#but I am not sure that crib is far enough away from the wall? (from my brief googling because I was like)

[regallibellbright]

[ID: A Facebook post with photo attached reading, “My babes president wall in his nursery! The dream was to paint the wall an evergreen color, but we’re renting”. Below it is a photograph of a room. The walls are white, the floor is decorated with an ornate green rug leading to a crib. Decorating the wall above said crib are 18 photos of different United States Presidents, arranged in no discernable order, with no clear criteria for inclusion over the remaining 28. End ID]

Person in this facebook group I’m in has made an utterly baffling decor choice.

[evbell]

Evannah Potter: King's Cross Station

My first ever published (mini) chapter (1,843 words)!! This takes place after the true beginning of this story, but is the only chapter I wrote that I am halfway satisfied with. That being said, there are a few things that need to be clarified: Evannah was raised away from Harry for reasons that will be explored in another post. Like many muggle-born students, Evannah received a visit from Professors Burbage and Dumbledore to explain magic to her (in her case with a long-lost brother bonus) and is making her way alone to King's Cross. The characters Phoebe and Nancy are originals and orphanage friends.

...

For the first time since she was seven years old, Evannah Potter wasn't sure where she was going when she left the orphanage that morning.

London was engraved in her brain, obvious in her accent. Orphan City stuck to her like a tattoo- literally- and the London Underground system might as well be her playground, and this was all without counting the buses. So, standing between platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross, trying to work up the courage to pass a wall, which would (supposedly) take her to a magic school, where her long-lost brother(?) would go to in two years, the girl had never felt more ridiculous or clueless. Evannah was early and exhausted from walking all the way from Soho to King's Cross with a trunk the size of a crib- which she still did not understand, these people had magic, magic, and insisted on carrying luggage around, of all things- not to mention the whining cat she brought with her in a cage on her other hand- oh yes, try opening a door like that. Or stairs. If the tattoo on her finger wasn't already enough of a people repellent, then that vision ought to do it. 

"You're lucky you're cute, Atticus," she whispered down to the grey ball of fur meowing away in a box by her feet. The cat looked at her indignantly, and meowed louder. 

Evannah crouched down in front of the box. "I'm sorry, alright? But what else should I do? Put you on a leash?"

Atticus did not look any less offended.

"What, you think I should've let you free? Atticus, you're scared of balloons, I can't expect you to follow me all the way here."

The following meow sounded like it meant that she very well could and should have, so she reached into the cage slowly, waiting for the cat to press up against her fingers. He did, after a moment, purring softly at her silent apology, until something caught his ear.

The next second, Evannah found herself sprawled over King's Cross' filthy floor, loud, startled cat protests echoing at her side and two red-ish blurs in front of her.

"Oh, by Merlin, are you okay? So sorry about this-" said one of the blurs at the same time the other said, "Ah, fuck, sorry, sorry. We didn't see you."

"FRED! GEORGE!" screamed a woman from far away. Distantly, Evannah thought she sounded like she was carrying multiple bags at once. Like those mothers with three or so small children that go around the supermarket playing with the cart, you know? The mothers that always have those gigantic durable supermarket bags on them.

"Nasty fall, that was, do you think you can stand?" asked someone gently, but casually. Not the blurs. An older voice. Someone that sounded like they wore leather.

"Again, so sorry about that-" said a blur.

"-we really are," added the other guiltily.

Did she fall? That couldn't be, Evannah Potter hadn't fallen since 1986. She had ridiculously good reflexes. Once she even caught a button that flew out of Phoebe's shirt.

One of the blurs made a sound of realisation.The one on the right? "Oh, you need your glasses, don't you? Ginny, can you get the glasses?"

A flash of movement to her left, the soft brush of metal against her hand. "Here."

Christ, she should really say something, shouldn’t she?

"Er, thanks," Evannah finally managed and put the glasses on.

Oh, the red-ish blurs were twins. Gingers. A whole family of fiery-red hair and freckled faces, it seemed. 

The twins still hovered over her, brown eyes checking her for injuries. The older voice, the one that wore leather, was indeed much older and did, in fact, wear a leather jacket. Spot on, she thought distantly. The one who had handed Evannah the glasses, on the other hand, was a girl about Nancy’s age, maybe a bit older, definitely more outgoing. 

“You’re welcome,” replied the girl politely.

“BILL, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WATCH THEM-” came the yelling again. Evannah could see the woman now, a short, less fiery ginger, mother with a kind demeanor but furious glint in her warm brown eyes- who was not carrying gigantic supermarket bags, although she must have at some point, with so many children. 

“Oh, my! Dear, are you all right?” questioned the woman once she saw her.

Honestly, Evannah was still rather confused about how she ended up on a filthy train station floor, and the angry cat next to her wasn’t helping, so her eloquent response was: “I think so, ma’am.”

“What even happened?” asked a new voice. A boy with gelled-back hair behind the woman.

The older one with the leather jacket straightened up. Bill, from what Evannah gathered. “They were running around with their trunks- I know, mum, alright? I’m sorry- and crashed into her.”

“Really sorry about that,” said the twin on the right.

“We were trying to see who’s fastest,” added the other.

Understandable.

Irresponsible, but understandable.

Evannah made to stand, an attempt to help the twins out with their mother. “It’s okay, I think. Really, I’m all right.”

They helped her stand- the twins, that is- and she thought the family’s worry was rather sweet, if a bit exaggerated. Her trunk had probably had more damage done to it than Evannah herself.

“Sorry, kitty. We didn’t mean to scare you,” said a twin to Atticus as he flipped his cage back to the correct position. The cat hissed his opinion on the matter, but sniffed the boy’s hand nonetheless.

“Sorry, trunk,” copied the other twin as he took her luggage from the floor, and Evannah had to laugh. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Fred,” reprimanded the mother.

“But, mum, I’m only being polite,” protested Fred, offended.

The other twin, giving up his luck with Atticus, who had stopped sniffing and was glaring at him, took the cage from the floor and handed it to Evannah. “Here’s your cat. Sorry again.”

“Yeah, sorry,” repeated Fred, more genuinely than when he apologized to the trunk.

“It’s fine, really. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

The twin that was not Fred nodded, “We really didn’t, we were trying to get to the Hogwar- to our train on time.”

“Oh, you’re going there too, aren’t you?” asked the girl. Gina?

“...where?”

“Hogwarts, of couse,” announced a completely new voice, and Evannah was faced with two other red-headed boys- wow, that’s a lot of children- and a tall man that must’ve been their father. “We saw the fall on the way here, hope you’re all right,” continued the voice. The second oldest of the children, a boy with the three top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Oh… yeah.” 

It must be real then. Okay.

“Us too.”

“First year?” asked the father.

“Er, yeah”

The twins straightened up. “Same as us, then.”

“Oh,” nice? Okay? Good to know? What do you say to people who knocked you over and were really nice about it? “-cool.”

“All right, we should start going to the platform, in any case,” spoke the father, ending the discussion, “Would you like to go first…?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Evannah. I’ve never… been before.” the girl gestured to the wall.

“Nervous, are you?” said Bill . “You won’t hit the wall, don’t worry. Did it for seven years, only ever hit my head on the train window.”

“Charlie, go on first, then, show her,” commanded the woman to the son with the unbuttoned top buttons. 

Charlie grabbed his trunk and rushed to the door, looking back at her reassuringly, and just as she thought he would collide face first with the wall, the tall boy disappeared behind the red bricks. The boy with gelled-back hair- Percy, apparently- went next, seeming very proud of himself for being a demonstrator. Soon enough the twins were through as well- the other one’s name was George- leaving Evannah to go next. 

The mother smiled encouragingly at Evannah “Now, off you go, dear. We’ll be right behind you. You’ll be all right.”

“Unless you're waiting for your parents…” offered the father, suddenly realising that the girl was alone.

“Oh, no, no. I’m on my own,” responded Evannah immediately, vaguely. “Right, guess I’ll go, then.”

She shot the family one last look before holding on tightly to her cart and running towards the bricks. Halfway through, Evannah was already regretting her decision. Was she about to be knocked over a second time in the same day? She was ready so splash her head against the wall, Atticus hissing his protests behind her, and then…

The twin that was not Fred nodded, “We really didn’t, we were trying to get to the Hogwar- to our train on time.”

“Oh, you’re going there too, aren’t you?” asked the girl. Gina?

“...where?”

“Hogwarts, of couse,” announced a completely new voice, and Evannah was faced with two other red-headed boys- wow, that’s a lot of children- and a tall man that must’ve been their father. “We saw the fall on the way here, hope you’re all right,” continued the voice. The second oldest of the children, a boy with the three top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Oh… yeah.” 

It must be real then. Okay.

“Us too.”

“First year?” asked the father.

“Er, yeah”

The twins straightened up. “Same as us, then.”

“Oh,” nice? Okay? Good to know? What do you say to people who knocked you over and were really nice about it? “-cool.”

“All right, we should start going to the platform, in any case,” spoke the father, ending the discussion, “Would you like to go first…?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Evannah. I’ve never… been before.” the girl gestured to the wall.

“Nervous, are you?” said Bill . “You won’t hit the wall, don’t worry. Did it for seven years, only ever hit my head on the train window.”

“Charlie, go on first, then, show her,” commanded the woman to the son with the unbuttoned top buttons. 

Charlie grabbed his trunk and rushed to the door, looking back at her reassuringly, and just as she thought he would collide face first with the wall, the tall boy disappeared behind the red bricks. The boy with gelled-back hair- Percy, apparently- went next, seeming very proud of himself for being a demonstrator. Soon enough the twins were through as well- the other one’s name was George- leaving Evannah to go next. 

The mother smiled encouragingly at Evannah “Now, off you go, dear. We’ll be right behind you. You’ll be all right.”

“Unless you're waiting for your parents…” offered the father, suddenly realising that the girl was alone.

“Oh, no, no. I’m on my own,” responded Evannah immediately, vaguely. “Right, guess I’ll go, then.”

She shot the family one last look before holding on tightly to her cart and running towards the bricks. Halfway through, Evannah was already regretting her decision. Was she about to be knocked over a second time in the same day? She was ready so splash her head against the wall- shielding Atticus, of course- and then…

...

[raineydays411]

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be  making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head. 

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved. 

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course  he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why? 

Because she has her mothers eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming. 

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother. 

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well.  He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair. 

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months. 

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him. 

“My lord, you--” 

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth. 

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there. 

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--” 

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

***  “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter  reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?” 

“Love”  ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes. 

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of. 

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence. 

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?” 

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?” 

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting. 

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine. 

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.” 

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table. 

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!”  Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,” 

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it.  He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him. 

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part. 

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times  prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound. 

Thor walks up to him with the baby. 

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child. 

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well. 

No, this was not his child. Not anymore. 

“Get rid of it.” 

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga. 

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.” 

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind  his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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[velvetmel0n]

Insatiable

Summary: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Automatic dub-con due to the pollen, penetrative sex, sex against a wall, Mando finds a loophole to take his helmet off but everything else stays on, the Child is sleeping don’t worry, little bit of cockwarming, soft ending

A/N: Me, posting fic during daylight hours? I’m just as surprised as you are, who am I

@damerondjarin​ @rzrcrst​ @okay-hotshot​ @beskars​ @acomplicatedprofession​ @huliabitch​ @pascalplease​ @darksideofclarke​ @thesefleshfailures @justawriterwithdreams​ @generaldamneron​ @criminal-cookies​ @someplace-darker​ @amarvelousmandalorian​ @roxypeanut​ @leahsafae​ @bunnyart-blog​ @duamuteffe​ @themandjalorian​ @hopelikethesun​ @dindjarindiaries​ @paniclana​ @winters-buck​ @pedropascalito​ @agentpike​ @hiscyarika​ @lesqui​ @mandadoration​ @the-huttslayer​ @poeticandors​ @tintinwrites​ @mserynlarsen​ @hystericalmedicine​ @queenofheavenandhell​ @himbopoes​ @qveenbvtch​ @bookshelvesandteacups​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​

Something is— something is wrong with the Mandalorian. The fact that he’s returning without the quarry is concerning enough but the way he’s moving, the way he’s hauling himself up the ramp and out of the jungle like he’s hurt is what sends your heart rocketing into your throat. You can’t see any chinks in the beskar even as he steps into the light of the Razor Crest and the rational part of your brain realizes that the lack of any outward signs of injury, that his armor is still in place, should make you feel better. 

Instead what it does is make you swallow, makes you want to reach out and run your hands along the gleaming metal and the thick fabric between the plates, fingers probing for something to fix. “Mando?” You hate how your voice sounds even as it’s leaving your mouth, thin and shaking under its own weight and you feel the anxiety curdle in your gut.

You had just put the Child down for the night and thought it was funny, this odd turn your life had taken in these last months. Going from odd job doer to nurse maid and medic and whatever else a situation may call for. You didn’t realize how attached you’d truly grown to it until now.

The Mandalorian grunts and the sound is ragged at the edges, and you watch with wide eyes as he sits heavily on the cot as if his legs won’t support him any longer and he— he starts tearing at his gloves, at his arm braces. Any other time you’d be fascinated by the skin he’s showing you, normally only glimpsed through blood and bacta spray, but now it only makes your blood run cold.

“Something got under the helmet,” His voice is slurred, the words crashing into one another before they leave the confines of his mouth. He sounds like he drank an entire jug of spotchka by himself and your brain starts to prickle with realization. “Just— I feel so, feel so hot,”

You swallow, careful to keep your distance now when just moments before you had wanted to run to him. “Did you notice any smells? Any...strange tastes in your mouth?” You know enough botany to have dread settling low in your stomach, replacing the anxiety that had been threatening to overtake you. You don’t think this planet houses a lethal strain— uncomfortable, yes. Life altering, perhaps. But not lethal.

The questions make him pause, thank Maker, because this is the most skin he’s ever shown you and already the guilt is gnawing. You know his Creed, piecing it together from the stories you’ve heard about the Mandalorians and from his own mouth, and you are terrified. Terrified that he’ll go for his helmet next, that you won’t be able to stop him in time and then what? What comes after?

“It smelled...sweet, but, but more than that—” He doesn’t know how to explain how it smelled sweet and spiced and soft. As soft as he knows your hands are when you patch him up somewhere he can’t reach, as soft as he imagines other places are. He shakes his head hard to dislodge that thought but it’s already taken hold and now he can’t stop. 

He’s having trouble remembering why it’s a bad idea to reach out for you, drag you into his lap and fill his hands and his mouth with you, gorge himself on sensation until he’s sick with it. He feels like he’s burning up, boiling from the inside out and his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton but it’s watering for you.

His mouth. That’s right, you asked him if he tasted anything. He did— some strange, flavored heat having curled into his mouth and he can’t describe the taste, just knows that it was good and he won’t be opposed to tasting it again. 

“I don’t know, something— something good,” The edges of his voice are fuzzed out by the vocoder but the rasp isn’t smoothed and his words skitter down your spine to settle low in your belly. You had spent months perfecting how you deal with the Mandalorian; friendly, compassionate, maybe a little teasing, but most of all understanding of his Creed and the Way and that meant ignoring the affection that had started to fester not long after you’d met. Ignoring the way your mind wandered at night or when you were alone, and it was all going to come crashing down because he’d had a run in with fucking adamari pollen.

If the circumstances weren’t so dire you think you’d laugh because this is ridiculous.

You swallow and raise your hands like you’re trying to placate something feral, show it that you mean it no harm. “We need to stay away from each other for the next few hours, alright?” You hate the way your voice sounds, thin and shaking underneath its own weight and you aren’t sure what you’re more scared of— him forgetting himself or you letting him. 

He’s breathing harshly but he only tilts his helmet at you, not realizing what you’re trying to say so you try again, tongue flicking over your suddenly dry lips. “You’ve heard of adamari, right?”

That causes him to still right down to his labored breathing and you rush to reassure him the only way you know how. “This one isn’t lethal we just— you just have to ride it out,” Maker, did he bring any in with him? You can feel yourself warming, goosebumps rising on your flesh the longer he looks at you from behind that dark visor but that could just be the Mandalorian himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, not even slightly, but it most certainly is the worst time.

“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” The words rumble through the vocoder and you can only nod, seeing the way his hands fist atop his thighs and you swallow thickly. You know you can’t stop him, you know you won’t want to stop him once he puts his hands on you and that’s why one of you has to leave.

