kryze #Obi Wan Kenobi #Obitine #Ahsoka Tano #Korkie Kryze #star wars #the clone wars #phoenix posts

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timptoe · 2 years ago

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Pretty Sweet Hoverboard

Based on this post by @zet-sway. Because hoverboards are pretty sweet. Read it on Ao3.

“What the hell is that?”

Kaidan looks up at Shepard—a few feet up, in fact—a mixture of worry and consternation on his face. He knows what that is, of course. The last time he saw one, it was strapped to the feet of a genocidal maniac hell-bent on letting the Reapers into the galaxy through the Citadel so they could go on their harvesting rampage. He still remembers the feel of the water in the sluice, the tang of ozone in the air as the salarian bomb spun up, the crick in his neck as he looked up at Saren silhouetted in Virmire’s blinding sun.

It’s a fucking hoverboard.

“It’s a hoverboard, Kaidan,” Shepard says simply.

“Yeah, I know that, but where did you get it?” Kaidan responds, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Saren’s the only person I’ve ever seen with one.”

Shepard floats down to where Kaidan’s standing on the Presidum balcony overlooking the mass relay statue. He lands at an angle, kicking the side of the hoverboard so that it flips up into his outstretched hand.

“Aw, sick kick, dude,” says a passing teenager.

“Thanks kid,” Shepard says with a grin. “Pretty sweet, right?”

Kaidan’s eye twitches. “Shepard.”

“Yes?” Shepard’s grin gets bigger.

“Where. Did you. Get it.”

Shepard twirls the hoverboard on its end, showing it off. The whole piece is about a meter and a half long, shiny chrome gleaming in the Presidium’s artificial sunlight. The lights and inset cabling give it a slightly eerie aesthetic. A…familiar aesthetic. It looks like something Kaidan’s encountered before, but he can’t quite figure out where. He leans forward to get a better look.

“This unit prefers ‘she,’ not ‘it,’” the hoverboard says in a mechanical voice.

Kaidan yells and jumps back.

“The unit prefers ‘she,’ Kaidan,” Shepard calmly says with the biggest shit-eating grin Kaidan’s ever seen.

“Shepard! It’s a g—“ Kaidan stops and glances around at the scene they’re making and stomps closer to Shepard. “It’s a geth!” he whispers fiercely.

Shepard looks down at the board with a worried glance. “Are you a geth, hoverboard?”

“Yes.” One of the lights blinks blue in Kaidan’s direction.

Shepard shrugs. “Looks like you’re right, Kaidan.”

“This unit’s designation is Kevin,” the hoverboard continues.

“She says her name’s Kevin,” Shepard explains.

Both of Kaidan’s eyes are twitching now, fists clenched at his side. He definitely feels a migraine coming on. Shepard continues to look at him calmly, the barest hint of mischief in his eyes. The only thing keeping Kaidan from chucking him off the balcony is the fact that he loves him so goddamn much.

“Relax, Kaidan,” Shepard chuckles, presumably at the pained grimace on his face. “This is one of the new units who allied with us after Rannoch. They’ve been working on ways to integrate into our operations. Someone somewhere made a comment about how mobile Saren was with that ‘board of his, and how we haven’t cracked that tech yet, so the geth analyzed the data and figured out it was Reaper tech that made it work. Since Legion integrated Reaper tech into the geth consensus to give them their individuality, they were able to backsolve the issues involved to create a fully operational mobile platform.”

Kaidan blinks. “Which means…?”

“Which means,” Shepard says, mischief in his eyes again, “I get a hoverboard.”

Kaidan sighs.

“I didn’t fly down here to discuss science with you, though.”

“They why did you fly down here, Shepard?” Kaidan rubs his temple.

“This.”

In one fluid motion, Shepard drops the upright end of the hoverboard to the ground, grabs Kaidan around the shoulders, and pulls them both onto the back of the ‘board, chest-to-chest. Kaidan’s breath catches in his throat.

“Do you trust me?” Shepard whispers in his ear.

“Nope,” Kaidan half-whispers, half-laughs in spite of himself.

“Liar,” Shepard murmurs, low heat in his tone. He hits a switch with his foot.

They take off.

Kaidan yelps in surprise, flailing for a moment before wrapping both arms around Shepard’s waist, clinging on for dear life. He closes his eyes and buries his face in Shepard’s shoulder. He can faintly feel the sensation of wind rushing past his ears, but he’s concentrating so much on keeping his balance that everything fades into the background.

Well, almost everything. He can smell the faint tang of eezo and leather on Shepard, feel Shepard’s heart beating in his chest. He grips tighter—definitely just for balance.

Definitely.

“Open your eyes, Kaidan.” Shepard’s breath ghosts across his ear. The goosebumps on his skin have nothing to do with the rushing air.

Kaidan opens his eyes.

He gasps and holds on to Shepard even tighter. They’re high above the Presidium commons, almost high enough to touch the simulated clouds. He can see everything up here. The water that stretches out and up around the ring of the station. The dozens and dozens of balconies that line either side of the endless pool. The scars on the buildings left behind by Cerberus’ attack, or maybe Sovereign’s. Even the people, so small from so high up but dozens, maybe hundreds of them, all going about their days.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes.

“I know.” He glances at Shepard. Shepard only has eyes for him.

Kaidan’s face softens, and he lets go of Shepard’s waist with one hand, bringing it up to caress his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

“Pretty sweet, though, right?” Shepard says with a slightly bashful look.

Kaidan chuckles. “Yeah.”

“I agree,” Kevin’s mechanical voice says, “this is pretty sweet.”

“Shut up, Kevin,” Shepard says pleasantly, pulling Kaidan into a kiss that lasts for a long time.

The hoverboard stays quiet.

—

“That’s…Shepard, right?” Tali asks, looking up from where they’re walking along the bridge to the restaurant.

Garrus squints into the artificial light. “And Kaidan too, I think.”

“Is that a hoverboard? A…geth hoverboard?” He can’t quite tell if that’s apprehension or excitement in her voice. Might be both.

“Knowing Shepard, he took it off Saren three years ago and just remembered it was in storage,” Garrus muses.

Tali stops to get a better look. “Are they kissing?”

Garrus waits a beat, tilting his head. “You know, I bet I could wing that thing from all the way down here.”

“Garrus.”

“Ten credits says I can take out one of the anti-grav motors and bring them down slowly.”

“Garrus.”

“I’m just saying, if they’re willing to give me PTSD flashbacks to Virmire, they can take a little friendly fire.”

“Come on,” Tali laughs, pushing him on towards their date.

That hoverboard does look pretty sweet, though.

#mass effect #mshenko #kaidan alenko #mshepard #my writing #hoverboards are pretty sweet #so is shepard #when he's not being an ass #basically annoyed!kaidan and mischief!mshep are my favorites

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mandoinevarro · 4 years ago

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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skittlebits · 3 years ago

Text

Safe

Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Carol Danvers

Words - 1,500

Summary - Natasha gets her first head cold while traveling in space. Carol takes care of her.

Tags - Fluff, Post-Endgame (slight canon-divergence because Nat isn’t dead), mentions of Vormir, mild illness, administering medication, bed sharing

Read on AO3

“I managed to live thirty-nine years on Earth without catching so much as a cold, but I travel to another galaxy one time and I’m down for the count? What the hell, Danvers?”

Natasha sat slumped at the table, her arm propping up her aching head. Several thin swaths of cloth lay crumpled on the table in front of her, sodden with her efforts to stem the flow of mucus from her reddened nose.

Carol stood at the first aid cabinet rummaging through a box of supplies. “You’re talking to a person who has alien blood flowing through her veins. I kind of forgot people even got viruses.”

Natasha tried glaring at Carol but it made her head hurt even more and she winced. “Lucky bitch,” she grumbled.

“Well, I’d take you to Hala and get you hooked up with some alien blood of your own but unfortunately the entire Kree race wants me dead, so,” Carol shrugged. She pulled a canvas bag out of the box and brought it to the table.

“Why can’t I have some of yours then?” Natasha asked, only partly joking. She’d almost be willing to drink a pint of blood right about now if she thought it would ease the pounding pressure in her head. She watched as Carol sat next to her at the table, inspecting the contents of the bag. “I mean, you did go through the trouble to save me on Vormir and all.”

Carol looked up from the bag and shot Natasha a look. “I swear, if you’re about to make fun of me for-“

Natasha straightened up and put a hand up in front of her in a placating gesture, realizing belatedly how flippant that had sounded. “No, I swear, I’m not. I’m sorry, that was rude.” She sighed and winced when the simple act made her eyes water. “I can’t think straight with this sinus pressure and I’m being a bitch and you don’t deserve that.”

Carol looked at her for a moment before returning her attention to the bag.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Natasha swallowed thickly. She still wasn’t used to navigating this relatively new territory.