“Look, it’s probably going to last the rest of the night. At least,” You tack the words on as an afterthought, figuring you should warn him before he’s too far gone, remembering how depending on the strain and the dosage the effects can last anywhere  between a few hours to a couple days.

You watch as the Mandalorian flexes his hands before he straps his braces back on, fitting his hands back into his gloves slowly as if the movements of covering himself back up are paining him now in some ironic twist of fate. “I’ll go.” The words are simple, brooking no arguments. Maybe they would have inspired more confidence if they hadn’t sounded like they were pushed through gritted teeth.

He hauls himself to standing, a mass of gleaming beskar and you hold your breath as he walks past you, not missing the way he pauses, the way his helmet cants towards you. “Take care of the kid for me,” It’s a forgone conclusion at this point but you understand his need to say it still and you nod, murmuring a simple ‘of course’ into the still air. He doesn’t resume walking right away, instead watching you for long, drawn out moments that make you feel like an ash-rabbit caught in a snare before he stumbles down the ramp, shaking his head.

You’re trembling as you shut the ship back up, not able to tell if your sigh is one of relief or disappointment as he keeps walking into the jungle.

Should you— should you activate the ground security protocols? You probably should in case something other than the Mandalorian tries to get in, but it almost feels like a betrayal as you do. You aren’t afraid of him, not really, and you don’t want him to think that you are. What you’re afraid of is you inadvertently causing his life to unravel because you can’t keep your eyes closed. You’re afraid that it’s the pollen to blame for this, that no part of him actually wants you. 

You try to distract yourself by checking on the Child, sleeping peacefully in his crib and you hope he remains that way for the rest of the night. You press a button on the machine and the canopy slides back into place, blocking out all the lights and noises of the Crest and you almost wish you could join him. 

You wonder if the famed Mandalorian discipline will be enough to keep away during the long hours of the night, that it will somehow overcome the effects of the drugging plant. Maybe he’ll get far enough away before it really slams into him.

You spend hours like this, unable to keep yourself from pacing around the Crest and jumping at every little noise, from the ship settling to the sounds of the jungle outside, and all the while wondering. Wondering how he’s faring, if it’s gotten worse yet. If he’s in pain and if it would have been a better idea to let him stay and help him. He might not have reached for his helmet like you’re so afraid of.

It’s the middle of the night and your nerves have started to dull, sleep beginning to pull on the edges of your brain. Nothing has activated the ground security protocols and you’ve found the rhythm in the noise of the nightbugs and the creatures and the groans of the Razor Crest. The Child hasn’t woken despite your pacing and nervous energy thrumming out, and all is well. 

And then the lights go out.

Adrenaline surges through your body and your heart kicks into a relentless pace and you almost feel like you’re floating with the sudden onset of energy as you spring from your place on the floor. No alarms are blaring. There are no sounds you don’t already recognize and there is nothing banging on the hull of the ship, demanding to be let inside. 

The Mandalorian has returned. The Mandalorian has returned and you can’t see a thing.

Arousal and anxiety clash in your gut, colliding until you’re shaking and you don’t know which is which. The dark serves as a loophole, but how strong is it? The urge to run wells up within you so strongly that you almost gasp, feeling your way through the dark as you try to figure out a place to hide.

What if he regrets it, afterwards? Thinks it’s shameful and can’t bear to be around you anymore? Even worse, what if it’s never spoken of again and you have to live with the knowledge of what he feels like, his skin against your own and buried inside of you and you won’t be able to do anything about it.

Your blood is rushing in your ears as you creep through the gloom, your mind racing. There are only so many places to hide in the Razor Crest and your first instinct is to hurl yourself into the storage closet he calls a bunk and seal yourself up in it but you know that would be asking for trouble. You think if you can make it to the ladder you might have a shot of scrambling up, sealing the hatch before the Mandalorian reaches you.

You’re pointedly ignoring the fact that he probably has some sort of nightvision equipped in his helmet and can obviously see better than you if he’s plunging the Crest into absolute darkness on a whim.

You don’t even think you breath as you move, barely picking your feet off the floor and somehow forcing yourself to go slow, to take your time so you don’t run headfirst into a wall. The goosebumps are back and the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you feel so thoroughly watched that you think you can feel his eyes on your like a caress. 

You don’t know how far you make it before you feel a heavy hand on the center of your back, pushing you up against the wall and then the Mandalorian is pressing himself against you, trapping you between two layers of solid metal and you almost keen from the sensation of it.

“M’sorry, I— I tried, so hard, I’m sorry,” He slurs into your ear and all the breath you’ve been holding leaves your lungs in a gust because you’re not hearing the blurry, filtered voice through the vocoder anymore and you can feel his lips on your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin desperately. He’s taken his gloves off too and his hands are everywhere. 

They slip beneath your tunic without warning and his skin is fever hot and rough, and you can’t stop yourself from shaking if you try when he grasps your breasts, cupping their fullness and squeezing, forcing a whine from your throat. He keeps mumbling apologies against your neck, soothing bites with his tongue and gasping for breath because there’s just so much of you he’s never touched, never felt like this and you’re so soft and warm and he’s losing his mind.

“S’okay, really,” You do your best to reassure him but you think the pollen is rubbing off you, it has to be because it’s like once he got you in his arms all that anxiety and fear that was festering and curdling in your stomach turned to pure heat in a single instant and you can feel the wetness already slicking the insides of your thighs. 

His chin hooks over your shoulder and you think he’s trying to watch himself play with you— you have no idea if he can even see but the idea that he’s trying cranks you higher. Your other senses have heightened to compensate for the lack of vision and maybe that’s the reason why you almost cry when his fingers clasp around your nipples. He pinches and rolls the puckering flesh, and you’re unable to stop the sob of his name that leaves your mouth. “M-Mando,”

The sound of that word on your lips, little more than a gasping moan, is what breaks him the rest of the way. The words come pouring out of his mouth then and fill your head up until the sound of them and his touch are the only things that exist for you. 

“Wanted this for s-so long and you— you’re—” You’re letting me, the thought finishes unspoken because he can’t believe it. You’re arching your spine and reaching behind you, clawing at any part of him you can reach and he loves it. He loves the way you taste and the sounds that are pouring from your lips and he’s never been this hard in his life.

His hands finally come unglued from your breasts and rasp down your side, his rough palms catching on your skin and the contrast has you both shaking. The Mandalorian doesn’t waste time, isn’t capable of it as he shoves his hand underneath the waistband of your pants and your underwear and— and he fucking chokes.

You’re so warm and wet that for a moment all he can do is groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his big body shuddering against your own. He drags a finger through your slit, in awe of just how wet you are for him as you rock in his palm. He can’t get over the fact that you’re almost sobbing for him now as he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers sloppily over your clit and he can feel your thighs quiver. 

“Im-imagined this,” He can’t stop himself from talking, needing to get the words out, to let you know that it isn’t pollen that’s caused all this. It only sped up the timeline, pushing him off the cliff he’s spent the past months edging towards. “Didn’t know yo-you’d be this— this warm,” His voice cracks on the last word and he groans raggedly into your ear because at that exact moment he’s slicking two of his fingers into your weeping cunt and some part of him thinks this is a hallucination. This has to be a hallucination because there’s no way you’re this hot, there’s no way you’re drenching his hand and moaning for him.

He tells you as much, rasping right into your ear how tight you are, how good you’re taking his fingers. How he’s been dying for this.

You try to brace yourself against the wall as your hips bear down on his thick fingers, able to feel the dips and ridges  of his knuckles while your free hand clutches at the arm he has wound around your waist to keep you crushed against him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes and you already feel so full but you’re greedy, and maybe the pollen has rubbed off on you after all because as amazing as his fingers are spearing up into you, you want his cock more.

You try to tell him but when you open your mouth to do so the only thing that comes out is a whimper because the Mandalorian is pressing the heel of his hand hard into your pubic bone while his fingers work, grinding your clit against his hand. You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into the line of your jaw, his breath huffing over your skin and it’s all too much.

You feel yourself clamp down on his fingers and your mouth hangs open and the only thing you can hear is the Mandalorian’s moan in your ear. He presses you harder into the wall and his hand stills, keeping the pressure on your clit and just curling his fingers within you. You don’t notice how your nails are digging into his wrist and the hand you have on the wall is shaking as it reaches back, blindly seeking the Mandalorian to pull him closer as your hips stutter and grind into his palm.

You don’t realize you’ve started begging him until the buzzing clears from your head. “Please, p-please, Man-Mando, just— I need your cock,” You sound as wrecked as you feel and the Mandalorian grunts somewhere behind you, ripping at his belt before the words are fully out of your mouth. You want to help him but your hands are shaking too much and you’re still trying to remember how to breathe properly when you feel a blunt pressure against your slippery folds.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and you’re rocking impatiently on just his tip, whining at the feel of his hands now gripping your hips to try and hold you still. You still haven’t gotten used to the feel of his bare hands on you and it’s like each brush of them, every squeeze and and rub making you feel almost delirious. They’re hot against you, fingers digging in around the bone and somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you know you’ll have marks later, a roadmap of where and how he touched you  and you can’t wait to trace your fingertips over them in the daylight.

Any control he’s managed to cling to is gone and he’s helpless not to buck his hips, filling you up in one decisive thrust that sends you lurching into the wall. You cry out from the sensation of his cock splitting you open, the stretch pinching just enough for the pain to put the pleasure into focus, sharpening it to a razor’s edge. 

This is what he’s been hiding underneath all that beskar? The thought slides across your mind like a tendril of smoke, half formed and nearly transparent before it blinks out of existence as fast as it came into being because the Mandalorian is rutting over you, armor biting into the backs of your thighs as he tries to press as close as physically possible each time he bottoms out within you.

He’s barely pulling out, as if he can’t stand the thought of separating from you even just the few inches he needs for leverage, is something unbearable and it is glorious.  The tears have spilled from your eyes and his hands are clutching you, arms banding around your front to keep you molded to his chest so tightly that your breathing is restricted from the pressure across your chest but you can’t manage to care.

You aren’t being granted any sort of reprieve from how deliciously full you are and you think you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags inside you, scraping heavily against that one specific spot that’s causing you to see stars in the darkness, pinpricks of light igniting behind your eyelids. His name is falling pathetically from your lips, your high pitched and needy and he just keeps going. His mouth at your ear, slurring how you feel around him, how well you’re taking him and how he never wants to leave your heat. 

You use his voice, so much clearer without the vocoder, as a homing beacon and reach a trembling hand over your shoulder, sifting your fingers through the sweaty curls you find at the nape of his neck. He shudders and snarls when you give them an experimental tug and you feel it right down to your toes— so you do it again.

He digs his hips into yours in a rhythm that borders on brutal and you’re only able to last for so long because the arm around your stomach drops low and he’s pressing his fingers into your clit again, quick and desperate.  And then, almost before you realize what’s happening, your vision is whiting out and your pussy is clamping down around his cock, your flesh pulsing around him as you hang, suspended time time and unable to feel anything but the pleasure as it rockets up your spine and covers your skin like syrup, thick and sticky-sweet.  Your mouth is hanging open but no sound comes out at first and— and then you’re mewling some pitiful parody of his name because he’s fucking you through the first orgasm and on into the second if he doesn’t stop.

Which he doesn’t. You’re sensitive and shaking and he isn’t stopping, driving into you again and again before he stills, cock buried as deep as he could manage and he moans. The sound is broken against your shoulder, blunt teeth indenting your skin and you’re sure you’ve never heard anything better.  Liquid heat fills you, makes you arch and writhe and feel almost like a lothcat in heat. 

The Mandalorian doesn’t move away from you like you had been so afraid of just hours before, doesn’t rush to cover himself or start offering apologies. Instead you feel him panting against your upper back and he slackens his bite, laving at the marks he left with his tongue. He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, rumbling a single word that has you quivering all over again— 

“More.”

Hours later you’re sprawled atop the Mandalorian, your cheek resting against the cool metal of his cuirass and his cock still buried in you. You have no idea how long you’ve been laying like that, his hand drifting across your back, tracing nonsense patterns along your spine with his bare fingers. He put his helmet back on sometime during the night and as much as you missed the access to his mouth, the sound of his unfiltered voice, you understood.

You’re drifting somewhere between being awake and unconsciousness, only aware of the feel of his hands, the hard lines of beskar pressing into your skin, and how full you feel, reminded of that in particular every time you so much as twitch.

You hum in sleepy acknowledgement when he calls your name, only raising your head when he squeezes your shoulder and gives it a little shake. You rest your chin on your hand and fix his visor with what you hope isn’t a look of lazy contempt, though whatever your expression may have been it melts at the first touch of his hand on your cheek and you can’t resist the urge to nuzzle into his warm palm.  The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that your eyes are starting to drift shut when he begins to speak, soft and slow. “This, it—  it started because of the pollen,” He lets the words hang in the air and you have the sense that he chose the words carefully. He doesn’t take his hand from you, letting you lean the weight of your head into his palm, thumb stroking the delicate skin underneath your eye so slowly you don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing.

You don’t answer him right away, instead you lift yourself up just enough for you to be able to reach his helmet, doing your best to ignore the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls and you can feel him tense right through the beskar. You don’t reach for it. You don’t even move your hands from where they’re braced against his chest. Instead you move slowly and carefully, leaning forward to press your lips to the visor in a soft kiss before you settle back onto his chest.

You hear his sigh through the vocoder, the tension seeping out from underneath you and you feel your lips pulling into a smile as you close your eyes. You’re higher up than you were before, just enough for your cheek to press into the softer spot between his cuirass and his pauldron and you want to hum with contentment. You know that you have to talk about this sooner or later, but for now you only want to bask in the afterglow, in the languid soreness that’s settling into your muscles.

[queenkrissy11-fandomaccount]

Long Gone - Bucky Barnes x Reader

After weeks of a strained relationship, one fight and a surprise is enough for Y/N to run away and not look back.

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be long gone. Don’t look for me, you won’t find anything.

You suck in a deep breath and tuck the note into the door. No turning back now.

Sure, you and Buck had your ups and downs but last night was different.

You were dealing with a depressive episode when he came home to the compound. You tried not to bother him with your sour feelings and it worked. He didn’t notice, though you weren’t sure how he could have when he didn’t wander in until well past midnight and smelt like cheap rum.

Then he had the nerve to try and crawl into your bed without a word.

“Are you joking?” You finally muttered.

“What?”

“Are you that drunk or just that clueless?” You demanded. “You left a shitty note about going to check out a terrorist threat and then ignored my texts all day. And then followed it with a trip to the bar before letting you fiancée know you’re alive? I’ve been worried sick for hours!”

He stopped pulling on the covers and rolled his eyes, “Sorry I didn't text you back, doll. I was busy saving the world. And who cares if I went for a drink?”

You knew it sounded like an over reaction but it went much deeper than that. You’d been having panic attacks left and right the past weeks over his job and he knew that. He had sat on the floor with you in his arms and assured you he’d check in when possible. Told you how he’d call you after every fight to tell you he was okay. You came to find there was no substance behind his words. They were just sweet nothings to calm you down.

“Why would Steve be returning my calls before you? I’m not worried about a stupid night at the bar! I feel like I’m losing you and you don’t care!”

A part of you knew you were looking to start a fight, to feel something from him other than indifference and annoyance. It had been a couple weeks since he’d shown any sign of giving a shit about you. You needed to know if there was anything left before you told him the latest news. You didn’t want Bucky if it was just for the baby. Sure, you knew he would step up but you didn’t know if that was for the best. An avenger for a father and parents that didn’t want to be together? You were pretty sure the baby inside you would be better off raised by a single mother in the middle of nowhere, far from the long list of enemies Bucky had.

He glared for a long second before snatching a pillow, “I’m not dealing with this tonight. I’ll be on the couch if that overbearing urge to check up on me gets to strong.” He slammed the door behind him and you broke into sobs.

You allowed yourself five minutes to be upset before wiping your tears and setting off to pack a bag. You didn’t grab much, only a weeks worth of clothes, a gun, and the running away back pack Tony had made for you. You tucked the duffel and the back pack underneath the bed.

You were faking it when Buck crept in the next morning to get ready for the job of the day. He hesitated in front of you and for a moment you were ready to throw your plans out the door. He shook his head and moved on and your resolve grew. You were leaving and it would be for the best.

Once he was gone you scribbled out the note and fiddled with the engagement ring on your finger. You knew you should leave it but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. You still loved him even if he didn’t love you. It wouldn’t hurt to bring one part of him with you. You glanced at your still small stomach, well, two.