“I know how lucky I am, Carol. There will never be a day go by where I’m not profoundly grateful for what you did on Vormir…even if you did almost scare me to death, which, granted, I guess I deserved. So, I’m sorry. I promise the next time I ask you to give me alien healing powers I’ll be a lot more tactful and much less whiny and pitiful.”

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Carol smile but was quickly taken over with a series of wet sneezes. She felt one of her ears pop and she felt like she was underwater.

She was going to run out of cloth to blow her nose on at this rate.

Carol finally pulled two small containers out of the medical bag - one containing a liquid and one with pills.

“Okay, I think these are your best opinions for relief until we stop somewhere that has whatever passes for cold and flu medication out in this quadrant of the galaxy we’re in.” She shook the bottle with the pills. “These are anti-inflammatory meds, and this,” she held up the vial of clear liquid, “is a painkiller of some sort.” She looked at the label for a moment and hummed. “Yeah, you definitely won’t feel the pressure in your head on this stuff. We might want to just do a half dose of this one.”

Natasha closed her eyes and sighed. She hated taking any sort of medication. Normally she could put mind over matter but her face felt like it was about to explode and it hurt just to focus her eyes. And maybe it was okay to indulge. She wasn’t in a battle somewhere, she was safe on Carol’s spacecraft.

“Okay, I’ll take both,” she finally decided. Carol handed her the bottle of pills so she could grab a syringe from the bag.

“Want me to give you this one or do you want to do it yourself?” Carol asked, holding up the syringe and vial for Natasha’s inspection.

Natasha fumbled with the pill bottle as she struggled to get the lid off. Her muscles ached with the simple effort. “I think I’m going to need you to do it, Nurse Carol,” she admitted quietly. She swallowed two of the pills and chased them down with the tea she had been nursing.

Carol grinned and got to work on setting up the syringe. “Is Nurse Carol also going to be carrying you to bed so you can rest?” she teased, tugging the shoulder of Natasha’s shirt down to expose her upper arm. Natasha raised her shoulder to help expose enough skin for Carol to get to the muscle. She winced at the injection.

“Is Nurse Carol going to tell another living soul if she does?”

Carol capped the syringe and put the medicines back into the bag. “Of course not, I’m not stupid.”

Natasha smiled even though it made her face hurt. “Then yes please.”

Carol put the bag back into the first aid cabinet and pulled out a small stack of triangle bandages. She placed them on the table near the pile of crumpled, sodden cloth. “We’re on these now for your nose. All the smaller ones have been used up. I’ll cut them into quarters while you rest. When we stop for medicine I’ll look into better options to keep on board,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “I know it’s been almost three months but I still…it’s still so new, having someone with me in a space I’ve spent so long alone in.”

Natasha turned on her stool so she was facing Carol and gave her a tender look. “Hey, this is still new to me as well, so I understand,” she assured her.

Natasha’s eyes welled up suddenly and Carol stepped forward in concern but Natasha looked away and put up a hand to stop Carol from coming any nearer. A moment passed before Natasha was overcome with another sneezing fit and Carol relaxed.

“Sorry, I felt it coming on and didn’t want to sneeze in your face,” Natasha said, sniffling as she wiped her eyes. She reached back toward the table to grab a couple of the drier cloths from the table before lifting her arms to make a grabby hand gesture at Carol. “Please take me to bed before the drugs kick in and I get any more pathetic than I already am,” she begged, tiredly.

Carol laughed and easily scooped Natasha up into her arms. “You’re not pathetic, you’re adorable,” she said, walking past the bathroom and the spare bunk room to the main personal quarters on the ship. She carefully deposited Natasha on the sleeping platform and moved toward the end of the platform to begin unlacing her boots while Natasha arranged the pillows in a pile to help ease the pressure in her head.. Once her boots were off Carol arranged the blankets around Natasha until she was tucked in comfortably.

“M’not adorable,” Natasha grumbled, her eyelids drooping as she watched Carol smiling softly at her.

“You totally are.”

Natasha groaned weakly, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Carol grinned. “Want me to hold you?”

Natasha nodded her head against the pillows. “Yes please.”

Carol climbed onto the platform beside Natasha and opened her arms. Natasha turned toward her immediately and buried her face in Carol’s chest, her hand resting above her heart. Carol shoved the pillows behind her to keep them both propped up a bit before wrapping her arms around Natasha.

“Better?”

“Mm, I love how you’re always so warm.”

Carol gently ran her fingers through red tresses, soothing. “I’m glad you think I’m hot,” she teased.

“That too,” Natasha murmured, snuggling further into Carol, “M’glad I fell in love with you. Lots of perks.”

Carol fought off a dopey grin and held Natasha a little tighter. “I’m glad you fell in love with me too, otherwise throwing myself off that cliff to get the soul stone wouldn’t have worked and then it just would have been super awkward after.”

Natasha sniffled as she smiled into the soft fabric of Carol’s shirt. “I almost broke my hand slapping you afterward, you idiot. I can’t believe that actually worked though. I guess it was kind of romantic.”

Carol craned her head down to look at Natasha, indignant. “Kind of? Only kind of romantic?”

Natasha hummed dreamily. The painkiller had started to kick in. “You scared the hell out of me, and Clint and that creepy red guy were there.” Carol scoffed. “But you know what I think is really romantic?” Natasha asked softly.

“What’s that, love” Carol asked, running her fingers through Natasha’s hair once more.

“You make m’feel safe… I n’er had tha..before you.”

Carol smiled and kissed the top of Natasha’s head.

“I love you, Tash. Sweet dreams.”

#carolnat #natasha x carol #carolnat fic #natasha romanoff #carol danvers #fluff fic

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years ago

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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HASO, “A little Race.”

So this is a little story setting up for some stuff in the future.

A few of you on the discord server mentioned an interest in learning more about the criminal element within my universe as well as a couple other ideas which I would love to incorporate, so I hope you like where this is going :)

Adam turned heads as he walked through the station. Glowing, grungy neon lights lit him up from either side though the forest of bodies parted before him like a sea. Everyone here looked more than a little unnerved at his presence, and hurriedly scampered away into the dark allies upon the station.

It wasn’t a big place, A trading hub not so far from the metallic belt, so many of these people probably weren't here for illegal reasons, but based on his time getting to know the criminal underbelly of the universe, he also knew the station’s real reputation. And he knew the man he was looking for was likely to be here.

He would have disguised himself as Kell, but thought better of it. He wanted to keep that disguise in his arsenal if he ever had to go undercover again, and this wasn’t a moment he needed to be undercover.

Behind him Sunny walked at his shoulder, holding her pearlescent spear in one hand.

She really made an impression on people these days, and he found it more than useful to have a saint on his side.

He walked down the hallway through a set of doors and then into a wide cargo bay. Someone was playing rap music somewhere, and he could hear it echoing off the rough metal. Graffiti tagged the walls on almost every surface, including the floor, and the rattle of metal on metal drowned out whatever lyrics there might have been. He stepped further into the room as out of place as he had ever been.

Adam had never been involved in criminal affairs. Beside his brief stint as Kell and his accidental time in the Turma Prison, he had been a straight arrow all his life. He had never done drugs, never stolen anything, never been arrested. And it certainly didn’t help that he had to run here from an appointment with Admiral kelly, and so was still wearing his UNSC uniform, which was pristinely pressed, light grey and caused him to stand out like a drop of white paint against a black background.

The music crew louder as he stepped inside.

The room was full of shuttles, or some of them were shuttles and others were more accurately jets. Some of them were old, held together by paint and duct tape, while others glowed sleek with outlandish new paint jobs that included skulls and flames and chains. A group of men and women sat off to one side. The women wore very little, just string bikini tops and cut off jean shorts. One of the women, with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail was wearing jeans and a spoked leather jacket.

A lot of the men wore baggy pants tank tops, with lines of tattoos crawling up their arms and necks.

Similar looking people loitered around the ships tinkering with the engines and polishing surfaces already too shiny to need polishing.

The woman was the first to see him, sitting up straight with the rattle of leather and spikes, “You don’t have any business here, Get out.”

That caused the others to turn and look, and the group of people bristled like an angry dog, forming into a tight group shoulders wide, arms out chests puffed up.

Adam stopped a few feet away.

“I want to speak with the man called Donovan Red.”

“Ol Donni ain’t here.” One of the men said, spitting onto the floor, “New git!”

“I know he’s here. His ship is parked in the hanger on deck E.”

A couple more men had wandered up to join, and he spotted the tell tale sign of weapons shoved hastily into their pants.

He held his hands out to the sides, “Listen, I just want to talk.”

“Then come back with a warrant, pig.” ONe of them snapped. The guy was an ugly looking thug with a completely shaved head and bare chest. He had a pot belly from drinking, but he still had one of the girls hanging off his arm shying behind him from for protection.:

He sighed, “I’m not here to talk with him about any of his activities as legal or illegal as they may be. I’m not interested in what he does or who he does it with. I am here to ask him a favor.”

There was a shift about the room, and the woman from before stood up resting a hand on her hip, “The golden boy of the UNSC wants a favor from old Donni.” She barked a laugh and the men and women behind her laughed too.

“”In your dreams, boy.”

The group turned laughing and he felt his insides churn a bit with rage. He went to take a step forward but took a deep breath and stopped, “He will want to reconsider.” they ignored him, “If he does me a favor that means I owe him, Think about that, one of the most powerful men in the GA or the UNSC and I will owe him a favor.” he raised his voice, “Your boss would have to be pretty stupid to avoid an offer like that.”

There was a pause around the room, and then Adam felt something cold press up against his temple, “And you have to be pretty stupid to call him stupid.”

Adam turned his head just slightly feeling the barrel of the gun pressed below his ear.

As he moved the gun moved. Sunny hadn’t bothered to deal with the guy, and he knew why almost immediately.

WIth one lightning fast move he reached up and slapped the gun out of the man's sloppy grip. It clattered to the floor and went spinning away under one of the shuttles. Adam then stepped back and elbowed the man in the face. The man staggered back and Adam finished him off with a kick to the sternum that sent him flying back into a barrel, which tipped over with an echoing thud and rolled slowly away.

He turned back to the others who were hastily reaching for their weapons, “The next person who points a gun at me is getting a spear through the throat.” Sunny stepped forward with a hungry look on her face.

The group paused, “You’re UNSC, you can’t do that.”

HE crossed his arms, “I won't be doing anything, but I can’t guarantee that my partner here won’t.”

There was a pause in the room as everyone nervously looked between each other.

“Why don’t we all just calm down.” The voice echoed in from the back, and the entire group turned to see a man walk up through the isel.

Donovan Red was shorter than Adam had expected, but still fit. He wore a tight black T shirt that bulged around his biceps, and when he walked he walked with the confidence of a man not used to being out of control.

The man walked right up to him, unperturbed by their height difference slowly looking him up and then down.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Cinderella.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, “Cinderella/”

The man shrugged, “Yeah, you got that vibe, all dressed up like a princess.” He nodded to Sunny, “And hanging out with woodland creatures.”

Sunny did not look amused,

“Actually that would be snow white, or sleeping beauty, as I recall Cinderella only talked to mice.”

The man snorted, “My apologies for now knowing my princesses better, Cinder-ellla.”

Adam didn’t respond, didn’t back up. Instead he inched forward so he was towering over the man, “Look I’m not here to bother you or your men-”

“Too late for that don’t you think, princess.”

The men and women behind him laughed.

Adam sighed, “If you will let me finish. I assume that you got off your ass and came over here because you heard what I was saying to your cronies?”

Adam stood his ground as the entire group inched in. It was partly out of show, and partly because he knew sunny and him together could take this crowd easy.

Red looked up at him with his head tilted to one side, “Tell you what.”

He stepped back and turned to look at his men, “I’ll talk to you about your little favor, but-” He held up a finger, “Only if you prove yourself worthy of my time.”

Adam sighed. This was going to be good.

“And how, exactly do I do that.”

“Simple,” The man said with a smirk, “You just have to win a little race.”

***

Eris looked up at the pictures on the wall. There were a lot of them to choose from, and she spent some time wandering around the living room looking up at all the images. She knew these people, or at least it felt like she did.. Through Adam’s memories she knew Martha: intelligent and protective, Jim: strong and loyal, Maya: sweet and adventurous, Jeremy: friendly and changeable, Davide: perfect and charming, Thomas: a general hot mess, but someone who cared deeply about things.

She remembered all of them, but at the same time that felt like invading their privacy.

They didn’t know her, so it wasn’t fair of her to claim to know them.

She sensed someone behind her and turned to find Martha looking up at the pictures with her. She pointed up at one and Eris followed, “that was last christmas together before Adam went to space.” She sighed and shook her head, “A lot has changed since then.”

Jim followed behind and held out a cup, “Can you eat human food? Sorry if you can’t I just assumed.”

She took the cup, “No its ok, myst of my insides are human.” She had taken off her hoodie and now let it rest on the back of Martha’s rocking chair.

Jim went to stand next to his wife and looked Eris over with his head slightly tilted.

Eris hid behind her long dark hair, hair that reached past her butt. She wore it long, not only to hid behind, but because she thought it might help to cover the starborn ribbons which trailed from her back.

“You know what Martha, she looks a lot like Maya doesn’t she.”

Martha turned to look and Eris shuffled her feet, “You know what, I didn’t see it before but she does. She elbowed him, definitely has the Vir family nose.”

He grunted, “Be glad she got the nose and not the ears.”

Martha motioned her to take a seat, “Why don’t you sit down and tel lus what brings you all across the galaxy.”

Eris sat shyly on the edge of her seat nervously running her hands through her hair.

“Well….. um , nothing really it’s jus that. I had been taking care of the other hybrids and…. And well I kind of got burnt out and couldn’t do it anymore, so I…. wanted to start living for myself you know?”

The two humans nodded sagely

“But I didn’t know where to start. So I thought I would get to know my roots a bit better. I am half human….. Well DNA says a little bit more than half human, so I thought I might start with you. Iwanted ;to see Adam, but he seems to be gone, and I can’t reach him.”

Martha nodded, “It has been harder and harder lately especially after.”

Eris’s eyes widened as she read the thoughts forming in the woman’s mind, “Someone is trying to kill him!”

The two paused, but then got back into stride without so much as a look between each other. Eris kicked herself. People always hated being around her when they knew she could read minds.

Here she was driving people away again.

“Yes…. someone has attempted to kill him in the past. We aren’t sure if it will happen again, but we dor worry about him.”

Eris felt her insides go cold, she could feel it through the mental link to his parents, and she could feel it inside herself as well.

Adam Vir couldn’t die, not before she got to know him better, and certainly not if it was going to hurt his parents, who were some f the nicest people she had ever met.

She had to do something.

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miceenscene · 4 years ago

Text

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon wc: 2.6k summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin? warnings: canon-typical violence an: first go at mandalorian fanfic. we'll see how this goes :D Masterpost | ao3

Chapter One: The Urge

Din Djarin has been alone for a very long time.

And somewhere along in being alone, he decided he liked it. He preferred it.

People were pushy. Demanding. Rude.

They took one look at his armor and assumed the man underneath.

At least that’s what he decided was the reason he preferred solitude.

There was an unacknowledged truth, however, that perhaps choosing to prefer loneliness dulled its edge ever so slightly. Just enough to be ignorable most nights.

But some nights, deep in the slip of hyperspace, when it was just him in his tiny bunk on The Razor Crest, it wasn’t ignorable. It sat high in his chest, occupying the space between his lungs, filling it with an emptiness so big it threatened to squeeze the breath out to make room.

On nights like that, the helmet usually went back on.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one.

People, house, clan.

And when all else failed, your Match.

“Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense.

So many lamentable things were lost in the Great Purge.

The beskar, their homeworld…

Lose enough people, break enough pairs, does it even matter if the Matches still exist?

Or don’t, as the case might be.

So much of what the Mandalorians once had is lost. What’s one more thing?

What’s a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

He knew his stars. The constellation that outlined the path of his life.

Every Mandalorian had one.

The elders had been very keen to identify his when he first was found. They did eventually.

Tal’onidir. Blood struggle.

Or ‘blood, sweat, and tears’ as the Alderaanians would have said.

Though in the time before the Purge, both halves of a Match’s stars would have been consulted for a clearer picture.

But all he had was his half. All most everyone had was their half.

Very few of the old myths still applied in a galaxy barely free of an Imperial yoke. But even Din had to admit that his stars felt more right than he wanted them to be.

Life was a constant struggle.

Struggle to survive, struggle to continue, struggle to carve out some semblance of contentment with his lot.

He felt he was doing as well as any could.

And then, out of the clear night sky, everything changed.

He was in his ship when he first noticed something off.

Four fresh pucks from Karga, plotting the most fuel-efficient map between his quarries and Nevarro. When he found himself putting in coordinates for Tatooine.

None of the quarries were on Tatooine this time. He stopped, shook his head, and punched in for Jakku.

Desert planets were bound to blur together.

He brushed it off, deciding to get as much sleep as he could in hyperspace.

It was a helmet-on kind of sleep, though.

It came up again as he was leaving Corellia.

He’d actually locked in the coordinates that time and was halfway through atmo before he noticed.

And then it was when he set foot back on Nevarro, four carbonite platters ready for delivery later, that he felt it again.

He didn’t want to be here.

But it was in the middle of Karga offering up new pucks when Din really damned himself.

“Do you have any on Tatooine?” slipped out before he could stop it.

Karga did. Just the one, and a risky venture at that. A Captain in one of the Hutts palaces.

Din took it. He wasn’t even sure why he took it, but it was too late. He was half-way to the ship when he realized he hadn’t taken any other bounties.

Still some part of him unclenched as he finally made the jump to hyperspace.

He’d thought that this odd urge would evaporate as he landed.

It didn’t.

That way it said, gesturing metaphorically for the Dune Sea.