Pepper didn’t bat an eye at your request to borrow a car. You snagged the keys to one of the nondescript SUVs and took off. About a mile down the road you pulled over and ripped out the tracking software on the car. You threw it in the dumpster behind a 7-11 along with your cell phone.

You drove, only stopping for gas, until you hit a small town in Virginia. You knew the town well but no one would know you. Every summer from the ages of 5 to 15 was enough to make an impact on you but not the town. You pulled into the drive of your grandmother’s old house. You had inherited the place when she died a couple years ago but due to working with the Avengers you didn’t have a need for it. The key slipped right into the deadbolt. The place looked just how you remembered it, only with more dust. The furniture was still there but you found what was all. The small knick knacks and mementoes were gone, likely claimed by other family members after her passing. 

The old clock on the wall said it was 5. Plenty of time to get started on cleaning the place up.

It was a long and hard pregnancy. The super soldier serum running through your son added a couple complications. He grew fast and was much stronger than he should be. He did a number on your body from the inside but it was all worth it when you held him in your arms. You cursed your luck when he came out with a head full of dark hair and winter blue eyes. 

You found work at a diner, making a living in tips. The great thing about tips is they tend to be paid in cash and it’s hard to trace cash. You were careful. No one was going to find you or your son. Andrew became the light of your life

Life was peaceful, a bit repetitive but safe. The biggest threat was your neighbor Travis. You would take a borderline stalker over Nazis any day. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” You mutter to yourself when Travis saunters into the diner. He was your typical tool. Peaked in high school playing football. Can’t handle rejection. Full of himself. 

“Good afternoon, table for one?” You put on a sweet smile.

“Just me, babygirl.” A chill runs down your spine but you shake it off and lead him to an empty booth. 

“I’ll give you a minute to decide what you want but can I get you a drink?” You hand over the laminated menu.

“I already know exactly what I want and I think you do too.” He gives you a smirk and you have to resist the urge to jam your pen into his eye. 

“Bacon cheeseburger?” You ask innocently.

He laughs it off but hands you his menu so you turn to put his order into the kitchen. You can feel his eyes on you as he walks away. 

The day drags on and Travis sticks around. First for an order of fries. Then a shake. By the time that’s gone it’s late enough for a couple beers. He finally pays his tab and leaves ten minutes before closing. You’re relieved until you notice his Honda still in the parking lot when you leave. 

You pat the holster in the waistband of your pants before making your way to the SUV in the back of the parking lot. The silver car tails you and it takes four right turns before you could go to pick up Andrew from his sitter. 

Travis was back home when you finally pulled in. You double checked that the door was locked behind you before you went upstairs with Andy. He toddled around your room while you got ready for bed. Tonight you didn’t feel like fighting him on sleeping in the crib so you tucked him in you arms in your own bed. 

Around two in the morning you woke up to the sound of glass shattering. You jumped out of bed with Andrew in your arms and grabbed the gun next to your bed. 

Creeping down the stair you hear someone in the kitchen. You’re only ten feet from the front door. You take a deep breath, set Andrew at your feet, and bring the gun up. You were trained by Avengers. You wouldn’t miss the shot as long as you didn’t hesitate. You wait for the figure to come into view and pull the trigger. The deafening bang goes off and he hits the ground. You snatch up Andrew and run for the door. Travis is next to you before you can get in your car. 

“What’s going on? I heard a gun?” He’s half naked and more alert than he was when he left the diner. 

You’re scrambling for your keys when your front door flies off the hinges and the man you just shot steps out. 

“This isn’t happening! How is it still following me?” You’re breaths are struggling to come and go. You push Andrew into Travis’ arms and aim at the man again. It doesn’t seem to do any damage. It just pisses him off. You take another shot and get the same result. You’re about to try again when a blur of a figure tackles the man. The moonlight catches on one of his arms and you’re frozen in place. 

You grab the toddler and turn to run but Travis is a little too ready to play hero. He picks you up bridal style and runs.

He doesn’t make it fifty feet before a blond wall of muscle stops him. “Y/N?” Steve mutters after pulling you out of his arms. “What, what are you doing here?” Andrew begins crying louder and clinging to you. Steve finally looks down and has to take a step back. 

“I can explain,” You start. Suddenly, you’re pushed to the pavement and Travis is throwing a punch at Captain America. Steve’s head turns with the force but his body stays planted. You kick yourself at the satisfaction you feel when Steve shoves Travis back. He crouches down in front of you and offers a hand.

“Let’s try that explanation now.” 

You hear Bucky scoff behind him, “This will be good.” He freezes in his tracks when he takes in the site. You’re wearing a silk slip on the ground clutching a child that can’t be much more than a year old. 

He stares for a long moment before shaking himself out of it and shrugging off his jacket. He wraps it around your shoulders before helping you to your feet. 

You’re caught off guard by the rush of emotions when you look at him and hot tears well in your eyes, “I am so sorry Buck.”

He tries to be mad but can’t stop himself from pulling you into his arms. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, relishing in the feeling of you in his arms again. Andrew reaches his arms up and around your neck protectively, finally catching Bucky’s attention. 

He steps back suddenly, “Who’s this?”

You swallow hard, knowing the storm that’s coming. “This is your son. Andrew James Barnes.”

“My what?” He looks at you in disbelief then back to Andrew.

“Let’s go inside?” You suggest.

Bucky stops inside the doorway and admires the wall of pictures. The majority of them Andrew at every stage so far. You were in a few with him but there was only a handful of just you. They’re different stages of your pregnancy. He swallows hard when he takes in the sight of you in the third month. That’s when the toll started being taken. He broke the first rib kicking right around that time. He was delivered at six months, the serum making him grow much faster. As the pictures got closer to delivery you looked more and more like a corpse. Bucky hated that he wasn’t there for you for any of it, that he didn’t even know you were dealing with it. 

“He definitely takes after you. The serum is in his DNA.” You say quietly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? How could you just leave and take my child with you?” You can hear the emotion behind each of his words.

“You didn’t want to be with me and I wasn’t going to make you feel obligated to.” You knew it sounded pathetic, “And you have enough enemies to worry about. I didn’t want that for our son.”

“Our son,” He repeats quietly. “How is he so big? You’ve only been gone for a year.”

You rub and hand over his cropped hair, “His development is a lot faster than  a normal childs. He’s only about seven months old but he compares to children almost twice that, but even then he’s much stronger.” 

“Can I hold him?” He seems unsure of himself but you happily hand him over.

Bucky extends his fingers to Andrew in his lap. Andy curiously takes two in his small hands and you flinch, knowing how tight his grip can get. Bucky watches him, unfazed by the ridiculous strength. He holds Andrew close to him for a few minutes before Andrew tries to climb back to you.

“You’re both coming back to the compound.” Bucky stands up.

“Like hell we are! This is our home. This is where we’re safe. And I won’t let you feel obligated to take me back because we have a baby.”

He gives you a serious look, “Bullshit. That ring on your finger says you’re still mine. And in what world is this safer than the compound? An alien broke in tonight!”

Before you knew it you were in the quinjet headed back to the base. Bucky never let you out of his sight. On the bright side, the ride provided plenty of time for apologies. Neither of you were happy with the others choices but you could understand them and move past them.

[visd3stele]

The beauty and his beast - wolfstar fic

summary: two different nights, years passed, some things changes, but some never do

TW: nightmares, PTSD, trauma, non depictive child abuse, themes of suicidal thoughts

A/N: I loved writing this, but I am so nervous about it. What do you think?

requests ; masterlist

fanart credit picture down below: @lunopal

Ragged voices licked his ears. Three different ones overlapped in a cacophony of hissed whispers and dooming laughs. From where he stood in the middle of his cell, Sirius could see a silhouette standing in the open door. Open, because there was no way he could escape. Three Dementors floated in a circle around him, so fast he could barely tell them apart. Black smoke, a burning smell and shadows whirled under low hoods, bringing him to his knees.

The man in the door curled his lips in a terrible grin. The Dementors were his and with each mind they broke, with each soul they ate, the wizard gained a sense of pride and morbid joy.

Sirius knew it. He knew the man, back in his school years - how far they seemed now! But Sirius also knew he was delusional. The Dementors bow to no one. They have no law, no caretaker, no master. Only their purpose.

Continuing to swirl around his frail body, sinked in to a third of what it used to be, bony edges poking out through dirty thin layers of clothing, the Dementors closed in on Sirius. Flashes of memories flew before the Animagus' eyes. James' empty ones, still open in a silent plea for his sacrifice to be enough to save his family, his brown hair dipped in his own blood, body angled in an unnatural position with his hand stretched forward above his head as if reaching for his best friend. Lily's tears, yet to dry and evaporates, stained her too pale face, the red of her hair sprayed around too lively; no blood pools formed around her lifeless body, laid on its belly as it fell onward, as if leaping away from her son, so the baby won't have to see it. And finally Harry, his godson, crying in his crib, a brown-red crust shaped like a lightning forming on his forehead; his green, small eyes, swollen, puffy and trimmed with red followed his godfather as the man turned his back on him and ran outside.

Sirius cursed loudly, beginning to shackle the chains trapping him in place in case he tried to escape the daily visit of the Prison Warrant and his guards. But the now twenty five years old has stopped trying to run a long time ago. What good would it be? There was nothing - no one - waiting from him out in the world. No, Sirius trashing around the cold, dirty dais, snapping the metal biting in his wrists, bruising his effervescent skin and almost cracking his bones as well was his attempt to run from his own mind. If he could just wipe the haunting memories away with a shook of his head, a twist of his back or punching and kicking the thick walls.

Fragments of thoughts he wasn't sure belonged to him invaded his mind. "Your fault. Traitor. Another Black." And, worst of all, one pained howl, a desperate scream in the night. Sirius wasn't sure if he heard it, or the dark creatures around toyed with him, but Remus' wild, feral yell of pure hurt reverberated inside the bars of his mind. The young wizard shut his eyes closed tightly, hoping to brush away the sound, the voices. Failing to do so, he released a scream of his own, only a hint of Padfoot, the big, black dog, his alter ego, printed in it.

The thirty four years old man yanked up. The bed sheets were soaked in his sweat, the blanket throwed on the floor. Sirius passed a shacking hand over his face, feeling the hot air leaving his mouth in short breaths, than big inhales with no exhale, the burning of tears on his warm red cheeks and the running nose. His lips felt sewed together all of a sudden, as chill after chill entered his body, cooling off his face too quickly.

It was just a nightmare, he knew. He escaped Azkaban, has been a free man from over a week already. But Sirius Black couldn't let the twelve years in prison go. The things he saw there, what the Dementors showed him day after day, carved their way in his brain, refusing to leave. Yes, he may have been wrong: his family and living friend welcomed him back. Harry was warming up to hid godfather, Nymphadora Tonks was eager to know her uncle, Andromeda even reached out, sending letter after letter and Remus - well, Remus hugged him tight and apologized for believing that filthy rat's lies. The werewolf spent his days, from first ray of sunshine until the last drop of sunlight. But the nights he went home. The nights when ghosts came to play, wounds teared open and pain leaked like blood from Sirius' heart, Remus was gone.

He tried to remember a time they didn't share a bed - before Azkaban, of course. Not in a sexual way, though it came to that in the late years of Hogwarts too. But simply for the comfort they each found in the other. It started in the second year, Sirius recalled.

Four twelve years old boys in a room seemed like a receipt for disaster. In a way, it was. After finding out their friend's secret, James, Sirius and Peter decided to sneak in the herbology cabinet, get Mandrake leaves and become Animagus. Seeing as they got away with it, the four created their enchanted map and become the Marauders, messers Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail, waltzing their merry way through Hogwarts.

Not everything was merry and joyful, though. And despite their reputation, the wizards could be grave and serious when need be. Like one night, when Sirius woke them all up with his cries. The grey eyed boy stood on top of his bed covers, knees drawn to his chest, hands tangled in his shoulder length hair. He leaned back and forth, trembling. Front teeth bit in his lower lip to prevent him from making more noises as silent tears rolled down his face.

The other three boys thought Sirius saw a mean spirit, the haunted glassy look in his eyes only proving their theory further. But no danger threatened in the shadows of their room. No monster lurked in the darkness.

James was the first to get up and surf his way to the pure blood. Remus followed closely behind while Peter watched everything from the safety of his bed. Sirius' episode truly spooked him.

"Padfoot, mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. 'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

James and Remus changed worried looks at the sourness of Sirius' voice. Their friend would usually be the epitome of confidence, yet now he seemed to desperately try to shrink and disappear. But it was late and they were tired, so the boys decided with a swift nod that they'd pick up the subject in the morning and climbed back under their covers.

Remus jolted awake. Two out of his three best friends were sound asleep. Sirius still stared at the wall in front of him, breathing jerky. Due to his fine, superior hearing, the werewolf discerned the Black boy's muffled whimpers, sounds that kept him from sleeping.

"Sirius, why are you so afraid?" Remus whispered.

" 'm not afraid, Moony. Sleep."

"Can't. Werewolf remember? I hear you trying to not cry. You can cry, you know."

"I know." Sirius said in a tone that clearly showed he doesn't. With a sigh, Remus threw away his blanket, slipped his feet in his shoes and trailed his legs over the dorm's brick daises until he reached his friend's bed. The brown haired boy signed Sirius to scoop over, which he did, to both wizards surprise.

Later, when talking about that night, Padfoot admitted he was too tired, too shocked and too lost in his mind to think and only acted on auto pilot.

Remus brought the blankets to cover them both, still seated as they were. "Do you need a hug?" Sirius hesitated before answering, but eventually he nodded twice, a quick movement as if the boy was ashamed to admit it and wanted to pass unnoticed.

But Remus smiled softly and wrapped his hands around him. Sirius clinged onto his friend. The warmth of the gesture, the cozy closeness of a settled, stable body, a person that cared deeply about him and only him as a being, set the restrained tears free. Remus held Sirius until his body stilled and he could feel no more tears soaking his pajamas.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sirius swallowed, but the words demanded to be spoken. "Yes."

"Alright. I'm gonna ask you questions and you can answer with yes or no. It's your choice if you want to elaborate. Sounds good?"

"Yes." Sirius said and for a moment his usual, ironic self showed up.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes."

"About your family?"

With a shudder, the grey eyed boy forced out another "yes."

"Your brother?"

"No."

"Your parents, then. Did they - did they do something to you?"

"Yes." Remus' arms tighten around him and he clunged harder to his friend as well. In the safety of the Gryffindor dorm, shared with his most trusted peers, comforted by the scarred boy he became an Animagus for, Sirius stumbled over his thoughts. The dream weighted heavy on his mind, but he didn't know how to let free of those horrible images that haunted him. Not images, memories. Sirius feared that if he said anything they'll become real. Not that they weren't, but they happened in the past. Talking about them, invoking them, would feel like living through them again.

And yet, part of him wanted to talk. He needed someone to know. Sirius couldn't be sure why. Maybe to hear that it was nothing, that it was ok and he shouldn't be such a weak ship. Or maybe to hear it was normal and he wasn't alone. That is how parents love and his didn't hate him after all. Or just to show someone how broken he were, hoping to be picked un and patched.

So, speaking slowly, but evenly, Sirius retailed his nightmare to Remus. In his sleep, the twelve years old boy was hanging some muggle posters in his room: bands, promo for concerts, normal things a boy his age would own. He smiled broadly, music turned on quite loud, muggle music, when his parents bursts in. Walburga and Orion both yell, but Sirius can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s pretty clear they are very upset with him, though. And the reason couldn’t be more obvious. 

“Sirius Orion Black!” his mother shrieked. “Ungrateful, worthless child! You are a stain on the family’s name.”

“You should be ashamed of you. As much as I am for being your father. Well, say something. Look how upset you made your mother!”

“Sorry,” he’d try to say, but his voice would break, too small to be heard by the angry adults. Which only worsened their state. Sirius watched frozen in terror as Walburga took her wand. Only his head seemed to be able to move, and he was shacking it vigorously, wiping his cheeks with it. The young wizard tasted tears on his tongue as he repeated the same words over and over again “no, please, ‘m sorry!” It did nothing to help. 

Remus stayed in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The moon shone mockingly on the window. Last night has been a full moon and Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail failed to properly contain Moony. It happened quite a lot in their first days as Animagus. As normal, they got better over the years, the four boys falling in rhythm like an oiled machine. By the time they reached excellency, though, mistakes happened. James, Peter and Sirius thought less of it, but Remus took it badly. 