Even if his quarry was technically that direction, this whole journey seemed foolish. And he might have given up if not for that old saying his Armorer was so fond of,

‘Instincts can be misled, but they never lie.’

Peli was her usual self--some combination of persnickety and jovial that landed right in charming. But she did lend a speeder bike.

Finally Din was off, racing through the searing sands.

It was less than a day’s journey, however, when he felt the urge again.

Stop.

He did, scoping all around him, trying to figure out how this gulley between dunes was different from all the others.

Pulling out his pocket scope, gave him a clue. The Hutt palace warbled in the far distance. Now just to figure out how to get inside, kill and/or remove one of the better trained guards without alerting the whole palace.

He watched the palace for the rest of the evening, noting guard rotations, possible alternate entrances.

After the suns set, things began to get a little tense

Dark was the obvious option for trying a covert entrance to the compound. But the urge was rather adamant.

Wait.

“Wait for what?” he asked an empty desert before immediately feeling foolish

His answer came a few hours before sunrise.

A small barge left the palace, floating just a hundred yards north of him. There weren’t many people on board. A few guards, perhaps a slave--

And his quarry.

Well. Rarely did events turn out so damn convenient.

Follow.

Even better.

Back on the speeder bike, he kept pace with the barge, keeping a few dunes between them. Trying to log as much information as he could before striking.

Four guards. One slave. One quarry. No one appeared to be below deck. This wouldn’t be too difficult.

Then the slave kicked one of the guards off the barge.

Another immediately fired a shot at the slave, only to be gruffly stopped by the quarry with the flat of an axe blade.

Din watched on thermal as the quarry pulled something out of his jacket, and then the slave dropped.

An armor piercing scream echoed through the desert, settling high in his chest and constricting.

Now.

Speeder bike surged forward, and one shot with his grappling cable, he managed to land feet first on the side of the barge.

It dipped under his added weight. One guard leaning over to inspect and getting a blaster shot between the eyes for his trouble.

Two more leaned over, but Din ran along the side to get momentum and swing himself up on deck.

The quarry bum-rushed him, axe out. Beskar took most of the brunt, and Din knocked him back, nearly off the side but he gripped the railing, sending a small device skittering to the deck floor.

The slave stopped screaming and that tightness in his chest immediately relaxed, though it didn't evaporate.

Danger.

Yes, obviously.

Din shot one guard as the slave, a human woman in some sort of flowy very impractical clothing, got to her feet and knocked another one off into the sand.

“Duck,” he yelled to her, before shooting the last guard behind her, as she dropped to the deck.

The quarry got back on deck and instead of going after Din, or the woman, he ran for the device near the front of the ship.

“NOOO–” the woman yelled as Din ran after the quarry. But the quarry arrived first, smashing the butt of his axe into the device and destroying it.

Her cry cut off abruptly, but Din focused on getting a single shot to the back of the quarry’s head first. He succeeded.

The post-battle quiet rushed in, cut only by the sound of the barge motor still going and his own breathing.

Save.

He turned back to examine The Woman, who was prone on the deck, not moving. The tightness returned.

Civilian casualties were… an unfortunate reality. He did his very best to avoid them whenever possible. But there had been instances before.

Though those times didn’t make his hands shake as he turned on thermal again.

The shake ebbed as he confirmed she was still alive. Just unconscious. A breath cut out of him.

Save, the urge repeated.

Well, he couldn’t fly a stolen Hutt barge as the way back to Mos Eisley. Hopefully the speeder bike was where he left it.

It was. Though it wasn’t meant to hold three people. The quarry was strapped to the back like so much cargo, and since The Woman didn’t seem to be waking anytime soon, he had no choice but to hold her.

It was more awkward than anything else, her head flopped on his pauldron and her perfume filling his nose

He didn’t know the scent, but it was rich and sweet, and lingered in the back of his throat

They arrived at Mos Eisley as the suns broke free of the horizon.

Peli gave him a strange look when he asked for bolt cutters, but even if the woman was unconscious, Din wasn’t going to leave that collar on her.

Though now came the most important question: what was he going to do with her?

She seemed stable, no wounds that he’d noticed at all. Though she still hadn’t regained consciousness.

It was probably a fairly safe bet that an escaped slave wouldn’t want to stay planetside.

And if she did, he’d bring her right back after getting paid.

He tucked her into the only bed on The Razor Crest –though bed was a generous definition– and found every blanket to drape on top of her. Space was cold and the fabric of her dress was nearly translucent.

Save.

“I’m trying,” he muttered, heading to the cockpit for take off.

The Woman didn’t wake up before Nevarro.

Two and a half full days unconscious was not a good sign. Even for someone like him.

Thermal said she wasn’t running a temperature. At the end of the second day, he gave her a bacta shot for good measure.

Nothing changed.

Fix.

For all the time he spent on Nevarro, Din realized very quickly that he actually knew precious little outside of the covert. Which left him with Karga as his only source of guidance.

“Is there a hospital here? Or a doctor?” he asked, as soon as money had changed hands.

“Are you hurt, Mando?” Karga gave him a once over, as if checking for missing limbs.

“Not for me.”

“Well, we do have a clinic. But it’s run by a healing droid.”

“No droids,” Din responded with a fervency usually reserved for his ship.

Karga held up his hands in surrender. “Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Fix.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Din asked, “Where’s the clinic?”

A Mandalorian carrying a blanketed bundle the size of a grown woman though the marketplace was bound to get a few strange looks.

Luckily, there wasn’t a line at the clinic.

Unluckily, the droid was still there.

The Woman looked concerningly pale on the table as the droid ran scan after scan. Her hair, dark and curly, didn’t shine like it had under the Tatooine double sun rise. It was limp and lifeless.

Like her.

Fix!

“How many more scans are you going to run??” Din snapped.

The droid was unfazed, finished its test before turning to face him.

“I have found the problem.” A projection appeared of The Woman’s head in profile. A small white square at the base of her skull. “She appears to have a chip implanted between her third and fourth cervical vertebrae.”

“Removing that will fix her?”

“All signs point to this being the root of the problem.”

“Can you remove it here?”

“Yes, but you cannot be present for the procedure.”

Though the idea of trusting her care into the hands of a droid made his palms itch, Din nodded.

He was allowed a moment to say good-bye, which felt both strange as he didn’t even know her name and yet not long enough all at the same time.

He touched a gloved hand to her shoulder, promising that this would fix it.

Though he wasn’t sure who he was promising that too.

A full hour crawled by as Din waited in the dingy clinic waiting room. The urge very insistent

Fix. Return. Fix. Return.

He was about ready to go ask what was taking so long again when the droid returned.

“The procedure was a success. She may be confused for a few days. But her mind will heal with time. Your wife is sleeping now, but can leave by the end of the day. ”

Side-stepping the presumption, he asked, “Do you have the chip?”

“Yes. Would you like to keep it?”

“Yes.” Mainly to find out where it came from in the first place. Implanted chips were rare and few, if any, were legal. Especially not ones capable of this sort of… control.

Given that The Woman was still sleeping, Din decided to take the chip to get some answers.

The urge was not happy.

Return. Return. Return.

But really, when she woke, the droid's face would be more expressive than his own.

From this side of the city, he took the southern entrance to the covert.

There was a tension shift as soon as he stepped down into the subterranean tunnels. The oddity of a Mandalorian was stripped away, thankfully.

At the heart of the covert was the armory and more importantly the Armorer. He sat before her forge and waited to be addressed.

“I see no defects in your armor,” she said, not stopping her smelting.

“I seek answers, not repairs.”

“Answers to what?”

He placed the chip down. She picked it up to examine it silently before setting it back down and returning to her work.

“Where did you find this?”

“Tatooine. Inside a slave from a Hutt palace.”

“Is the slave alive?”

“Yes.”

“They may provide more answers than I can.”

“She’s not conscious,” he explained, taking the chip back. “And–”

The Armorer waited for him to continue.

“I was… led to her.”

“How?”

He paused for a long moment, trying to find a way to explain. “Instinct.”

Danger, the urge suddenly said.

A slight commotion out in the hall behind him interrupted their conversation. Raised voices echoed down stone walls.

The Armorer’s comm link came to life. “Outsider at the southern entrance.”

Danger! Go.

Din was up on his feet before he made the choice to do so. And he was halfway down the hall by the time he’d realized he’d left.

A few other Mandalorians were also moving to the southern entrance, back up if there was an invading force.

Danger! Danger!

The urge pulled him into a sprint for the last corner.

Coming around it, something high in his chest resounded in fear.

The Woman was standing at the end of the hall, dressed in his dark shirt he’d pulled over her dress before taking her to the clinic, with at least six Mandalorian blasters pointed at her.

Save!

“STOP. WAIT.” Din ran down towards the stand off. “DON’T SHOOT.”

A few blasters turned his direction before their owners saw who he was. He could hear quite a few more Mandalorians also approaching from behind.