As he laid in the dark, blanket drawn to cover his head as he hugged his knees on the side, the young werewolf tried to remember what happened last night. What if he killed someone? What if he will next time the boys won’t be able to restrain him? Is it worth living like this, a danger to himself and the ones around? What if he hurts his friends? 

“I can hear your mind working from over here y’know?”

Remus straighten up in shock. “Padfoot?”

“Well, it’s not the Fat Lady. What’s on your mind?”

Remus shrugged, but Sirius wouldn’t stop pestering him until he poured his deepest fears and doubts. 

“You won’t”

“How do you know this?”

“You won’t, Moony,” Sirius said more firmly this time.

“Alright.” Remus clearly didn’t believe him and his worries still troubled him as he turned to lay back down. He heard footsteps, then felt the mattress shifting as another body climbed over his bed covers. “I know because I am Sirius Black and you are my friend.” Less than an hour later, both boys were sound asleep.

Sirius slept in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It became a tradition. At first, they'd wait until one of them woke frozen in pain and panic, then they'd stay together and talk silently until they could sleep again. Later, Sirius and Remus would wait until James and Peter were out to decide who's bed to sleep in, knowing one of them - or both - ought to need the comfort.

The man kept trembling. His sobs caught in hiccups, leaving him out of breath. He did it. He left Harry for revenge. He practically made the choice for James and Lily, selecting Peter as secret keeper. His brother died and instead of mourning him, Sirius rejoiced bitterly in his cell - until he found out how he betrayed the Dark Lord.

He was just another Black. An evil presence in the world, despite his efforts. Gryffindor or Slytherin, it mattered not when his genes crafted him. Sirius tried so hard to be good, brave, loyal and the only thing he managed was to disappoint everyone. He was a nuisance and a burden and the a stain on the world. It'd be better if his sorry, useless existence would be wiped off the surface of the Earth.

Such thoughts clouded Sirius' mind when a light knock pulled him out of his head. "May I come in, Padfoot?"

The man almost broke at the nickname. Only one single person now would know to call him that. The weight of the realization hit him and another wave of tears carried the air from his lungs.

Receiving no answer, Remus kicked the door open, worry written all over him. The werewolf was panting and sweating from running, eyes wide close to terror. "Padfoot!" Seeing his oldest friend's state, he rushed to his side and hesitated only a moment before drawing him in for a hug.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Azkaban?"

"Yes."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. They-" Sirius gulped, shame tightening up in his throat. He was a thirty four man, for Godric's sake! And yet he cries like a baby. But the path he and Remus trailed off to, simple questions, any type of answer, so familiar and soothing he couldn't stop. "They tortured me. Showing me their - James and Lily's - death over and over. I left Harry, Moony. I stepped inside the house, saw that beautiful, brave child, suffering and I took off after bloody Pettigrew!" Before Remus could say a thing, Sirius continued, teeth so barred that words barely spitted out. "I heard you screaming too. I don't think that was real, but it sounded so broken, Moony. Twelve years, over twenty four full moons alone. 'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Remus inhaled sharply, pulling Sirius even closer to him. He rubbed circles on his back, leaning to whisper in his ear "It was not, Padfoot. I should have trusted you more, star. If anything, it's my fault for spending so much time alone. So much, in fact, that it seems I neglected you, our agreement."

“It was my fault.” Sirius insisted.

“No,” and not letting him time to argue, Remus added “I know so, Sirius, because I am Remus Lupin and you are my... friend.”

Sirius pulled away only to find a reluctant smile playing on Remus' face. His body reacted before his mind could process its moving. He moved on the right side of the bed, still avoiding the other wizard's eyes. "Why are you here, Remus?"

"I couldn't sleep either. Thought to check on you as well. And good thing I did. You looked..." The professor didn't know how to finish that sentenced. Hollow. Empty. Dead. Scaringly close to death, in fact.

"Merlin! Thank you, Moony. You don't look bad yourself."

Remus chuckled. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Both men laughed. A bitter sweet sound passing through silence, taking with it any sign of discomfort that existed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

[talkfastromance4]

Are lily ,posy and Oliver helpings daddy deal with the stress of the album coming out in two days?

How about momma? Maybe a bj to help him relax?

I love this ask so so so much because you made it into the Luke&Lily universe 🥺 and the last part is *chefs kiss* I hope you like it!💕

***

With the album only two days away, Luke wanted to have one last listening party with everyone over at the house. You were more than ecstatic to abide that because he's been nervous ever since he announced a solo album release.

The two of you spent many late nights discussing it, more of you encouraging him to write his heart out. Ashton helped as much as he could as hype man as well considering he released an album almost a year ago now.

You were all gathered around the fire pit outside letting Luke's ethereal voice serenade you into the summer evening. Lily and Posy loved to dance to his songs, they twirled and did their own version of a ballerina's pirouette.

You were sat on Luke's lap watching the girls dance and everyone else's reaction to his heart coming through. Ashton had his head pointed to the stars alternating his eyes from open to close humming along to the choruses. Calum sat forward with his elbows on his knees staring into the fire, Luke's words resonating with him on a deeper level.

Crystal held Oliver in her arms, a soft smile on her face as she rocked with the ballads. Michael had his arm around her, staring at Oliver with a look of concentration and admiration.

"This is what I had trouble with at this next bit," Luke murmurs in your ear. His arms tighten around your waist, his lips move against your shoulder when he speaks.

You listen intently but in your ears, it's all perfect and beautiful. You know this album backwards and forwards. When the kids were asleep you'd listen to all of his alternate ideas. It made you warm inside that he wanted to share this with you, this project that was just Luke; soft, tender, real.

Halfway through, Lily climbed onto Calum's lap and listened quietly with the rest of them. Posy snuggled with Ashton, she played with his bracelets on his wrists humming along to her daddy's voice.

When the album ended there was a moment of silence. Luke squeezed you again, his breath hitching and then everyone clapped.

"It's sensational, mate, well done," Ashton shakes his head.

"Yeah, it's perfect," Calum agrees.

"Thanks," Luke sighs keeping cover behind your shoulder. "I've been feeling like I'm going to throw up all week."

"Everyone's going to love it, Luke," Michael adds.

"That's what I've been telling him," you smile at him proudly. You brush back a curl from his face. "It's beautiful, babe, truly."

It wasn't very long until Posy and Oliver became fussy. Posy was clinging to Luke and Oliver's cries were of the sleepy kind. With hugs and kisses and more words of encouragement, they all left.

You could see the stress in Luke's shoulders as the two of you did the nightly routine with all three kids.

"Does this mean you'll be leaving sooner?" Lily asks him as he brushes her hair.

"Leaving? Where am I going, sweets?"

"With Uncle Cal, on tour," she's playing with the ears of her pink bunny. The pink bunny Luke gave her when he first met her.

"Oh. No, I won't be leaving. This record is more like...it's like a diary," Luke explains. "It helps me sort out my thoughts and feelings and music helps as well."

"I want a diary."

"I'll get you one," he smiles setting her brush down and kisses the top of her head. "Into bed, my sweet."

Oliver is in your arms and Posy is hanging onto your fingers as you enter Lily's room. Luke tucks her in kissing her forehead.

"Sweet dreams sweet Lily," he murmurs. "I love you."

"Love you dada," she smiles.

Posy hugs Lily goodnight and Luke scoops her up in his arms, her head falls heavily on his shoulder.

"Your turn for bed, love bug," Luke tells her and you follow them into her room.

Posy sets her in her toddler bed, making sure her purple elephant is right next to her. You're patting at Oliver's butt when he makes a noise listening in to the short story Luke is telling Posy. This one was about a fairy Princess named Posy who loved to dance and dream.

"Sometimes, she would sleep on a star," Luke's voice is hushed, his hand stroking over the top of her head. "And it would take her high in the sky so close to the moon. The moon watched over the fairy Princess Posy until the sun came and woke her up with a warm kiss."

"I think she's out," you whisper. Luke kisses her cheek then you give him Oliver to hold.

"Goodnight my Posy girl," you whisper and kiss her forehead.

You leave her door open a crack then move into Oliver's nursery. He's already been asleep for a while so Luke sets him in his crib gently. You let him talk to his son for a moment and hold out your hand when he turns around. Luke takes your hand warmly in his bringing it to his mouth for a kiss.

"I love you," he whispers, baby blues steady on yours.

"I love you."

You thought you'd be getting ready for bed and fall asleep together but Luke mentioned he left something outside. You shrug it off and did your own nightly routine waiting for him to return.

Thirty minutes went by and Luke still wasn't in bed with you. You make sure to grab the baby monitor before you go to find him. Sure enough, he's downstairs in his music room, the sounds of his album luring you closer and closer.

Luke's sitting on the couch, his arms spread along the back of it with his head against the wall. His foot is bouncing with the beat and he's singing along quietly to himself.

You can feel his nerves from the doorway and an idea sparks in your mind. You close the door behind you in case the girls wake up but they're out like lights so you're pretty sure they won't come in here. Oliver's monitor is placed on a pile of records and you move in front of Luke on the floor. You touch his knee delicately.

"Hey," he mumbles, his head still pointed towards the ceiling.

"What're you doing down here all by yourself?" you ask touching his other knee. You're silently rubbing up his legs in a soothing way.

"Thinking. I can't believe this is gonna be heard in two days," he rubs his face with his hand.

"You know what I think?" you ask stretching up over his legs, your palms sliding up his thighs to the center of his crotch. You stroke your thumb over his clothed dick in a teasing manner and that gets his attention. His head perks up.

"I'd love to know what you think, lovie," he exhales watching you.

With your eyes on his, you rub over his growing bulge until you think it becomes a bit uncomfortable.

"I think," you undo his pants and tug them down, down, down to his ankles. He helps kicking them off. You're still rubbing at his hips, and you press butterfly kisses to his thighs, up, up, up. "I think you need to relax."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you nod grabbing his fully hard dick in your palm. You stroke him slightly and you nip at his love handle loving the way his stomach clenches. "And I think I can help."

"I think you can, too," he smiles.

You turn your head to kiss his hip, then leave open mouthed kisses up his shaft until you're at the tip. You bat your eyes at him as you close your lips around his head, swirling your tongue over him. Your hand moves down with your mouth as you swallow him as far as you can.

"Oh, baby," he moans. His hand flies to your hair, not adding pressure but just to hold you. You hum at his moan as you lift your mouth off him only to go back down again.

Your mouth and hand work in tandem until he's slick with your spit then you fondle his balls with your fingers.

"Fuck, lovie, just like that. Mm," he moans again lifting his hips to meet your mouth.

"Like that?" you ask and he gasps at the vibration of your words. "You're so good, baby. Everyone's going to love your album."

"Don't talk about the album now," he nearly whines, "just keep--ah doing what you're doing."

You smile and bob your head back down, gagging slightly when his hips meet your throat. Luke's thighs clench beneath your fingers and you know he's close so you start to move faster.

"Lovie, lovie, lovie, lovie," he pulls you off him and onto his lap.

"I wasn't done," you protest.

"I want you."

A shared desire is exchanged in both your eyes and you both work quickly to remove your shorts and underwear. Luke guides himself inside of you and you slip over him easily.

"Look at me, lovie," he whispers.

When you do, he takes hold of your hips and thrusts heavily into you, you gasp loudly.

"Shh, shh, c'mere," he silences your gasps with his own mouth.

You rock your hips with him enthusiastically, feeling the pleasure rise up your neck and down to your toes. You're a mess of heated breath and pants, movements becoming jerky.

"Come with me, lovie...let me feel you," he murmurs. With a final snap of his hips, you cry out against his lips and he lets out a loud groan as he fills you up with warmth.

"Luke," you sigh resting your body heavily against him. When you say his name he smiles against you because what you really said was 'I love you.'

"I love you, too, Y/N. Thank you for being my everything."

"You're my everything," you frame his cheeks in your hands. "I'm so proud of you."

**

Taglist: @calumance  @in-superbloom @calpalirwin @karajaynetoday @wiiildflowerrr @sunshineeeluke @littledrummeraussie @suchalonelysunflower @hoodhoran @Fobodob @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @sunshineeashton @ashtonsunflower​ @mymindwide​ @itjustkindahappenedreally @seanna313 @fivesecondsofonedirection @mulletcal @pandaxnienke @prentisswrites @princesslrh

[sleeperswakewriting]

A humble fic request; in which Petra convinced herself that Levi only regards her as a baby maker. We need emotional & conflicted rivetra 🥺

Dude, I have a whole Handmaids Tale AU drafted which is going to be this theme. But until then, have this drabble of Petra being a surrogate mom and Levi is a 40 year old finance man!

Rated: T

Word Count: 1.6k

“Do you need anything else?”

Levi propped Petra’s head up with another pillow while she giggled. “I’m good. Thank you, Levi.” She rubbed her swollen eight-month stomach and gently patted it. “Your dad is going to be a helicopter parent, I just know it.”

Levi pouted and took away her bed tray. “Am not. I’m just making sure the mother of my child is comfortable. Daisy will thank me later,” and he leaned over to kiss Petra’s stomach, whispering only to his daughter, “Won’t you?”

Petra’s heart welled, trying to temper the misplaced affection she garnered. He wasn’t speaking lovingly to her but to his daughter. Not Petra’s. That agreement was settled before they even conceived via a fertility clinic.

Down on her luck, Petra was desperate to pay for her college tuition after her father lost her job. She combed through everything: bartending, waitressing, dropping down to part-time, but nothing would even come close to the thousands of dollars she would need. She could drop out, get a job, and then return to school, but she knew the statistics. People rarely returned after they left, and she was determined to finish school and help her dad from going under.

So, she did what any twenty-something year old would do, desperate for cash—she searched the internet. She could donate her eggs, but that would only barely cover what she needed, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to have several little Petras running around without her knowledge. Her genes were good as far as she knew, and no glaring medical issues from her mother or father’s side. Her mother died early from a car accident, but her maternal grandparents were fit as they could be at their age.

When she found a thread on becoming a surrogate mother, Petra nervously clicked on the website and began to read testimonies. Good, bad, downright horrific, she came out on the other side with an array of opinions and a choice. There was an agency right down the road from her school, and she told herself that she would only stop by for a consult to see if she would be a good fit. All she wanted was information.

Then she ran into Levi Ackerman in the waiting room.

Forty years old, he was every girl’s sugar daddy dream from his peppered gray hair and well-tailored suit. She caught him grumbling about all the paperwork and she made a joke if he was trying to have a baby, he was going to have to fill out a lot more.

He laughed and asked her if she was a current surrogate. Tongue-tied, she said she was still thinking about it.

“Why don’t we skip all this bullshit paperwork and have a drink?”

She assumed he meant he wanted to sleep with her and she heartily accepted. As luck would have it, he wasn’t a sleazy man trying to take advantage of a young woman, and he was completely serious about using her as a surrogate, without the trouble of a third party. He had a private lawyer to handle all the legal and financial matters, but he said he would be more comfortable knowing the mother of his child.

“I’d like to attend all the doctor’s appointments too.”

What could a single, 40-year-old man want with a baby, Petra wondered, and she asked him on their first “date.”

“I’m lonely. Love never worked out for me and I’ve always wanted children. I want at least one before I get too old to take care of it. I have a fortune that I want my own blood to inherit, I don’t have any relatives. You get to an age where you start to think about future generations, and I’m tired of waiting for the right one.”

That was enough for Petra to agree after he told her the amount he was offering. It would be more than enough for the rest of her college tuition and it would cover her living expenses until she obtained a full-time job.

What turned into a financial arrangement blossomed into the most wonderful eight months of Petra’s life. The insemination felt like a regular pap-smear, and since they were tracking her ovulation, within two weeks, they were pregnant.

Levi was overjoyed and treated her to dinner, discussing all the names he had in mind.

“What do you think of the name Daisy?” he asked on a trip back from the doctor’s. He held a coffee in his hand and Petra mirrored him, except hers was decaf.

She forced a laugh, though it pained her to imagine a different time and place where her opinion would be taken into consideration.“It’s your child, Levi!” she chided, giving him a playful bump with her hip.

“I don’t want you to hate it.”

She could never hate anything that came from him.

Part of the agreement was that she wasn’t allowed to date while carrying his child and Petra didn’t mind in the slightest. Levi took one look at her one-bedroom college dorm and demanded she move in with him until the baby was born, and then as long as she wanted to breastfeed. Even though he had preferences, citing the latest research, he understood it was unrealistic to take up nearly a year of Petra’s life.