The Woman, however, did not seem bothered by the guns or the platoon of armored warriors surrounding her. She calmly walked forward, gaze focused somewhere ahead of her.

On him.

Return.

Her eyes were a soft grey, yet distant. Foggy.

Din drifted towards her. The urge now palpable under his skin.

Return.

However, it was only when she reached out and took one gloved hand in hers that it finally relaxed, disappeared.

“Outsiders are not permitted inside the covert,” one of the guards snapped.

“She’s not an outsider,” the Armorer replied.

Her voice seemed very far away to Din who felt it was more important to study this woman’s face than listen.

“She’s a Match.”

That cut through the gentle reverie of grey eyes.

A what?

Chapter Two: The Question

taglist: @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @loversandantiheroes

#din djarin #The Mandalorian #din djarin x original character #pedro pascal #din djarin x ofc #The Mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin fanfic #soulmate au #Star Crossed #i have no clue what the good tags are for this can you tell?#my writing

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melissa-kenobi · 4 years ago

Note

Hii!! I hope your doing fine at uni!!

Wanted to know if you would make a little something for Rex and/or Kiri (gosh I miss him) having a big crush on you and then catching you gasping his name while you’re sleeping? Or maybe something where reader has a kid/sibling/cousin and he takes care of the kid and it warms your heart so much 😫💕 I now want them all to be space dads oh my

Aaaand, now that I’m watching the bad batch and getting to see more of the characters, I really think I ship you with Hunter! He would make little things for you that at first you wouldn’t even notice, like knowing that you’re tired silently screaming at wrecker not to make noise because you need rest, or stopping by a planet he knows you will love, opening doors for you, buying something you like and just leaving it somewhere in the shop for you to find. And one time, when he’s done one of those things you just catch his smile while he’s looking at you, and the way he just nods at you and leaves, with that smile that you don’t see often still on his lips, leaves you gasping for air. Then you start noticing them, and you search for him anytime you think he did something, and he’s always looking at you lovingly. But he won’t talk to you more than necessary, you weren’t sure of what was happening. But you start doing things for him too. Always from a distance, and always looking at each other. Until one day after a hard day he’s just working and going over plans, he’s stiff and tired and you go behind him and without thinking, start massaging his shoulders, neck and back. At first he goes to grab your hand, afraid of your touch, but you assure him that it’s okay and with a sound coming deep from his chest he closes his eyes and lets you touch him. Maybe you keep massaging his shoulders from time to time. And he craves it, needs your touch to relax. He always thanks you afterwards. And maybe, one of those times he can’t get enough and he grabs your waist, sliding your body between his legs while he’s sitting, your hands on his shoulders, your face hot while you try to keep your fingers working on his muscles. Maybe then he would put his mouth on your collarbone and leave a damp spot on your tunic. Needing more of you.

And what happened next is up to you 👀 It might have gotten out of hand, but I think he would be so sweet with you and would definetly like to hold your hand whenever you’re close to him and care soooo much about you and your well-being

Love you, and have a nice day 💕

Heyyy Emmeee 💕💕 yess I am doing okay at uni, only only like a week or two left, then we are done!!!

Omg Hunter 🥺🥺 emme that was like a fully fledged fic, I love it sm, hunter is bae, honestly I love that man, he definitely up there with Din as my faves. AND THAT ENDING asfgahsjshsj, 🥵🥵 - y-you've got my imagination spiralling, need.... to .... write.... a.... hunter... fic.... 🥵😭

& ohmygosh Kiri, I promise I haven't forgotten him or my boys!! So I did like a lil thing for both coz I couldn't choose between both my babies (I'm indecisive okay?).

Love you Emme xx

Sleep Talking - Word Count:

Kids - Word Count:

Sleep Talking

Commander Kiri (265th) x Reader

It was a simple mission, in and out, gather the Intel and leave. Hopper was supposed to take the aircraft and pick the two of up after it was finished. Honestly one of the easiest missions ever.

But no.

Nothing was ever that easy with the 265th.

So here the two of you were, stuck in kriffing cave, no clue where in the galaxy you were. But you knew one thing, you had Kiri with you and if he was with you, you knew you were going to be just fine.

Although Kiri was anxious being together with his General for a prolonged period of time. His feelings for her were too strong, although his brothers all knew, they had promised to keep quite. At least till he figures out what to do, and how to tell you.

"General, I'll take first watch, you can get some rest."

You let out a deep sigh. Your commander was an absolute pain in the arse, one that would rival even Skywalker. He was stubborn and loyal and pretty and maker he looked ever so soft with his helmet off. How you wanted to run your hands through his hair as you tugged on his braid, making his mouth open in pleasure as you su-

Kriff! What in karking hell were you thinking? You blinked rapidly as to help regain your thoughts, but the images of Kiri moaning only flooded your mind.

"Kriff..." You muttered, completely ignoring your commanders words.

"Y/N?"

Fuck he said your name. Kriff, no- stop imaging things, not the way he would sound moaning your name in contempt.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" He placed a hand on your thigh, the warmth spreading through your body like a fire, causing you to jolt at his sudden touch, making Kiri huddle even closer to you. Kiri pulled a glove off, placing a hand on your forehead, feeling it burn him to the skin.

"Kriff, Y/N! You're burning!" Kiri quickly acted, grabbing a wet cloth and placed it on your forehead, your eyes wide at his naked hand. His beautiful tanned skin was on show and all you wanted to do was to hold his hand, amongst other things, but mainly to touch him.

"Okay, lie down. I'm gonna take care of you."

"Mmh... okay."

You lay down, head in Kiri's lap as you closed your eyes, your hands unconsciously grabbing his as you clutched it in your grip, ultimately hugging his entire arm as you fell asleep.

"Cyar'ika..." Kiri rumbled, his voice deep as he let you hug his hand, he pulled off the glove of the other one before using it to sweep some hair away from your face.

He adjusted himself on the floor, laying sideways as he let you cuddle yourself into his body, your hands still holding onto his as you slept. Maker knows how long the two of you would be here for. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close as the two of you slept.

"Sweet dreams mesh'la..." Kiri whispered as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

***

"Kiri... I-i please..."

Kiri woke up instantly, his eyes immediately landing on you beside him, still in the same position as before, although you had his hand dragged down to another spot. His eyes widened in surprise as he realised you weren't in danger but- you were aroused.

You let out a small moan, your bottom sliding backwards against his codpiece, making Kiri gasp, his free hand holding your waist as you grinded against him.

"Fuck, Kiri- please..."

Kiri's eyes widened in shock as you moaned his name, your voice getting louder. He was certain you were asleep, but your body certainly wasn't. He growled in annoyance, kriff, he wanted you so badly, but he didn't know if you reciprocated his feelings.

He had to wake you.

"Mesh'la- Y/N... wake up..." He gently shook you, soothing your hair with his hand as he traced a finger down your cheek.

You woke up with a start, your hands clutching at Kiris arm before you realised and pulled away, turning in your spot, Kiri glanced at you. Immediately you knew Kiri was aware of what type of dream you were having.

"Kriff... Kiri, I am so so-"

"Don't aplogise, I-i er... mesh'la, Y/N I have feelings for you, I know-"

You cut him off with a tug towards your body, and a small kiss on his lips before grinning. "I've been waiting for you to confess."

"You have? How did yo-.... was it Jester?"

You let out a little giggle, before kissing him on the nose. "No you bantha head, I've known for a while, you just- you just act differently around me.... and yes Jester did tell me."

"Maker, I was so worried, I didn't know if you felt the same or-"

"Well, the dream I has certainly shows so..."

Kiri smirked, flipping you onto your back. "Oh yeah? Why don't you tell me all about it? I'd love to make it into a reality."

***

Kids

Captain Rex (501st) x Reader

Kark. You were so fucked.

Your sister was dropping off her kid at yours today and Rex was coming round. You hadn't seen your fiancè in so long and you hadn't seen your niece in a while either. Rex had been off world for a couple of rotations so you were missing him dearly.

*knock knock knock*

"Shit.." You muttered, rushing to open the door just as you saw your fiancè in the hallway, waiting for you.

"Rex!" You grinned, jumping into his arms as he dropped his bag and caught you. You placed kisses all over his face as he kicked his bag inside and shut the door.

"Mesh'la, I've missed you so much..." Rex groaned as you kissed his sweet spot, his hands grasping your bottom tightly as he walked in the direction of your bedroom.

*knock knock knock*

Your eyes widen in surprise, almost forgetting your slight dilemma.

"Are you expecting someone else cyar'ika?"

You grimaced, jumping down from Rex's arms and rushing to the door. Your sister stood there, with your niece in her arms as you watched her jump down and into your legs. Your sister hadn't formally met Rex yet, she knew you were engaged.

"Auntie Y/N!!!"

Your sister looked at you in joy as you picked up the child, Rex walking up behind you, a hand on your waist as he peered over your shoulder to look at the child and it's mother as she left.

"Thank you ever so much Y/N! I'll be back tomorrow!! I promise!" Your sister yelled as she dumped the bags in your house, before pulling you into a hug.

"You better behave Daisy."

"Yes mama, I pro- I prowis..." The little girl spoke, eyes wide as she spotted Rex. Her little blue eyes focused on the man stood before her as she waved at him, smiling at his curious expression.

"Thank you my darling sister, I owe you one."

"Yeah you do sis." You rolled your eyes.

She gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek, before whispering in your ear. "He's cute and hot! Plus it'll be good practi-"

"OKAY! Goodbye, I shall see you tomorrow." You quickly pushed her away, waving goodbye as you slammed the door shut.

"Auntie Y/N?"

"Yes honey?"

"Who's that? He's very bwig!" The 3 year old asked, fidgeting in your grasp before you put her down. She waddled over to Rex, tugging on his leg, lifting her hands up to be held.

"I think she wants you to pick her up Rex..." You giggled softly.

His eyes went wide as they looked from the little girl to you then back to Daisy. "I-i erm, I don't- I've never-"

Daisy tugged on his pants "You... you just have to do this...". The two year old mimicked picking up a child as Rex let out a small grin. You rolled your eyes at your nieces antics, she just wanted to be tall, but you couldn't help but tease Rex.

"Yeah Rex, you just gotta pick her up."

Rex stuck his tongue at you before bending down and picking up the child with ease. His large hands covering the entirety of her body as he held her in one arm. Daisy gasped in shock.

"I'm so tall!!" She giggled as she cuddled into Rex's embrace. "Can you- please can you put me on your shwolders?"

"Of course little one!" Rex happily complied, lifting Daisy effortlessly onto his shoulders as she wrapped her little arms around his head, holding on tight.

"Yay! Look Auntie! I taller than you and-" The little girl stopped when she realised she didn't know the man who was holding her, his name. She looked at you and gestured for you to come closer.

"Auntie, I don't know his name." She whispered, although her whispering was quite loud and she had accidentally tapped Rex on the head when speaking.

"Rex, you can call him Rex."

"Okay! I taller than Uncle Rex and Auntie Y/N!!" The little girl giggled as she directed Rex to the kitchen, Rex gave you a large grin, one that made your heart swell with joy as you watched him interact with your niece.

***

Depsite Rex not ever having any experience with children - he was a natural with Daisy. The two of them had been glued to each other, neither of them leaving each others side. You were pretty sure you weren't Daisy favourite person anymore.

The time had come to put her to bed, but upon looking for her you found her tucked into Rex's side, her little arms hugging Rex as she drooled on his chest. Your heart warmed, the sight was one you wished to keep forever. Grabbing your data pad, you quickly snapped a picture - keeping the memory tucked away.

You slid into the seat next to Rex, softly kissing his forehead as he pulled you into his free arm.

"Honey? I want one of our own." Rex mumbled as he kissed your forehead, tucking yourself into his arms.

"Oh yeah? Let's get this one back to her mom and then we can start on our own."

Even in his sleepy state Rex cuddled you tighter, kissing your lips and mumbling gently "I can't wait."

***

#star wars #commander kiri x reader #commander kiri #captain rex x reader #captain rex x y/n #captain rex x you #captain rex #star wars requests #pinkiemme 💕

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years ago

Text

Random AU Sonamy cause you know what?

Prompt:

It was time to go.

That other dimension… I didn’t figure I’d come back, but I couldn’t let my friends know that.

They each saw through me though, first with Tails and that Team Chaotix. Although Tails tried to send me off with as much hope as he could muster without shedding a tear, his entourage were wiping their tears without holding back or hiding. I respected them for it, but Tails even more, for how brave he wanted to be for me.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take of this…” I slowly raised my hand, expecting myself to say, ‘See ya around!’ but couldn’t muster it this time… instead, I just held it up… and let it flop down as though trying to act just as cool as my little dude.

I kicked the ground with a hop in my step as I moved back and raced off, heading to the next group, which were waiting to hold the portal for me when it opened.

“You’re a brave soul, Sonic… I’ve admired you for that.” Was probably the only directly nice thing Shadow ever said to me. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a swell guy! If you minus all the shady things he did in his ‘awakened’ life outside of Dr. Gerald Robotnik, but I could tell he was trying to be respectful too.

“Hey, it’s not that big of a sacrifice. Besides! With me gone, you’ll finally have a reason to show up!” I gave a goofy grin and put my hand to his shoulder, swaggering up with a wobble of my head and jerked upwards a thumbs-up from my hand.

He actually gave me a crooked smile for a moment… before dispersing off again with Rouge and Omega, looking disheartened.

Rouge looked like she wanted to say something, maybe ‘Be careful, Sonic’ but she didn’t quite get it out in time.

She stepped forward and put her hands to her chest, but as Shadow passed, looked down and decided not to say it. ...Probably for the best, I was getting sick of half-meanings. I wasn’t coming back, and the slim chance I could, I would be barely alive to tell the tale.

As she turned, something triggered in my mind. ‘Oh yeah… I’m forgetting someone.’ I felt myself getting reluctant. The person she reminded me of… the person that would definitely not be okay with any false hope, generalized chit-chat, and who wouldn’t hold her tongue back on how she felt about it.

Neither her tears… She would be the one to say, ‘Come back, Sonic.’ without a shred of regret.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and lifted my head up from that realization that I would have to face her… and convince her… of letting me leave…

For good this time.

“It’s not like you to look so gloomy, Sonic.” Knuckles… the only one who really wouldn’t put on a front that was fake.

I turned to him and flicked my nose, as we stood and faced each other, saying more with our stares into the other’s soul then any ‘not saying it’ goodbyes everyone else was trying to hold back.

He shakingly held up a hand, and seeing him about to lose himself, I took it immediately, giving him strength to help him rise up and stay strong.

He nodded, but couldn’t look back in my eyes… he was probably gonna cry somewhere off on Angel Island… and I… preferred it that way.

I gave a strong pull and tightened my grip on the embraced hands, giving him a strong look, and he finally smiled with a ‘tsk’, realizing I wasn’t gonna let him go till he could do it.

He returned the gesture and smirked, narrowing his eyes back into mine.

‘That’s it, buddy. Don’t falter the good fight.’ I thought to myself as we held that position for a moment, and finally… he let me go.

“Safe travels… but that would be an understatement.” He folded his arms, still smiling, before looking his head to the ground and concealing his smile… “Tails told me he wanted to say more to you… I would let him.”

“...Haa..!” I breathed out and arched my back towards the ground, not really wanting to face another hard goodbye so soon… but if it meant holding off from confronting Amy… I would do it. “Guess everyone’s taking my vacation kinda hard, huh?” I joked, but Knuckles just grabbed my head and started rough-housing his glove against my spiky quilled head.

“Get in a tan while you’re at it! You’re too pale skinned!” he gruffed.

I tried to push my head up but he kept it down, “H-hey! Knuckles!” but I did get a glance up… and let him keep my head down…

I could see water streaming down his muzzle like a cascading waterfall… guess I was bound to see it. No use keeping it all together and within.

With Knuckles and Tails… I embraced them, closing my eyes as Tails finally said what he really wanted to.

“I won’t forget you!” He cried out, gripping my back tightly. “I will be everything you believed me to be! I will protect the planet and things we love most, and I won’t let Eggman get away with this!”

‘Hang in there, buddy.’ I just lightly patted his back, about two or three, but was really starting to feel the toll now.

My eyes felt droopy, I was losing energy…

“You’re not gonna be alone! In that dimension, I’m sure you’ll meet others that look like us too! They’ll be there to support you, I’m sure of it!” Tails’s comforts only gave me a greater stone in my heart, but I knew he was only trying to help.

“Thanks, buddy. Take care of yourselves.” I pulled away but felt Tails resisting.

I paused as Knuckles saw I couldn’t show Tails my face… and took his arm.

“Come on, kid. He’s got a whole galaxy and then some to save.” Knuckles helped pulled Tails off and redirect his tears and anguish onto himself, having him coil up with his tails around Knuckles and start banging his chest.

“He doesn’t have to go alone! We could go with him!” he cried out, as I froze in my spot… tired. Too tired to even walk ahead… to be away from hearing it… to be away from my friends who were as close as family to my lonely self now… though I’d never admit it out loud.

“...Then who’d be here, Tails? Guarding the Master Emerald? Saving this world?” Come on, don’t give him--or me--that.” He patted his back strongly, “Stay strong, kid. We’ve gotta show him off with strength, it’s that strength he’ll need for the coming battle.”

“R-right…” Tails fought through his tears and turned around, “Sonic… We’re with you. You have our strength.” he held up his fists,... but I didn’t feel strength.

I felt so… weak.

I felt my body wanting to just submit but I wouldn’t let it.

I gave a sharp nod behind me, letting it linger, showing my friends nothing was going to phase me… and took off.

I couldn’t face Amy.

How could I?

I almost collapsed to my knees unable to move from everyone else!

However… my feet brought me to her home, and by now, it was pretty late at night.