She also didn’t want to get too attached to him or the baby, but from the moment she saw the first ultrasound, she cried. Levi held her hand, his eyes dancing on the screen and not on her, and she wished he would look at her like that.

Through their interactions, she learned he was a kind, though odd, man. He kept to himself most nights, preferring to read in the evenings after his busy job in finance. Why finance? She asked him, interested since she was studying accounting. Makes good money, it’s boring as shit though. His reply sent butterflies down her stomach; she didn’t realize she enjoyed dry humor so much until she met Levi. His mannerisms were a delight in themselves, and the effortlessly cool persona he embodied was sexy as hell.

“That’s why I want a kid. There’s more to life than work.”

Somewhere along the way, she fell in love. It was in tender moments when he’d rub her back when her stomach ached from the weight of their, no, his daughter. Or when held her hair when she had morning sickness, she quickly learned how much he hated messes from his immaculate living space.

The worst part was when he unveiled the nursery. Levi lived alone in a three-bedroom house, and she knew he was making renovations in preparation for the baby. Between the paint fumes and sawdust, she generally kept away from that part of the house since she made herself comfortable in the large room he outfitted her.

“Close your eyes,” Levi said, placing his hands over her face. Petra laughed, reminding him again that this wasn’t for her.

“I want her to feel your excitement.”

So she acquiesced with a heaviness in her soul and when Levi revealed the room, she cried.

“Blame it on the hormones,” she said, wiping away her tears. A field of daisies was painted along the walls and a decadent crib sat on one side of the wall. By the window sat a mahogany rocking chair with a cushion, and Petra imagined herself nursing. She would coo while Levi looked at the greatest loves of his life.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” He asked excitedly. He began to move throughout the room and the utterly happy expression on his face urged Petra to reach out.

“I got a mobile to match the room, but maybe she’d like animals instead?”

“Do you think this elephant looks constipated?”

“Maybe I should get a darker shade of pink—wouldn’t want vomit stains.”

Petra knew his affection was nothing more than friendship. While she insisted that she didn’t want or needed to be a part of their lives, Levi offered to send her pictures as their daughter grew older. She was still undecided, after all, this was supposed to be a pit stop in her life. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the man whose baby she was carrying. This was a financial transaction.

And yet, seated on Levi’s couch, with her head pillowed in his lap while he rubbed her stomach as she bemoaned of muscle aches, Petra allowed herself to dream as she breathed in his musky cologne.

He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white shirt, a sight that she reveled in since he rarely deviated from his well-dressed attire. With his hair freshly washed and a five o’clock shadow set in, she imagined him rubbing his chin along her bare skin as he kissed her. She would love to be ruined by him, but with her state, he would take his time, worshipping her body. He’d whisper how lucky he was to have found her—the perfect mother to his child and woman of his dreams. With her swollen belly, she’d have to be taken from behind, but she wouldn’t care, just as long as he loved her.

That’s all she wanted.

Turning her head so that her face fell into his lap, Levi threaded long fingers through her hair while he turned the volume down on the TV.

“Time for bed?”

Petra shook her head, pretending to yawn but allowed a bleary smile to weave between her lips. “Just a little while longer. I’m comfy.”

His deep laugh sent longing down her spine.

“Sure,” and he rubbed another circle into her stomach, “whatever you need.” And he moved to raise the volume, not seeking idle chatter between them.

Petra moved to face him and played with the drawstrings of his sweatpants.

One more month and this would all be over.

She was going to savor every last moment, even if it broke her.

[no-droids]

The Floor is Better

Part Eight of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.4K i am. appalled.

Warnings: SMUT, very vague attempts at sprinkling in hints of an overarching plot, language, the slightest bit of angst, TONS OF FUCKING FLUFF WOWWWW

A/N: This is by far the softest smut I’ve ever written.  I will say that there is a hint at butt stuff tho (just a HINT—THERE IS NO ACTUAL BUTT STUFF IN THIS GUYS) so brace yourselves

***

Alright so this bed is, like.  Atrociously uncomfortable.

It’s not even a bed.  It’s a cot.  Just a bare minimum place to sleep, shoved into the wall and taking up less space than the ship’s armory.  Like a… like a really shitty gurney almost, except no padding.  So not even a gurney then, just a fucking.  Piece of metal.  Just a piece of fucking metal to sleep on.

There’s surprisingly a bit of space to maneuver yourself when you’re pulled into the cubby completely like this, and yeah, it’s quiet and dark in here but man does your back hurt.  Is his spine made of metal, too?  Is that why he prefers this?  The floor isn’t a feather mattress by any stretch of the imagination, but at least there aren’t any uneven support bars digging into your side.

You’re on Coruscant, and Mando’s been gone for over three weeks.

It.  Fucking.  Blows.

You’ve literally run out of ideas to occupy your time.  You’re far enough above Coruscant’s dangerous underworld to not worry about any potential… mishaps, like what happened on Corellia, but the only issue with the ground being so far below you is that it’s not like you can just stroll down the road and buy yourself a deck of cards at the nearest merchant.  The only shop within walking distance of this hub contains the bare essentials; things like food, medical equipment and bacta, spare electronics and parts—all of which you purchased without hesitation.  Other than that, you need a ship to travel anywhere in this massive galactic capital, and while you just so happen to have a ship, what you don’t have, at least right now, is a Mando.

Fuck, but you did.  Before he left, you had Mando all to yourself for at least a full hour.  After he landed the Crest in a long-term terminal and turned his attention back to you, for some reason, he was insatiable.  It didn’t really make much sense back then, but in hindsight, it’s like he knew good and well how long he was going to be gone this time, attempting to search for a quarry on a planet with a population that broke a trillion last year.  It makes sense.  With this many people, a biometric tracking fob would be almost useless, and sure, you realize he set the ship down in the long-term terminal for a reason, but long-term with Mando typically means a week or two.  You suddenly realize that in a handful of days, he’ll have been gone a full month.

You suppose you probably could fly the ship somewhere else and send him a coded coordinate set of your new location, but for some strange reason, you can’t seem to reconcile going to all that trouble just because you’re bored out of your fucking mind.  You don’t want him to have to travel another however many miles out of his way to get back to you just so you won’t have to twiddle your thumbs for weeks on end.  You don’t want to run the risk of trying to make a quick trip there and back without alerting him of any change in location, either, especially on a planet this size.  He could return to the hub at any time, and if he comes back to a different ship parked in this lot, you’ll probably never see him again.

Okay, no, that’s not true—he hunts people for a living, and you have his kid.  You probably just wouldn’t see him for at least another month or so, and by then he’d be fucking livid.

So.  You stay here.  The baby offers a distraction, but only to a certain point.  The ship is pristine right now, inside and out.  Fucking pristine.  Almost… almost compulsively so, you reluctantly admit.  The console’s entire motherboard has brand new soldering and connections.  You used ear swabs to clean and polish each individual button, key, and knob in the entire flight deck.  You… may or may not have even labeled and color-coded the heat shrink wrap on every single cable in the Crest’s patchbay, all five-hundred and something of them.  When you pried open the metal paneling that covered all the ship’s interior routing jacks, you remember gasping at the sight of a mechanic’s worst nightmare and wondering if the last person who touched it took even more than a few hours on its installation.  What used to be a horrifying tangle of haphazard wiring is now a lovely set of rainbow snakes meticulously gathered and bound together with zipties, and you’re incredibly proud of it, though you still haven’t decided whether or not you should be.

There’s also a very particular reason you’re in this poor excuse for a bed.  You still very clearly remember Mando’s unfiltered voice in the pitch darkness, telling you he wants to come back to find you in his bed.  To find you in it, so he can fuck you though it.  

Well.  Three weeks ago, sleeping in here sounded like a good idea.  You even have a pillow now, and a blanket you can lay out beneath you while you curl up under the one you brought from home.  It’s thick and warm—probably a shock blanket, to be honest, since you did happen to find in the medical section—but it still doesn’t offer near enough padding to feel like you’re laying on an even surface right now.  Mando could theoretically get on top of you in here and fuck you—there is enough room vertically.  He might break one of your ribs on accident though, just judging from the way this one Maker-forsaken support bar seems to dig into your ribcage no matter which way you position yourself in here.

Stars, your back hurts.  You should just lay on the fucking floor.  If he hasn’t come back by now, what are the chances of it happening tonight?  But then your mathematical hindbrain immediately reminds you that statistically, the chances are the highest they’ve ever been.  The longer Mando’s gone, the more likely he is to come back every single day that passes.

It’s just as well, you figure, grabbing the tracks beneath the bed and slowly beginning to squeak yourself out of the wall.  You try not to let your fingers get pinched between the railing and the slider, but that just means the quickest you’re able to inch out is in intervals the approximate length of your index finger.  It’s dark in the hull—the baby is fast asleep in his crib in the cockpit, and the long-term terminal you’re parked in is quiet.  It would be a perfect time to sleep, if you could.  But here’s the thing—

It sucks that Mando’s gone for this long, absolutely.  It sucks that you slept on this awful fucking bed for three whole weeks when you could’ve done this ages ago.  But most of all, it sucks that you don’t have anything else to do.  Because that means you can’t occupy yourself, and when you can’t occupy yourself, your mind starts to wander.  And then you start to fixate on things you probably shouldn’t fixate on, for your own good.

Things like blood on your hands.  The baby limp in your arms.  A voice spitting, “pretty little bitch like you would sell for at least—”

Your eyes snap to the corner of the hull for the millionth time, the sight of where it happened, before you shake yourself out of it and hop down off the suspended cot.

“This’ll be good,” you whisper quietly in the darkness to yourself, pulling the blankets off and grabbing the pillow.  It’s… it’s something you’ve started to do when you need to instantly snap yourself out of a dreaded line of thinking but you don’t have anything stimulating around you to help.  Talk to yourself, talk about anything, just talk out loud and focus on the sound of your own voice.  If you listen hard enough, it’ll drown out your thoughts.  “The floor will be great.  The floor kicks ass.  I like the floor.”

You spread the fluffiest blanket down on the ground as far away from the offending corner as possible, and then close the much shittier metal bed into the hull wall before collapsing on your clearly superior one, never once ceasing your rambling nonsense about the floor.

Oh, this is nice.  This is fantastic.  Your back is still tight and achy from three awful weeks of sleeping on a “mattress” clearly made for someone with no concept of comfort, but being able to stretch out on a flat surface with a large shock blanket that feels like a fucking cloud under your body?  Your eyes are already starting to droop.

“The floor is better,” you whisper, yawning and snuggling deeper into the pillow.  The terminal is quiet.  The kid will be asleep for a while.  Mando won’t come back tonight.  Mando won’t come back tonight.  “The floor is better.  The floor… the floor…”

***

You jerk awake to something kicking your leg, hard.  

Gasping, you’re instantly pulling the blanket over your chest on reflex and bracing yourself for another impact, except then whatever kicked you is immediately toppling over your shins and stumbling to the floor with an unfamiliar grunt.

You and a man you don’t recognize blink at each other for a few seconds; him taking in the way you’re curled up on your makeshift bed, and you taking in the way he’s got his face squished against the metal ground, apparently not quick enough to use his arms to try and soften the abrupt tumble.

It’s like all your blood suddenly thickens and the adrenaline digs claws into your chest.  Your first instinct is to fucking bolt, but then your eyes instantly flick to the cockpit, where you know the kid is still sleeping.

Only—you can’t move.  You’re frozen in terror, quickly blinking your wide-eyed gaze back at the man on the ground.  You know you could’ve only been staring at each other for a few seconds at most, but with the way your mind is hurtling right now, it’s long enough for you to have just the briefest flicker of confusion as to why he hasn’t appeared to have moved either.

Except then another set of footsteps slowly begin clanking up the ramp.

Your heart is fucking slamming up against your ribcage at about the rate of four beats per footstep, but as soon as you catch a flash of beskar stepping onto the ship, you‘re reaching up to clutch your chest with your palm like you just finished a long-distance sprint and trying to take deep, calming breaths.

It’s just a quarry.  It’s just a quarry.  His hands are cuffed behind his back.  It’s a quarry.

The Mandalorian slowly comes to a stop right in front of your outstretched legs and the sharp angles of his chrome profile silently stare down at them, unmoving.  You swallow thickly and try not to blush as his helmet tilts towards you and follows your knees up to your hips, along your heaving abdomen and chest, before eventually coming to a rest on your face.

He holds there for a second, taking you in.  You bite down your lip and feel your heart thundering under your ribcage, blinking up at him as your cheeks flush in a boiling hot mixture of panic, embarrassment, and relief.

His metallic visor carefully follows the length of your body back down again, pausing once more at your feet.  

And then he sighs heavily through the modulator, loud enough to echo through the silent hull, before slowly stepping over them.

“Well, well,” the quarry says, stealing your attention with a sick smile creeping across half his face as it’s smushed against the floor.  “Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addit—?”

The bounty abruptly cuts off with a strangled yelp when Mando bends down and grabs him by the collar, yanking him to his feet and then shoving him forward towards the carbonite chamber.  

You collapse back down onto the floor with a relieved breath and try not to tremble with the adrenaline comedown.  Maker, you woke up barely a minute ago but almost all of it was spent in fight or flight—or in your case, freeze—mode, and you’re already fucking exhausted again.

“I’ll tell him—” you can hear the quarry snarl just before Mando slams him into the metal frame.  As much as you try to just tune the confrontation out for the moment and focus on slowing your heart rate, you still manage to catch bits and pieces.  “See him again… be interested to know…”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply, counting to three during each inhale and exhale.  Fuck, that scared you.  You almost had a fucking heart attack, and it takes you a few seconds to get your body under control again.  But then you realize you haven’t heard anything from Mando’s side of the hub for an extended moment, and the carbonizing gas hasn’t yet filled the room.

Your head turns and if you squint from this distance, you can make out a leather glove clamped tight around the quarry’s throat, the man’s face a red-purple by this point as he sags weakly against the chamber.

“Mando!”  You bark quite suddenly, and beskar shoulders jerk straight at the sound as the bounty immediately takes in a giant, ragged breath from under a marginally loosened grip.  Mando quickly releases his neck altogether and punches in a few buttons on the control panel to the right, and then freezing gas soon solidifies the gasping quarry into solid carbonite.

He stays with his back to you for a moment, letting the cloud disappear completely before he moves a single muscle.  When he does eventually turn to look at you, he still doesn’t say anything.

He just stares.  The lights in the hull glint off his helmet, and you tug the blankets up your chest a little further on instinct.  Fuck, three weeks is a long time.  You’re defaulting in a way, finding it impossible to not reevaluate him after a long absence.  Before he left, you’d gotten a bit better at gauging his mood and countenance, been more relaxed and friendly around him, but now, after some time away from him, he’s still so… jarring.  Unpredictable, even when standing still.  Especially when standing still.  

You’re just trying to play it by ear, trying to respond to him the way he responds to you.  Only—it feels like he’s either not responding to you at all, or you’re just too rousing of a stimulus to show a response.

“You…” you breathe, and for some reason your heart rate is beginning to kick up again instead of decelerate.  You should be calmer now that he’s here, but he still hasn’t said a word.  “Y-You scared me.”

Mando stays rooted to the spot, just a motionless suit of armor, with the exception of his chest moving with breaths and his fists repeatedly clenching at his sides, and fuck.

Fuck, you’re wet.

You feel like prey right now.  You’re starting to gradually build into another fight or flight mode every second he’s staring you down, refusing to speak, but you also feel a stirring deep down in your floor muscles.  He’s so fucking tall from this angle, so broad and—

He steps a single foot forward.  You flinch at the abrupt movement, practically soaking your underwear now.  Mando takes another step forward, and you wet your lips and start to crawl back on the bed just a bit, staring at him with wide eyes.

Maker, the tension is making it hard to breathe.  You’re silently begging him to come take care of you after such an agonizing three weeks apart, and Mando’s body language looks like he’s more wound up than you’ve ever seen him.  He starts pacing directly to you, crossing the hull rapidly, and your heart thumps furiously with every step he takes.

But then he gets right to the edge of the blankets and suddenly stops short.  He looks down at the neatly made bed at his feet, and then down at his body.

You try not to make an audible huff of disappointment when he abruptly collapses down onto his back with a clatter right there on the floor, just a few inches shy of the blanket, immediately bringing the backs of both hands up to press against the face of his helmet.  It should look weird considering his knuckles are pushing hard against the visor, almost like he’s covering his eyes or has a headache but is rubbing the beskar instead of his forehead, but it doesn’t.  It just makes you want to rip that armor off his body even more and remind him again of what his skin feels like.