She had no idea.

She didn’t know I was leaving, how long I’d be… how I needed her to move on.

A part of me hated to imagine that. But as I approached the home, the lights were out, and I felt a moment of relief.

‘Sleeping…’ my eyes lowered, as I tenderly and sorrowfully looked up to her window. ‘Quietly… peacefully… I shouldn’t disturb it.’

I felt so weary… tired of saying so many goodbyes without actually saying the stupid word.

I hated it.

The tears… the fear no one was admitting… the unknown was now looming over my fate, and at first I felt prepared… but now… I just wanted to get it over with.

‘Keep my friends safe first, then move on.’ I tightened my fist, finding a resolve. ‘I’ve gotta at least see her… Even if it is the last time…’

I felt power rising back to my bones, my muscles tensing and getting ready. I zoomed off to pick a flower, one I had always found to be Amy’s favorite--and well, might as well admit mine too--and took off to a tree branch right at her window.

I was off-balance, flailing a bit as I only had the tip of my shoe to steady myself on the ledge of her bedroom window, but putting the flower in my mouth I started to squeeze my fingers through the small crack under the plane.

It gave way, at last, not being locked.

I slowly rose it up after a few tugs and darted in, rolling on the ground with my quills as a cushion to make sure I landed swiftly but didn’t cause a stir.

Not much of a sound, besides the tumbling of my feet back to the ground.

I rose up and looked to my side…

Even in the night air, her quills swayed in blissful ignorance of the current situation. Her soft breaths lured me in and back, as my feet began to softly tread forward towards her.

I passed her nightstand, with a picture of us holding up peace-signs and hearts with our fingers and thumbs, just something goofy we did at some park or whatever.

Near it, a vase of the flowers I usually brought her. Some were wilted, yikes. I had kinda hoped I would visit at least enough times so she could switch them out frequently enough to not keep the dead ones.

I flinched at that imagery and thought… she kept the dead ones… when I didn’t replace them fast enough… and visit her often.

I took the flower out of my mouth and gently was about to place it on her nightstand… but stopped.

Time froze then, as my eyes darted up.

I won’t accept this.

I pulled back the flower to me and squinted my eyes, turning away from the picture and bent flowers, balding as their petals lay around the vase’s bottom…

I was getting irritated. Amy was the last, I had to do more than this. It wouldn’t be fair… no matter how much I dread it… I can’t just leave her without her final words…

I lightly pressed the freshly picked flower up to my muzzle… taking in it’s scent and thinking how I was going to do this… efficiently… without her suspecting this was my final farewell…

To lose her… to knowly have her lose me…

How to word this… how to even plan this?

All of that faded when I took another glance at her.

My serious expression was replaced with silent admiring.

She was so loyal. Any man would be crazy not to see her fidelity.

...She’d move on without me…

Find someone to love, Amy? I couldn’t say that, it almost made me gag to think about it. Plus, I’d think about it in hindsight once I’m floating in the nethersphere and realize that was too boldly assuming Amy could find anyone besides her miraculous gift at always locating me.

Be loved, Amy? As if no one does, that’s just cruel. She’s constantly surrounded by people and friends that adore her. No… No, I couldn’t say that.

She’d stir and think something was wrong with either of those lines…

I tapped the flower against my muzzle, further watching her quills sway gently in the blowing breeze, as though comforting her from the heat of the moment she was so innocently unaware of.

‘Alright,’ I finally said, having taken long enough time to figure this out. I hadn’t thought about any of my goodbyes this long because the people were already awake and holding up fronts. No fronts here… Just Amy. Sleeping. Waiting patiently for me to come by and replace a dozen of her dying roses…

Man, this was hard.

I leaned my head back and felt myself wincing at the idea I had come up with. Fool her into thinking she was dreaming? It could work, since Amy often daydreams and would go, ‘Is this a dream?’ quite frequently.

Yeah… That outta do it.

I sighed, this would still be faking it unless…

I twirled the stim of the flower between my two finger tips…

Unless I put the front down.

I looked away… I knew what I was talking about, duh.

But… that would be hard. I’m normally really shy about expressing my feelings, especially when it comes to receiving admiration or… Well, or this.

I lightly kissed the flower for good luck, winked to try and get myself into a romantic mood, but also took a long breath in and harshly let it out in a bit of stubbornness to prepare myself for speaking with my heart over my image…

Her hero… deserves to send himself off after wishing her goodnight.

I moved to her bedside and decided it was best to bend to one knee, at least, she may find it endearing.

Lightly, I teased her awake gently by brushing the rose over her eye, twiddling it before lightly stroking her face like it was a paint brush.

She gave little, soft groans of discomfort, tenderly waking up as I smiled in eagerness to see her again.

I didn’t want to think this was the last time, nor play it out like that.

I wanted, at least this one, to be genuine but disguised as a wishful, whimsical dream she was having. I could… send myself off knowing she was happy.

That was the way I wanted it to be. An ideal.

Amy crying in my arms and me having to hold her till it was time to go was too painful to even bare a thought of!

I didn’t want to waste my time trying to comfort when this wasn’t something that anyone could be comforted on!

Strength… Knuckles spoke of strength?

I tsked, I didn’t want to leave Amy with ‘strength’ or take anyone else’s strength when they needed all the help they could get!

They already mustered everything together to see me off, I wouldn’t bare it again, I would never let Amy bare that either…

Maybe she’d hate me when she fully came too, realized what had happened, and sob for centuries…

I felt something stab at my throat, and I forced myself to swallow after a few failed attempts.

‘Don’t cry, Amy… I want to make that very clear.’ I thought I could do this, but seeing her blink her eyes open made me realize how I really just wanted to flee from this whole ordeal.

I didn’t want to break Amy’s heart. Even knowing she’d cry later was just as equally tormenting than having her do so in front of me now.

I wouldn’t break her heart… but I probably should. I wouldn’t dwell too much on it. Amy’s a big girl now, she’ll have to come around and realize that I’m not coming back-

I couldn’t finish my thoughts as she rubbed her eyes and yawned, looking over to me.

“...Emm… Sonic?”

Now was my last chance… to tell her everything or… at least, not put up the charades anymore.

“Heya.” I whispered, finding a smile I didn’t realize I still had. “Long time no see.”

She looked a bit confused, maybe still half-way through dreamland, but relaxed back and took my hand holding the flower, “Flowers~” she giggled, and suddenly my entire night was made.

“Yeah, just for you.” I played, dangling the flower above her head and watched her drowsily paw at it like a cat would a string. She scrunched her nose up, still snickering as though trying to laugh but her lungs hadn’t woken up that far yet.

“I like it.” she yawned again, and her batting reach grew lesser and lesser until I handed her the flower. “I missed you.” her grip on my hand was so light… I didn’t realize how the touch would send me into such immediate, gripping grief.

My heart was being choked, man, I’m so dramatic! I never knew I could feel this intensely about something like saying goodbye to everyone!

It wasn’t goodbye… If I told myself that, I could do it!

“I-” I felt my voice get constrained and had to take a moment to wipe my own face and get a grip. ‘Keep it together, Sonic… or she’ll know.’ I pep-talked myself and shook my head, “I thought you would.”

“Hehe… You’re still funny.” she let her sluggish finger poke and slide around my face, making me watch her with a puzzled but funny look that continued to keep her laughing.

“Am I still in a dream?”

That… made me so happy.

“Well, depends.” I stated, getting comfortable as I moved from my knee to squatting by her side, inching closer and pulling my hands back to give my heavy head some leverage… more than what I could do for my heart at this point. “What was going on in your dream?”

“Hmm…” she thought a second, almost closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep.

Maybe that was for the best… but…

I kinda didn’t want it to end.

“Amy..?” I lightly called out to her as her eyes twitched slightly and she graced me again with their vision… green… darker than mine, but emerald like the sea below Angel Island… highlighted by it’s chaotic glow.

“We were… having a picnic… in Spagonia, maybe?” she rubbed her eyes, still having the other hand holding mine.

“Ah, I remember that!” I instantly found myself looking up, and my spirits soar. “You were so obsessed with the architecture! You barely ate, you had so much to say about how beautiful it all was.”

“Well, it was..!” she lazily commented, her eyes trying to fight the sleep. I didn’t feel bad about keeping her somewhat awake though… I realized… I needed this. I needed this too.

“Amy… You were beautiful there too.” My words I had never uttered allowed, now made me think back and remember all the times I’ve thought it, but wouldn’t dare speak it out loud. “But you know that, don’t you?” I smiled even wider, seeing her pause a second as though falling back to sleep or in disbelief.

“This is a dream!” she exclaimed and started laughing as though evilly, “Then come to bed. I need a good cuddle…”

I looked away and had to hide my snickering, I never knew Amy could be scandalous! ...scratch that, I never knew she would DREAM of something so ridiculous!