“What are you doing?”  You try not to make it sound like a breathless pout as you squirm impatiently under the blankets.  “Come over here.”

“I’m dirty,” is the first thing that comes through the modulator, gravelly and distorted but his voice burning a fucking hole through you after not hearing it for almost a month.  “I need to shower before I touch you.”

You don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes you throb hard between your legs.

“Will you please just…” you bite your lip, stopping yourself short of saying take your clothes off and go with, “please, just—hurry.  I’m…”

Maker, you don’t know how to say it, and Mando soon rolls his helmet to the side to look at you when you don’t finish your sentence.  Desperate for it?  Hurting?  Feeling your clit pulse right now even though he hasn’t laid a finger on you yet?

“I missed you,” you eventually finish lamely, breathless as you fidget and bite your lip.

“Yeah?”  He breathes, suddenly turning the rest of his body on his side to face you.  “Tell me.”

“I… I want to show you,” you return quietly, scooting closer towards him.  “But you’re being withholding.”

Mando doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but the front of his visor burns into you, steadily increasing your need for him the longer he silently stares at you.

“Show me, then,” he says after a moment, and the sentence rolls through you with a shudder.

You swallow thickly, and slowly start to pull the blanket down.  It’s unnerving that his helmet doesn’t move, even though you can literally feel his gaze lowering and searing hot along your newly revealed body.  You’re not even naked, not in the slightest, but with the way his shoulders tighten and his spine tenses just slightly, you would think you were completely exposing yourself to him right now.

“Do you want…”  Your fingers waver near your belly button, caught somewhere between wanting to pull the hem of your shirt up for him and wanting to pull the waistband of your pants down.  “What do you want to see?”

A breath comes through the helmet; slow, but shaky.

“I have to shower,” he grunts sharply, suddenly, his fist clenching at his side.  You don’t take offense to the stern tone.  He’s clearly repeating the sentence as a reminder to himself, not to you.

“You can get me dirty,” you breathe regardless.  “I don’t care.”

“I just spent three weeks on Coruscant’s surface,” Mando grits.  “I can’t touch you, I’ll infect you with someth—What are you doing?”

You bite your lip at him as an answer, bypassing your prior conflict altogether by slithering your hand down the front of your pants.

“What are you doing?”  He repeats through the modulator, just as your fingertips wedge underneath the hem of your panties.  

You shiver at the sensation, your eyes losing focus just slightly as you trail down the front of your pussy.  “I… I missed you.”

“Fuck,” Mando barks, and then he scrambles to stand up.  “Stop.  I’m taking a shower, just—just stop.”

You ignore him, turning on your back and widening your knees so he can still see the way your hand is still moving down between your legs, your finger just barely brushing the top of your slit.  “But it feels good.” “Take your hand out of your fucking pants,” he orders tightly.  “Right now.”

Your eyes flutter up at him as you do what he says, slowly bringing your hand out of your trousers.  “Hurry,” you murmur, biting your lip and blinking innocently up at him.  “Please.”

He doesn’t say a word, but his cape does make an audible sound with how quickly he whips around and shuts himself away in the tiny fresher.

***

You forget how long it takes to undo the beskar armor sometimes.  In fact, throughout the entire duration of Mando’s shower, you’re able to quietly sneak up to the cockpit and navigate the ship out of the terminal, pull up the coordinates for the next quarry on the navcomp while rising to a high enough altitude above the galactic capital, make a jump into hyperspace, return to the hull, shut off the lights, and slither back under the covers before the fresher actually turns off.

Soon, Mando raps his knuckles against the door separating the two of you, and you’ve completely wiggled out of your clothes by that point, the blanket resting just below your naked waist.  “Hey,” his unmodulated voice calls from behind the thick slab of metal.  “Eyes closed for a second.”

“I’m not looking,” you agree, draping your elbow across the bridge of your nose and waiting patiently.  He gives you a few seconds regardless before the door is sliding open.  You expect it to quickly shift shut again, plunge the room back into pitch blackness like before, but he hesitates.  It takes another moment for you to realize that he’s probably just staring at your naked chest while he stands there in the doorway, light spilling into the hull and illuminating you waiting for him with your eyes obediently shut.

“I thought I told you not to sleep on the floor anymore,” he murmurs after a quiet second, and you bite your lip and shuffle your shoulders impatiently against the floor, arching your chest out just slightly to entice him to come closer.

“Fuck that bed,” you breathe with your arm still pressed over your eyes, and your nipples feel tight in the cool air.  “Your armory is bigger than that bed, Mando.  Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yeah,” he returns, finally shutting the fresher light off and shifting the door shut behind him, beginning to make his way over to you.  “Tells me that there are more guns than people on this ship, as well it should be.”

“Maker, you’re impos—”

You’re cut off by Mando dropping to his knees and slowly crawling over your body, and fuck he’s as naked as you are, he’s naked and his skin is warm and damp from the shower and his hair is still dripping as you slither your arms up his chest and comb your fingers through it.

You can’t see a damn thing but you’re instantly thanking your lucky stars for that fact when his head drops down and a hot tongue drags up the curve of your neck.  Okay, this is better.  This is always better.  Even when you can’t see a damn thing, feeling the hollow of your jaw be caressed by a blazing wet furnace and tugging your fingers through his hair will always be better than when he keeps the helmet on.  Maker, you almost forgot how fucking good his mouth is, how soft and warm it is, and you can’t bite down a whimper when his lips finally trail up your chin and seal against yours.

You moan when his tongue gently slides into your mouth, unable to stop yourself as your cunt fucking throbs between your legs with arousal, and Mando even lets out a short huff of air through his nose and a low noise quietly slips through his vocal cords as he tastes you.  The barely audible sound is enough gasoline to your fire that you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his lower back before tugging, wanting his cock pressed against your cunt so you can rub yourself against it while he kisses you.

Only, something in the way Mando’s elbows immediately buckle and the hiss of air through his teeth before he unceremoniously collapses on top of you makes you instantly let him go.

“Hey,” you say, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck and puff a short few breaths of hot air against your skin.  “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” he grunts, sounding somewhere between discomfort and legitimate pain, moving to prop his arms up next to your head again but taking a moment before trying to push himself up.  “Back.  Back hurts.  Too—” he winces when his shoulder moves a certain way, “—too old for this.”

“Here.”  There’s just enough space between you and Mando to wiggle out from underneath him, quickly turning around and swinging a leg over his back as he abruptly drops to the floor with the extra weight.  “Let me rub your back.”

“Shit—come on,” he groans against the blankets.  “I haven’t touched you in three fucking—”

Your hands trail up his spine, slow and gentle, and Mando cuts himself off.  He shudders under your palms as they carefully push and roll into the small of his back, and the muscles curving down under your touch gradually rise as he breathes in a lungful of air.  “Let me rub your back,” you repeat softly, letting your voice lull just a bit in a lower register, and all the air immediately releases from under your hands.

“Okay,” he relents, but his spine still holds straight and tight with tension.

“Okay?”  You repeat, dragging your palms back up until they’re roughly in the middle of his spine.  “Tell me if I go too hard.”

Mando barely huffs with a chuckle beneath you.  “Yeah, okay, I’ll tell you if—nghh—”

You dig your knuckles into the dip right beneath his shoulder blades and start kneading, and Mando makes a strangled noise and sags into the floor.  Your smile is almost impossible to hide, but the pitch black hull does the job just fine as you press and roll your knuckles into the hills and valleys of his back.  The noises he makes are a mixture of soft gasps and chokes, but it gives you the perfect opportunity to explore his body in ways you haven’t been able to before.

Your thumbs you dig in and follow the curve of his spine down, squeezing through the tightness in his lower back.  The skin under your hands is soft and giving, even though you can feel massive knots hidden underneath.  You take all the time in the galaxy with it, isolating each ache and pain and then grinding your knuckles into them steady and hard enough to make Mando groan brokenly under the pressure.  You work at it for a while, trailing your fingers up to his neck and massaging the base of his skull, not being able to imagine how much those muscles have to hurt after holding up a heavy beskar helmet every single day.  Your hands explore everything you can from this angle—you squeeze the tops of his shoulders, slide your palms down and squeeze his biceps, the muscles under his elbows, the ones wrapped around his forearms.

“This alright?”  You ask after a while, and you barely get a hoarse grunt from him in response.  His body is perfectly relaxed under yours, almost dead if he wasn’t still breathing, and you slowly walk your hands down the length of his back until you’re braced upright on him once more.  “You gonna make it?”

Eventually, he drags his forearms up so he can prop them against the blankets and slowly roll over underneath you.  You allow the lazy movement, lifting your hips up as he rotates, feeling his smooth skin shift under your palms until he finally comes to a rest on his back.

“My turn?”  He asks through the darkness.

“Your turn for wh—?”  You gasp as his grip instantly tightens, and then he’s abruptly switching your positions until he’s on top of you.  Almost all of your breath is knocked out of you when Mando grabs you and flips you over until you’re on your tummy, and then whatever remains suddenly whooshes out when he straddles you and plops down on your lower back.

“My turn to give you a massage,” he says, and you let out a quiet, “fuck—” when his palms land on your shoulders.

“Wait—” You pant, “—Wait, hang on, I don’t need a—”

Thank the fucking Maker you turn your head quick enough to muffle a loud moan when his fingers begin rubbing hard circles into your deltoids.  Stars, sleeping on hard metal for three weeks was truly a nightmare for your posture.  The knots in your upper back burn under the steady push and press of his touch, and it’s like your muscles can’t decide if they want to relax under the manipulation or tense up against it.

“Maker,” he murmurs, his thumbs frame either side of your spine and slowly drag downwards, and your voice almost cracks as you hide another groan in the pillow.  “Why does your back hurt?  What did you do to yourself?” “I slept—” you gasp when his knuckles roll up the length of your sides.  “Slept—on that piece of fucking scr-scrap metal—you call a—” his fingers press firmly against the valley below your shoulder blades, and then widen apart to start squeezing your arms, “—a bed for three weeks,” you manage to gasp, sparks of sensation shooting down to your fingertips as he rubs the muscles along the length of your biceps.

Soon, Mando’s hands come back down to rest on the small of your back, and he begins digging his thumbs into the base of your spine.  “Why did you do it for so long if it hurt?”

“You said—” You cut off with a moan into the pillow as he slowly scoots back until he’s sitting on your thighs, his hands moving downwards and kneading the soft flesh of your ass, pressing deep into the sore muscles while you struggle to remember what you were going to say.  “Said you wanted me to sleep in y—”

His thumbs start slowly moving inwards, his large hands butterflying out along both cheeks and squeezing.  He spends a second just grabbing and pulling your pillowy flesh, shamelessly spreading you and manipulating it until you’re throbbing between your legs again.  He’s being so brazen about it, too, gradually moving his thumbs closer and closer together until they’re digging into the crevice.

“Hey, uh,” you pant, starting to tense up a bit as his thumbs begin moving downwards.  “Ma—h-hey, you’re getting really… close to m-my…”

His hands keep steadily moving down, and you’re starting to squirm just a bit at the unfamiliar sensation of someone’s fingers pressing and kneading the unexplored skin between your cheeks.  

“Getting real close to your what?”  He drawls out from above you, low in his throat, and your cunt pulses with need.

Fuck, you’re gasping raggedly into the pillow, wondering if the absence would truly make him this bold.  You’re halfway caught between nervousness and being incredibly fucking turned on, and the way he pauses right above your asshole and just holds there makes your the muscles deep in your lower abdomen twist in anticipation and heat.  Fuck, you’re soaking the blankets beneath you, you can tell.  A thin sheen of sweat breaks out across your body and it’s all you can do to just lay there and wait for it with bated breath.

But then his weight is suddenly lifting from you and sliding down the length of your legs, settling at your feet.  You barely have enough time to let out a deep sigh—half of it relief and the other half… disappointment, maybe?—before he grabs hold of one of them, the size of it only slightly bigger than his hand, and firmly presses both thumbs into your arch.

A groan of approval slips through your vocal cords and you go practically boneless underneath him, not realizing how tense you just were a second ago.

“Fuck, that’s s-so good,” you murmur into the pillow, grabbing the blankets at your sides and fisting them subconsciously as he clamps his large hand around your heel and squeezes.

After spending just as much time and attention on the other foot, you feel him grip both your ankles and start working circles up the length of your calves with his thumbs.  His hands flex against the backs of your knees when they get there, and then your breathing kicks back up again when they gradually drag up your subtly clenching thighs.

But then they come to an immediate halt about halfway up, and you have to bite back a huff of distress when he just holds there.  Fuck, why did he stop?  Why did he stop?

“Sweet girl,” he eventually breathes out, sounding somewhere between chastising and shocked.  Your eyes flutter in the darkness at the tone, the endearment after nearly a month without it, and you wiggle slightly on the bed with arousal.  “Is this…?”  Mando brushes his fingers along the inside of your thighs, and you can feel the way his cock pulses as he presses it tight against your leg.  It’s not until he drags his hand down to your calves that you feel the slick heat coating the tips of his fingers, wiping it off on your relatively dry skin.

The pitch blackness makes it impossible to truly tell, but you’re sure your eyes roll back.  Stars, you are so wet for him, you’re leaking it halfway down your thighs.  It’s been too long since he’s touched you.  You can feel your lower muscles bearing down and coiling tight, your entire pelvic area now cramped up with need.

When his hand carefully moves up and a finger just barely ghosts over the soft flesh of your lips, you can’t stop yourself.

“Touch me,” you hear yourself suddenly beg, goosebumps breaking out along your skin while he begins to slowly trace the outside of your slit, up and down, up and down.  “Oh, fuck—please, Din, touch me, I—”

“Hush,” he tells you softly, and fuck, he’s on top of you and you physically can’t do anything to encourage him to hurry up.  The only thing you can do is kick one leg out as wide as possible and just shudder helplessly against the floor, trying to give his hands more room to work.

You feel desperate, your blood pounding through your ears as he takes all the time in the universe exploring you.  “Stars, don’t do this—I need you to—”

“Hush,” he murmurs once more, before moving both fingers to spread your lips apart ever so slightly, your slick heat seeping out to coat his fingers and the blanket below.  “Relax for me.”

Maker, your lower muscles are tightening down and throbbing in equal parts, and you just can’t relax, you can’t relax when you’re this close to cumming all over his hand even though he’s barely touched you.  You’ve been aching for it this whole time, but now there’s a bite to it, a slow burn that begins to engulf the lower half of you in simmering heat.  “Din, please, I missed you so m—”

You choke when you feel the slightest brush of a fingertip next to your clit, before he’s firmly pushing down and tracing a torturously strong semi-circle around the top of it.

Your toes curl and your body locks up and you gasp his name into the pillow, flexing every single muscle in your body in response to his touch until you’re impossibly rock hard with tension under him.

“Poor thing,” Din whispers, slowly tracing an arch back around the other way, and your entire body trembles with it.  Maker, you’re soaking his hand, slippery and hot and every nerve from the waist-down feels sharp and exquisite at the same time.  He leans down to press his lips to your shoulder blade while starting to rub strong circles around your clit.  “All alone for three weeks, nobody around to look after you.  Make sure you’re seen to.”

You’re not sure which way is up right now, and not being able to see anything isn’t fucking helping either.  You feel dizzy with sensation, shaky as his tongue slowly drags up your skin, and you actually feel water rush to your eyes in torment when he pulls his hand away.

You open your mouth to beg him not to stop, but then he’s already moving.  Grabbing your hips and slowly lifting them until your knees have to shuffle up to compensate.  He still keeps your head buried in the pillow, though, still keeps the upper half of your body firmly pressed against the floor.  You pant into the fabric half covering your face and fist the blanket underneath you, biting your lip and clenching your thighs as two hands carefully settle along the backs of them.

Fuck, he keeps you there for so long.  He drags out the anticipation until you’re downright hurting for it, waiting with your ass up in the air for him to do something—anything to help relieve your stress instead of continuing to build upon it.

“Fuck—” he whispers, “—missed you, too.”

When his hot, velvety tongue finally glides through your slit, something about it makes you moan brokenly into the pillow, spread your knees and arch your back even more in presentation.  Fuck, there’s just something about the mindblowing eroticism of your positioning right now, how you’re bent in half and letting him lick through your folds however is easiest for him, something about it hits just right and makes your orgasm suddenly pull up tight and fast.