“How about just your hand?” I cradled it with both mine, seeing her fiddle with the flower and press it right up to her nose. I worried it’s strong scent would wake her up… but it didn’t. I tossed her dead-weighted hand around and toyed with her a moment, before lowering my head to it, and letting her own scent trail its way into my memory and feel her warmth from the bed’s covers override my own heated anxiety.

“Amy… I-” I felt my eyes growing sleepy too… All the times I could have just teased her by climbing over the covers and laying beside her… how I wanted that more than ever, to just… take a nap and let each other hold the other… No images, no expectations… just.... Tired. “I missed you too.”

“Hmm?” she was waking up more, I needed to make this quick.

“Heh,” In the moments I had had with her… this was bound to be the best, though bittersweet, of my favorites. “I’m gonna miss you… but I need you to go back to sleep now, finish that wonderful dream of yours… and never stop having it.” I couldn’t tell her to move on. Gosh dang it, I couldn’t!

I was holding her hand, I was letting it rest right up against my face and I- … I-!!!

I was getting to invested in this goodbye.

I speedily let go of her hand and got up, startling her awake.

“H-huh?”

I gripped my fists tightly, “This was a mistake.” I looked away, “I can’t stay here… I can’t say these things anymore.”

“Sonic..?”

“I have to go away now, Amy.” I couldn’t be sweet to her, I’d ruin her!

“What… why?” she started to turn on the bed, “Is this… real?”

A real nightmare. I was gonna die. I knew it. Even if I lived, I would be stuck in another dimension with no way out.

Tails… Even if there was another Tails, Knuckles, and-... And Amy! I would owe it to her but..! But..!

“If I find you again… I won’t hold back anymore, alright?” I didn’t want to make a promise.

“What..? N-no…” She started to sit up on her bed, and I rushed to put the covers back over her, hoping to convince her to go back to bed.

“No other will do… that’s wrong, isn’t it?” I had seen people who looked like my friends in other dimensions… it was foolish of me to think that would suffice. Amy… if she knew what I was saying, she’d probably stomp the ground and cry out that it wouldn’t be fair, that none of those other girls were still her… it would be too cruel. I’ve messed up. I’ve gotta go-!

I felt her suddenly grapple me and turn me onto the bed.

“A-Amy!” I was absolutely startled, I didn’t expect her to be so strong while she was still getting up.

“I’m cold.” she lied, holding me down and tightly. “Don’t go.”

“Amy, I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore..!” I tried to fight it, but she was absolutely strong, and I even questioned if she was faking being asleep.

But I waved my hand over her eyes and watched as they closed and she was slowly falling back to sleep.

“You make this so challenging.” I huffed, but smiled and chuckled at how even in her sleep, she was a rascal. “I can’t stay…” I lightly put my hand to the side of her face, which she leaned into, and tried to move her head to my chest. “But trust me,... if there is a way… I won’t fail you twice.” I cupped her adorably sleepy but scarily strong head in my hands as she tried to resist it a bit, but was able to move and lower her back to her pillow. Slyly figuring out a way to not disturb her, I pushed the other pillow to have her hold it, and made my way out of her grasp. “Phew…”

Memories of Amy’s antics swarmed me… then Tails… then Knuckles… then everyone…

I ended up falling to my butt and spending a good minute trying to conceal my tears without a sound.

She fell asleep… thank goodness.

I got up and picked up the flower that was slightly crushed from under her back, and placed it back on the counter. I took two petals that had fallen and placed one in her hand… then the other I tucked under my glove and held in the space between my bare palm and glove.

“Don’t wait for me anymore.” I tugged the bottom of my glove down, making sure the petal wouldn’t accidentally fall out and that it was secure. I gave one final, good look over to her…

“...But dream of me… always…”

-A New Day-

I woke up immediately when I groggily read the text from Tails that Sonic was badly injured, but somehow, used the last of the Chaos Energy inside his body to locate the Master Emerald across dimensions, and jumped!

“Jumped!? W-woah-woah!” I fell out of my bed and crashed hard on my chin, but adjusting to the pain, I kept scrolling through the updates.

He was Chaos Controlled directly from the Master Emerald with the help of a confused Knuckles who reacted at once and used his own influence over the Master Emerald to channel it’s power to wherever Sonic was reaching from.

He apparently came back, half-alive…

My eyes shook in terror, “Oh, Sonic!” I felt my heart leap out of my chest as I quickly wrote back as I spoke the words aloud. “Where is he!? I’ll house him. Tell Vanilla and Cream to bring everything to my house! Food, medicine, the works! We won’t lose him again!”

My eyes were still red from countless, sleepless nights of waiting for him to come through my window and surprise me again. I really had thought I imagined it… but I woke up with a petal from a new flower in my hand, and looked to see the one from my hallucinations that night on my nightstand.

When the others told me what he had done, I bashed the trees down and ranted with a mighty thunder in my step and tone how they should have believed in him more, should have given him hope, and the strength he needed wasn’t their undying love for him but their support in that he could do the impossible!

I kept telling myself, ‘Of course, he’ll come back!’ but my anger was from knowing that when he was trying to take my hand and say goodbye… he couldn’t.

He needed me! Oh, how my Sonic needed me to pull him in and shout out to the universe that he was going to be alright, that he was going to return, and that none of this was necessary!

I should have woken up and seen more clearly! I should have… I was the only one who could have contested their naysaying and cheered him up. I would have… I would have gotten so many words out that would be completely incoherent due to my rushing tears…

They brought him to me right away, and I was upset I couldn’t reach them in time to have helped moved him, but they insisted I stay put.

When I saw him… on a white gurney and barely able to stay awake… looking rough and completely done for… I felt my whole being cry out that he would make it… but my whole being slid down the door’s frame at just seeing him look so badly… so drained of life...

He was out for days… but he had been gone for so long…

I was replacing his bandages, starting with the cooling rag, I was just gonna wipe him down from the sweat. I put him in my own bed and was sleeping by the side of the bed with my head to his side at night… sleeping in my chair, nursing him back to health.

He didn’t make much noise expect for awful twitches that would make me think he was dying… it scared me so much… but I held his hand as he would groan in his sleep, as though trying to move and wake up … but couldn’t.

Couldn’t… shouldn’t… wouldn’t…

Could, would, should…

These words were infuriating me lately.

I dipped the cool rag into the water on my nightstand, which I had used to replace the vase with flowers, but kept the last flower in a see-through box, letting it sit on my windowsill as I waited through endless nights for him…

My eyes must have made me look like a raccoon rather than a hedgehog by now… but as I wiped them and patted his darling, but hurt face… I finally saw him breath out and roll his head towards my touch.

My eyes widened, was this his last breath or first real moments of consciousness?

“S-…” I felt my voice break against a dam of emotions. “Sonic?” Then flood my mouth, “Sonic!?” the sound vibrated to every cell, sparking me to life as I jolted up and hung over him. “Sonic, can you hear me!?”

His eyes were blurred, but he opened them, looking around as though unable to see me.

“Sonic! Sonic, you’re alive! You’re here!” I said that to assure him of him, not for myself.

I embraced him with restrained joy, trying to not hurt him further, as I heard him cough and try and reach his hand up.

I immediately pulled back and helped him up, hearing him hiss at the pain but fighting it.

“S-sorry! I’ll let you rest more-” I was gonna lower him back down but he put a hand out to my shoulder, as though telling me not too.

He adjusted himself to leaning back and I put pillows in his way to give him some comfort as he was somewhat up now.

“How are you feeling? You okay?” That was stupid to ask, but I was so worried… one peep, one little, measly sound would drown out all this panicking… anything!

He coughed again, and looked around.

Seeing where he was, his eyes widened and he looked back to me, as though stunned.

“You’re home… Sonic, you’re…” I covered my mouth, bursting into tears and dropping to my knees, holding myself up with my other hand gripping the bed.

I turned my hand around to show him the palm of my hand, tucked into my gold bracelet was his petal he had left in my hand, ripped and torn, crinkled and decaying… I never let it go.

He smiled and let out a puff of relief and--what I assume to be--joy as he scratched weakly at his own glove.

“Y-you want it off..?” I was speaking through tears, and blinked several times to see what I was doing, and wiping my tears away before lifting his glove up and seeing…

Not even tarnished. It was as though the petal in the palm of his hand was eternal, as though the dimension was only a blink in time, but it was still a vibrant rosy color, pinkish hue, but leaning more towards the red.

I dipped my head to his hand and just cried, kissing the palm and the petal as I knew what it meant.

“I missed you too.” I finally broke my voice and wailed in my tears.

I knew he hated goodbyes and crying…

But I knew how much he loved ‘hellos’.

(resisted Italics this time lol Better with or without them? -meaning both Bold, Underlined, etc.-)

(ALSO! I remembered I was gonna do kissing but I was so wrapped and enthralled in the drama that I forgot o-o; Eh, makes it more in-character XD)

#no italics this time #I resisted lol #better with or without them?#sonamy #sonicxamy #sonic and amy #cutegirlmayra #sonic prompt #sonamy prompt

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