“Din—” you breathe frantically, your knees shuffling apart and your hips pushing back against his mouth.  “Din, I’m gonna cum—”

His hands come up to clamp around your thighs and hold them steady.  And then he lowers his chin to seal his mouth over your clit, slowly dragging his slick tongue over it, again and again and again, and fuck, you can’t do anything to stop it.  Everything surges up, searing hot and wet as you go rigid and gasp his name, shuddering your way through the debilitating bliss as it arcs brilliantly up and down your spine.

By the time you’re finished, you’re slumped against the floor in exhaustion.  He pulls away and sits up, and you try to push yourself up too, but a large palm firmly flattening along your spine stops you.  The sound of him spitting and the subsequent slick glide of his hand around his cock makes you groan hoarsely against the pillow and relax back down again.

Din eases his way inside you and the thickness of him as he slowly breaks you open is fucking electrifying.  Your sensitive channel hugs tight to every fucking inch of him, lighting your nerves up from the inside and sending skittering shocks down your thighs.  You melt into the floor and take what he gives you until his hips touch your ass, sagging against the ground as he stands so tall and upright on his knees behind you.

When he slowly pulls back out, you can hear the wet sound it makes echo throughout the pitch black hull.  Maker, he just starts up a slow, steady rhythm, his steel grip on your ass holding you steady as he pushes in and out of you.  It’s blinding, making you writhe against the floor while he gives you his cock at a languid pace, dragging the pleasure out but snapping his hips against yours whenever he does reach the apex of his strong thrusts.

It’s as agonizing as it is blissful, and you moan softly into the pillow the entire way through it.  Except—you’re too full of mindless pleasure, too stimulated to want to remain stationary for this long.  You need to move, you need to show him how much you thought about him while he was gone.  

“Din—” you whimper, breathless and needy, turning your head back slightly to unmuffle your words.  “Turn over.”

“In a second,” he huffs, his cock continuing to steadily rock into you.  You’re bent in half, taking it the only way he’ll give it to you and not even being able to push back into him.  “No—l-later.  After.”

You whine, frustrated, clawing and pulling at the blankets under your arms.  “Please—”

“Fuck,” Din pants, “fuck, what do you need?  You need it faster?”  His speed kicks up the slightest bit, and stars, you have to bite the back of your hand to muffle the ragged noise you make in response.  “This what you need?  Tell me.”

There’s not a good way to phrase it.  Mostly, you just… feel the need to participate in this more directly.  You know from experience that he likes to finish when he’s on top, but after weeks apart, you… you need to be what makes him cum, not what he holds steady and uses to get himself there.  

Your voice comes out frantically, pleading gasps for him to grant you this one thing.  “Just turn over, please—pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

His thrusts falter, until they stop completely.  He sounds like he’s having as much trouble breathing as you are, but his hard grip on you gradually loosens.  “You—do you not—?”

You don’t let him finish.  As soon as he lets you go, you’re pushing yourself up and turning around, grabbing his shoulders and all but wrestling him down to the cushioned blanket.  Din grunts and lets you do it, dropping down onto his back and snaking his hands up your naked chest as you climb over him with weak, trembling limbs.  Once you get his cock into position and sink down though—fuck, you grab his wrists and yank them up until his palms are cupping your tits, and Din hisses below you.  Your hands are barely large enough to wrap around the backs of his, but you force him to squeeze them nonetheless, and then you begin to ride him in earnest.

He curses, bracing his feet against the floor and shifting his knees behind you, and then he starts pushing his hips up into yours in time with your downward rolls.  Maker, he hits something deep inside you at the angle, something that makes you gasp every time your hips meet.  Your palms drag down his wrists and forearms as he keeps groping your breasts, throwing your head back in ecstasy as another orgasm starts to stir somewhere low in your core.

“Stars, I—I think I m-might—” You barely have enough time to gasp it out before he’s releasing your breasts and anchoring his grip tight to your hips, beginning to angle and isolate in on that one spot that drives you fucking crazy.  The strong thrusts pull you forward until your palms are braced on the floor next to his head, and you just moan and push back against it as he fucks deep into you.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Din says again, his disembodied voice sounding tighter and more desperate in the darkness, like it’s coming out against his will.  “I—I missed you, t-too, sweet girl, I f-fucking—missed—”

You choke out a cry as another wave of euphoria all but fucking evicerates you.  Your elbows buckle and you fall into his chest, but Din wraps both arms around your back and keeps fucking you through it, gritting breathless curses at the ceiling as your cunt spasms around his cock.

“Tho—ught about you—” he groans, husky and low next to your ear, “every… fuck, every fucking day—thought about y—”

His body tenses and his thrusts stutter to a halt, and then he grinds up into you, gasping your name into the pitch black hull.  Your body is crushed into his chest when his hips jerk against yours, and you bite his shoulder in satisfaction, squeezing hard around his throbbing cock.

When Din finally settles back down to the floor again, both of you are spent.  Neither one of you fucking move.  You don’t say anything while you catch your breath against his chest, slumping down into him as his knees suddenly drop flat.

“Fuck,” he breathes.  “Fuck.  I’m.  I’m never taking a bounty on Coruscant again.”

You laugh lightly, swallowing and turning your head to settle in the crook of his neck.  Your knees shuffle up slightly until you’re resting all your weight on top of him, his cock still engulfed in your hot center.  As soon as you lift off him, you know you’re just going to dribble a mess all over these nice blankets, so you decide to put it off for as long as he allows it.

Din doesn’t seem to have a problem with it at all.  In fact, his chest shifts just slightly beneath you when he reaches down to catch one of the blankets and pull the fabric over the both of you, collapsing back into the pillow with an exhausted sigh and doing absolutely nothing to encourage you to move whatsoever.

“Corellia was worse,” you tell him instinctually, and he grunts and brings his hands up to trail his fingers along your lower back.

“Corellia was over within a day,” he points out, and.  Shit.  You know he’s just being diplomatic about it, but something in the way he casually brushes it off suddenly makes you go quiet.  He’s right, you probably weren’t on Corellia for more than a few hours total.  Not that you necessarily expected him to, but he clearly doesn’t realize the events that took place there have haunted you for weeks.

When you don’t immediately say something in response, Din stops dragging his fingers up your spine.  You can feel his chin lower slightly, his jaw brush against your forehead.  “You oka—?”

“I killed someone on Corellia,” you whisper, and your words hang heavy in the still air immediately afterwards.  “A man is dead because of me.”

He doesn’t speak.  For a long time, Din doesn’t speak.

By the time his voice eventually does come through the darkness, you’d almost convinced yourself he wasn’t going to say anything at all.

“You’re right,” he tells you bluntly, brushing your hair back from your shoulder.  And, for some reason, you’re not expecting it.  If you were able to get a verbal reply out of him at all, you… you hoped he’d argue with you even just a little bit, if only to make you feel even the slightest bit better.  “A man is dead, and you killed him.”

Though his voice is soft and you know he’s not being intentionally cruel, it’s like he reached through your ribcage and crushed your heart himself.  Your shoulders tense at the feeling, wanting to instinctively curl yourself inwards and make yourself smaller in response to it.  Only, Din’s broad chest prevents it.  All you can do is hide your face as best you can in his neck and let the unfiltered truth weigh heavy on you in the silent hull.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” he eventually says.  “He’s not dead because of you.  That implies you had a choice.  You didn’t.  He’s dead because of him.  He gave you an ultimatum, and you did what you had to do.  Don’t feel bad that you won.”

“I didn’t win anything,” you whisper against his throat, uncomfortable with the implication.

“He initiated a confrontation, and you finished it,” he asserts.  “You did what you had to do, and you did great, so don’t—”

“Great?”  You close your eyes and try not to sound as upset as you currently feel, because you know this is just him being polite.  He does this for a living.  He’s probably lost count of how many people he’s killed in his lifetime, so what’s one body to him?  You shouldn’t have let the conversation lead here, especially after such a lovely moment.  “I… I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have brought it—”

“Listen to me,” Din suddenly says, curling the tips of his fingers against your shoulder blade.  “There’s something you need to understand, and I’m not trying to hurt your feelings by telling you this.  But the galaxy will never be as kind to you as you are to it.  You’re tenderhearted, and that’s not a bad thing.  Hang onto it, but recognize that it’s rare.  It’s not something that you’ll come by often.  You’ll never see as much of it in anyone else as I see in you.”

Maybe it’s because you know he’s not used to comforting people that the words actually manage to make you feel somewhat comforted.  They’re blunt and honest, but they also allow an unobstructed glimpse into his feelings for you, specifically because of that.

“I just…”  You bite your lip and snuggle your head deeper into the crook of his neck.  “I just wish I could… somehow…”

His chest expands fully with air underneath you, and then you can literally feel yourself slowly sink down a few inches with how deeply he sighs.  But… this isn’t the normal Mando sigh.  He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, exasperated, or impatient.  He sounds… empathetic.  Understanding.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head and comb his fingers through your hair, tugging at some of the tangles at your nape.  “What would you have done differently?”

You don’t answer him, because you immediately see what he’s getting at.  You’ve told yourself these things a million times over in the weeks he’s been gone.  Regardless, he goes on for you.

“Would you have chosen to land the ship in a different spot?  Risked a different person following you onto it?”  He asks, and though the overarching point to this line of questioning is already blatantly obvious, his voice is still kind.  “Would you have taken that vibroblade to a different part of his body?  Given him a slower death?  What else would you have done, sweet girl?”

You stay silent, fluttering your eyes shut.  His fingers lazily trail up and down the length of your spine, goosebumps breaking out on your skin once again.

“Even if there was something you could’ve done—even if his death had been your fault,” Din murmurs, “—listen, do you remember what you said to me?  When I told you my name—before that, do you remember what you said?  You said that some things just belong to people.  That there are certain things that people just own, right?  Fundamentally.  And you can do whatever you want with them.  You can choose whether or not to share them with others, you can hide them, or you can.  Change them.  Burn them away.  Remember?”

You nod as much as you can with your head buried into his neck like this.

“Well, you’re right,” he continues, his voice softening.  “Some things do belong to people.  But some things… some things you can’t change.  Some things you can’t hide, and you can’t just burn away forever.  But that doesn’t make them any less yours, understand?  You killed someone.  It doesn’t matter what I tell you, or what you tell yourself.  The end result won’t ever change.  It can't change.  You own that now, and you’ll carry his death with you.  Just like I carry every single one of mine.”

He’s… he’s right.  You don’t have to like it, but he’s right.

“I don’t like it when you quote me to me,” you eventually whisper, your lips brushing his throat.

“Too bad.  I got another one for you,” Din rumbles, and you can feel his gentle smile against your hairline as he tilts his head and presses his lips to your temple.  “The Way says no take-backs.”

You narrow your eyebrows into this perfect little corner of him, not liking how curt and unapologetic it sounds rolling off his tongue.  “Did I say that?”

“Yep,” he huffs at the ceiling.  “Half-asleep, yet observant enough to be annoying.”

Your mouth twists, trying to appear visibly offended in the pitch blackness for some reason but fighting back a smile.  “Would you rather I be oblivious and adorable?”

“No,” he says immediately, and then you blink a few times in the darkness at the sincerity in his tone.  “You’re smart.  Well—you’re an idiot sometimes, but you’re smart.  That’s good.  That’s your best weapon.  Use it.”

“Use it?”  You ask, your voice quiet but curious.  “For what?”

He takes a second before responding, his fingers continuing to trace gentle, subconscious shapes along the curve of your spine.  “What planet are we going to next?”

The abrupt change in subject is stark and immediately noticeable, but you wrack your memory for the coordinates you brought up earlier when he was in the fresher nonetheless.  “Naboo.”

“I was thinking,” Din says, shifting just the slightest bit under you.  You groan when you realize his cock is still inside you, soft but still gorgeously thick enough to not slip out.  “Might… might be a good idea to show you some things.  Give you a few self-defense tips before I head out again.  Naboo is one of the safest planets in the galaxy.  We can… take a few days.”

“Yeah?”  You breathe, a spark of excitement bringing an immediate smile to your face.

“Yeah,” he repeats softly, the scruff on his jaw rubbing against your temple as he nods.  “Been awhile.”

“Okay,” you bite your lip on a grin and try not to let him hear the happiness in your voice.  Fuck, a few days.  A few days he’s delaying his job to spend with you.  Maybe you’ll be able to sleep on an actual mattress at some point.  You truly can’t fucking wait.

You two stay like that for quite a long time, just resting and breathing with each other in the pitch black hull.

“We just wouldn’t have gone to Corellia, how about that?”  You find yourself saying after a moment of comfortable silence.  When Din doesn’t speak, you elaborate.  “You asked me what I would’ve done differently.  We just wouldn’t have gone to Corellia.  Avoided the whole fucking sector altogether, like I plan on doing for the rest of my life.”  

And then your whole body abruptly jerks up and down exactly once with his genuinely amused huff of laughter from underneath you.

Your expression immediately narrows.  This is the third time you’ve ever made him laugh in all the months you’ve known him, and somehow all three of them have been at your own expense.  “What’s funny?”

“Absolutely.  You could’ve—” he clears his throat, “—convinced me.  Not to hunt down a bounty.”

He doesn’t make a sound beyond that, and had you not been laying on top of his chest as it subtly vibrated with stifled chuckles, you wouldn’t have known at all that he found that to be so funny.

“I could’ve… wooed you,” you try after a second, and nope.  You feel like you’re on top of a silent, quaking faultline now, and you do your best to keep a frown on your face as you rock back and forth on top of him.  His cock almost slips out of you in the commotion.  Almost.

“Get some sleep, you sweet talker,” he eventually sighs when he calms his breathing, kissing your forehead and settling back down into the blankets.  “The kid will be up in a few hours, probably less.”

“He’s your son,” you grumble, still sulking somewhat at his blatant disregard of your seduction talents.  “Takes after you.  For all I know he looks just like you, too.”

“Sleep,” Din tells you, bringing a hand up to cup the back of your head and push it deeper into the crook of his neck.  “That’s enough talking.”

You stomp down the playful urge to bite him and settle into him instead, closing your eyes and breathing him in.  Fuck.  A few days on Naboo.  You’ve only heard nice things about the beautiful planet.  You wonder if it has an ocean.  Could a planet be called beautiful if it doesn’t have at least one?  You’ve seen rivers and lakes on planets Din has taken you to, but there was always land on the other side.  You’ve never seen an actual ocean before, you’ve only heard about them.  Water, as far as the eye can see.  There has to be an ocean on Naboo, right?

“Hey Din, are there any—”

“Stop.”

It’s alright, you’ll ask later.

[wornoutmouse]

Baby Daddy Shigaraki fanfic pt2

It was a miracle that no one questioned the name put down when Shigaraki had to sign the birth certificate. You summed it up as fearing for their lives but it could be many things you try to convince yourself as the reality of your new life truly set in.

The after birth pain, though constant, was numbed whenever you looked down on your son's face. He had yet to do anything more than sleep, much to your annoyance. And was aggressive when breastfeeding  much to Shigaraki's enjoyment, "Just like his father." 

Dabi was the second one to hold Daiki after Komugiri but the look of horror on his face when you fully released the baby into his arms was one that deeply concerned you. "It's breathing." He whispered to you eyes wide.

You signal for Komugiri to stand close behind Dabi just in case he really lost it. "Yeah Dabi.....he is breathing...cause that's what living things do." 

Time skip

You sigh as you finally set Daiki down inside his new bed for a nap. His small face looked so delicate surrounded by soft lavender blankets. His whole room theme was a soft purple as preferred by Komugiri. 

You closed the door till there was only a sliver of light coming in just in case he woke up again, then you headed to your living room. 

Shigaraki sat on the couch shirtless and flicking through TV channels. "Why are you still here?" You ask as you walk to the kitchen to find your tea. "What do you mean?" You stir four teaspoons of sugar into your coffee. "I got Daiki under control, you don't have inconvenience yourself."

Tomura flicked through the channels once again. "You and Daiki are not an inconvenience, you're both my responsibility now." You release the spoon causing it to clink loudly against your ceramic cup. "I don't want you to force yourself to be here, you've obviously proved that you don't really want to be apart of this."

"Y/N come on now this again?!" "Yes this again!" Shigaraki groaned scratching idly at his neck. "I've already missed the hidden trailer off Daiki's life I'm not going to miss the prequel sequel." You groan softly, "Stop talking in video game terms you know I don't understand!"

Shigaraki stands up and walks to the kitchen now leaving only the island separating you. "Look you can hate me all you want, I don't care, hell I'm used to it. But you are not keeping me from my son." You shudder at the tone Tomura spoke at.

There were very few times when you've heard this voice and luckily it was never directed to you. This voice meant that what he said was final and he would not go back on it no matter who got in his way. "I would love to have you in his life Tomura, but I don't want what comes with it." You finally say, making Tomura throw his hands up in defeat.

"What do you expect me to do woman?! Make him tag along on "Bring your child to work day?" You turn away trying to contain your annoyance in fear of waking up the baby. "I'm giving you one chance to get your shit together, don't mess it up." Behind you, you could hear the steady steps of Tomura retreating, "And I'm giving you a chance to see how stupid you're being right now."

Before he completely walked away he stopped, "I am going to check on Daiki since it seems like he's the only one that appreciates my efforts."

Once you heard the familiar creak of Daiki's bedroom door you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. "How did I get like this?" 

It of course was on a Saturday, as all good stories do. You were working a waitress job at Denny's as a way to earn some pocket money for your first year in Japan. 

"Table 3 we got your Bourbon Chicken skillet, Fish and chips, two waters, and a cherry sprite." Your say setting down all your items before walking to the booth next to them. 

"Hello welcome to Denny's, what can I get for you all tonight?" Dabi at the time, had a nonchalant hand over Twice's mouth most likely to stop his internal bickering. Komugiri was navigating the kids menu with a then 15 year old Toga. Spike ordered some Fish and Chips as per usual and Shigaraki was starting at your tits.....

Shigaraki was staring at your tits.....

He was STARING- I think you get the point

"Hey birthday bitch what are you ordering?" Dabi said snapping Tomura back to the present. "Uh.. get me a steak skewer." Dabi gasped, "I spent all my time and hard work scrounging up money and you get a damn steak skewer for your birthday?!" 

The five stages of grief came over you internally as you had been standing there way past your recommended time. "If you guys aren't ready to order, I'll just come back-" 

"No no no, we are ready. Can we get chicken on a stick with a side of grapes and fries for the young lady. Steak and eggs for me...Dabi? Dabi leaned back simultaneously releasing twice. "We would like a 3-egg omelette-with some cock!" 

You didn't get paid enough for this.

"I'll get you the omelette but I'm afraid I'm out of stock for that last part." You smirk, putting down the orders so far. Dabi snapped the menu shut, "Do y'all have chicken tenders?" Dabi asked, looking at you hopefully. You nod and he fist bumped Twice for some unforeseen reason. 

"Uh get crusty over there a Supreme Sizzling Skillet." "Wait why can all of you get chicken but I can't?!" You wrote down the orders and glanced at Shigaraki who was now looking directly at you as if you held all the answers. "Okay for drinks?"

   As you got off work, you took the back alley entrance to the bus stop. "Hey." Your scream and toss a punch into the darkness effectively making skin to skin contact. "Ow what the fuck?!" "What do you mean what the fuck you're the rapist!"

Shigaraki's signature light blue hair appeared from the shadows almost glowing from the dim alley light. "Rapist? No, I'm more on the lines of stalker." You stand there for a moment rethinking your life choices. "Yeah okay well I'm going to go-" "Wait!" 

You feel half of a hand grip onto your wrist stopping you in your place. "I uh... Think you're cute and, ah crap what did Dabi tell me to say?!" 

As he mulled over his choice of words you hesitantly reach into your purse for pepper spray. "Uh I was wondering if I could get to know you?" He finally ended off staring at you expectantly. You looked back at him expectantly.

"I know this seems creepy but I'm not exactly good at talking to people that are not my friends so you're kinda boss level interaction." For a while your stare at each other as the cold fall wind blew past the two if you. Giving up, you sighed and pulled out a price of paper, "Look, if I wake up tomorrow and none of my underwear is missing and window is not mysteriously open, I'll give you a call, but don't expect it!"

And he didn't expect it. To your surprise, you never found any ominous signs of entry into your substitute home, and he never 'conveniently' showed up at your job. 

Even so, the very fact that you called him was during a moment of weakness. You were extremely home sick and you had just moved into your new home that was only equipped with a fully furnished bedroom and a microwave. 

When you heard the hesitant knock on the door you quickly put your cup of noodles down and opened the door. In your face was a rose...a single rose in a pot. 

Thats different

"It was short notice and it's not like any flower places were open.... So I stole it." You gingerly take the plant into your hands, "It's the thought that counts (?) Come in." You shut the door behind him and set the plant in the kitchen. 

"You must forgive the dryness of my home, I just moved in so there isn't much going on." Tomura hummed as he felt his bones relax as the warmth of the house filled his body. You stared at each other for a while, awkwardly sweating back and forth. Finally, you both opened your mouth to speak up.

"I didn't know I'd get this far so.."

You blink at each other before you double over with laughter. "Uh okay, well how about we watch a movie, get comfortable. The TV is in my room so I hope that doesn't bother you." 

You put on Wall-E for lack of better mood as Tomura hesitantly settled on your plush bed, hands clasped tightly between his thighs.

You two watch these movie in silence and shared popcorn. It wasn't awkward silence though, it was needed. A unspoken message saying that you both acknowledged that this was weird but it was a good weird. Both of you were willing to give it a try.

"Hey pass the popcorn." Tomura said blindly patting the air in front of you. "No you've ate most of it already!" You opted to keeping the bag as far as possible. "It's good popcorn now hand it over." You continue to resist but he was more stubborn.

Unable to think of any other way to save your beloved popcorn you clench your eyes shut and deliver a small peck to the tip of Shigaraki's nose. 

Almost as if shocked, he slides away holding his nose gently. You huff with airy laughter at his flushed face, "Told you, this is my popcorn." 

You smile softly at the memory wiping away a stray tear from your face. "One chance... I'll give him one chance."

You tiptoe to Daiki's new room and peek inside. It was too dark for you to see inside so you opened the door completely. You blankly look into the empty room before falling to your knees. "SHIGARAKI TOMURA I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" You scream into the night air as you glared into the baby less crib.

"Man are you sure you should have him here? He's still a newborn and nothing's baby proof, hell this is a bar so it's far from sanitary!" Dabi said glancing into the baby carriage. Daiki sleepily gazed up at Dabi and babbled. 

"Y/N and I are going through a small set back so I decided to give her some space." Tomura unclipped Daiki from his carseat and picked him up holding his head in a four fingered hold. "We decided to give her some space isn't that right?" He cooed at Daiki who gingerly hit his nose.

"Dude stop, seeing you with a baby is giving me the creeps." Shigaraki glared as Dabi took a shot, "Ignore your uncle Dabi he's just mad he's not as cute as you."

Komugiri was washing dishes until a shiver went down his mystical spine, "I feel a disturbance in the force.

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

It Takes A Village Chapter 18

Chris Evans x pregnant!daughter!reader

Series MasterList

Series summary: You find out that you're pregnant. After being kicked out of your mom's house you go to live full time with your Dad who you only saw once every few months. Will he react badly to you being a mom at such a young age?

Chapter Summary: You go out and get everything you'll need for the twins.

Series Warnings: swearing, fighting with a parent, teen pregnancy, speak of abortion.

Chapter Warnings: Teen Pregnancy

You groaned rolling over onto your other side. It was around 4 am, you had only gotten an hour or two of sleep so far. You pulled one of your throw pillows that had found themselves on the floor and landed it down to rest your belly it before finally. You fell into a restful sleep.

Until 8 am when your dad came waltzing into your room with dodger, and pancakes. Dodger hopped onto the bed licking your face making you squirm and whine.

"Leemme alone." You sleepily muttered pushing his head away slightly.

"Okay bubba come here leave her alone." Chris sat the pancakes on your desk before pulling dodger off the bed. "Peanut! I made pancakes." He said softly.

"Go away." You sleepily glared at him. He smiled softly.

"Okay I guess I'll just have to eat them." He teased. You finally sat up a little.

"Not what I said! Give them!"

"Good morning bubba. Rough night?" Chris asked laughing at how you hair is going in different directions.

"Kinda give me the pancakes." You sat up more and made grabby hands. He chuckled passing the pancakes to you and sitting down.

"Here you go." He reached over to grabbed his plate that he brought. "So peanut after you eat get ready to go to the store! We have quite a few stops to go for the twins."

"These twins are killing me. It's so hard to sleep." You grumbled as you are your pancakes.

"Babies do that to you."

"What all do we need for them anyway?" You inquired.

"Well first I think we need to clear a corner of you room out for the cribs... So how about we move your bed from the wall. So that the cribs can be in between your bed and the wall?" He suggested.

"That'll work uh actually dad at the doctor said the babies could sleep in the same crib until they start rolling so I'm just going to get one for them until I have a bit more money," You agreed looking to the corner. "What else do they need?"

"That's works. You'll also a changing pad. We can get one to put on your dresser, they're gonna need clothes and diapers, you need to decide if your going to bottle feed or breastfeed. You also will need burp cloths, bibs, hats for them too it's getting cold, there's a lot."

"Can we wait till my next appointment to talk to the doctor about it?" You asked him.

"For what feeding?"

"Yeah."

"Sure bubba. So let's just go over what you have right now, you have two newborn onesies, and two outfits for 6-9 months. And two stuffed animals." He listed off looking at the stuff that were sat on your dresser. "I think you should clear a few draws from your dresser out or at least make room in your closet."

"I know dad." You took a bit of you pancakes.

"So how much money do you have for the crib. I'll help you out as much as you need."

"I have a thousand dollars all together."

"Okay you should be able to find a good crib then."

"Dad... How am I going to do school while I have two newborns?" You asked looking down at your plate.

"Well you do online school so when your in class they can take naps or spend time with me," he suggested, "when you work, I can babysit, Ethan already told you he wants to babysit. I'm sure nana and Papa will also be willingly watch them."

"I guess so." You shrugged.

"When did the doctor say they were due again?"

"November 5th." You said resting your plate on you belly.

———

"What else do they need?" You asked Chris. He thought for a moment.

"Well we got everything, but diapers, burp cloths, bibs, and bottles so one more stop," Chris said as he finished putting the stuff in the car. "How money do you have left do you need help?"

"Dad... I should have enough. I hope I have enough." You sighed.

"Okay." He said helping you into the passenger seat then he put the cart away and got in the car. "But-"

"But I'll let you pay I end up not having enough. Obviously." You rolled your eyes rest your hands on your belly. "Dad did you ever wonder what I'd be like when mom was pregnant with me?"

"Of course I did! I imagine you to look just like me with bright blue eyes."

"Not what I look like dad. Like what my personality would be." You corrected.

"Oh well of course why are wondering what Flynn and Felix will be like?" He asked you keeping his eyes on the road.

"Yeah."

"They'll be kind and sweet just like their momma." He assured.

You could only hope so.

A/n: I might change the divider but I don't know.

Taglist: @toastisgood @coldmuffinpartycloud @thevelvetseries @uniquebeautyqueen @kaitieskidmore1 @peggycarter-steverogers

[kelieah]

was it worth it? (peter parker x reader)

request (summary) @annamckayla : Hello, ur amazing! I wanted to request an Imagine where the reader and Peter are married with a bby, and after every mission she could be like "was it worth it" (in a kind playful way) and each time he would say yes, but one day the reader is somehow muddled up in this dangerous mission along side a few other ppl, he saves everyone but her, and he doesnt know if it was worth it

word count: 3.1k

warnings: lil bit of fluff, LOTS of angst so buckle up

edited: this is one of my longest fics so far, i put a lot of effort into this one kdsjnsdkfn

a/n: hehe ily anna but this request not cool dawg (jk ily but writing this hurt like a buttcheek on a stick)

masterlist | teaser

-

You look out the window, holding the beautiful baby boy you and Peter made in your arms and rock him back and forth. Your eyes scan over the city buildings, knowing your husband’s somewhere out there stopping crimes and saving lives.

“Did you know Ben, that your daddy is out there kicking butt? Saving lives, almost every day?” you look down at your sleepy baby.

He glances up at you with half-lidded eyes and coos, reaching out to you. You smile warmly and let him grab your finger.

“Yup, that’s right, daddy’s Spider-Man. I almost fainted when he first told me during our Senior year of high school,” you shake your head and chuckle at the memory.

You continue to sway him in your arms until he falls asleep. You hum quiet lullabies and walk over to the bedroom, placing him in his crib that was next to you and Peter’s bed.

Your head snaps up once you hear the bedroom window sliding up slowly. You chuckle quietly and place your hands on your hips, already knowing who it is.

Peter crawls in and onto the ceiling, closing the window with his foot. “Peter Benjamin Parker, you better not jump down. Ben’s asleep,” you warn in a hushed tone.

He looks over at you and takes off his mask, flashing you a sheepish smile. God, you could never get tired of watching him take off his mask like that.

He crawls down the side of the wall and quietly lands, walking over to you. He holds your waist and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your forehead against his, “You seem really beat, Mr. Parker,” you mutter softly.

“I sure am, Mrs. Parker,” he pecks your lips, glancing down into your eyes.

You sigh longingly, curling your fingers in his hair, “Was it worth it?” you tease quietly.

He sighs softly, “Are you going to ask that every single time I go out on a patrol?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Mhm, because you’re not just coming home to your lovely wife. You’re coming home to your lovely wife and baby boy,” you whisper.

“In my eyes sweetheart, it’s worth it to save another one’s life, stop crime and come home to my whole world, you two,” he cups your face, pressing kisses all over.

“But what if you don’t come home one day?” you whisper, feeling your eyes begin to gloss at the thought.

Peter tilts your head up towards him and kisses you deeply, bringing you closer, “You know I don’t know the answer to that. You shouldn’t constantly worry about the future baby, you should try-”

You sigh against his lips and pull away, “I know, Pete. I know,” you mumble.

“I love you, and Ben, so much. Don’t ever forget that okay?” he holds your cheek gently, caressing it.

You place your hand on top of his nodding, “We love you more.”

Some nights he came back without a scratch but most nights he came back with much more than just a scratch.

Ben’s next to the couch sprawled out on a soft blanket, playing with some of his toys.

You’re fixing up some dinner until all of a sudden you hear a thud from your bedroom. You frown and quickly look up, turning off the stove in an instant.

You glance over at Ben making sure he’s fine. He looks up at you with curious eyes, his mouth all over a teething toy. You smile softly then quickly walk over to your bedroom, “Pete?” you peek your head in.

You gasp at the sight of Peter flat on the floor by the window, holding the side of his torso in pain. You rush over and slide next to him, lifting his head up gently to rest him on your lap.

“What happened?” you whisper, placing a hand on his cheek.

He smiles timidly and looks up at you, “I-I’m fine I swear baby, just a little whoopsie,” he breathes out.

Your eyebrows furrow in concern, and slowly lift up his hand. You frown at the deep cut above his hip, “Can you get up? I need to patch you up Peter,” you whisper.

He nods and carefully begins to sit up. You help him stand up and walk him over to the bathroom. You watch him lift himself up on the counter, letting out a sharp grunt.

You sigh, grabbing some cloth from the bottom drawer and handing it to him. “Apply pressure okay? I’m going to check on Ben,” you walk off.

You see Ben begin to doze off and walk up to him, scooping him up in your arms. You hold him gently and head back to the bedroom, placing him in his crib.

You walk back to Peter and get out the medical kit you have nearby at all times. Peter watches you with tired eyes, holding the cloth you gave him to his wound.

You look up at him and press a kiss against his forehead, “I think you need stitches bub,” you hold his cheek. He nods against your touch.

“Okay Mrs. Parker,” his raspy voice making your heart clench.

After stitching him up, you help him clean himself up. You stand in between his legs and wrap your arms loosely around his neck. You give him a concerned look that makes him pout.

“I know what you’re about to say.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Baby,” he groans quietly and pulls your waist close, “Yes, yes it was.”

You hum quietly, threading your hands through his hair, “Why?”

He nuzzles his nose against yours, letting out a quiet sigh, “You know why.”

You exhale and press your lips against his for a moment. He kisses back and holds you closer. You pull away and cup his cheek in your hand, “I guess so,” you whisper.

You never stopped asking him that question every time you came home. Deep down, you dread the day you won’t be able to ask him due to him never returning.

Though you knew it was repetitive and annoying to ask, you couldn’t help but ask. There was this one night where Peter wasn’t having it and the two of you broke out in a fight that thankfully ended in an agreement.

Peter tiredly crawled through the bedroom window, freezing as his enhanced hearing picked out the soft snores that came out of Ben’s mouth.

He smiled softly and closed the window, jumping down quietly. He walks over and adjusts Ben’s small blanket. Peter shuffles over to the kitchen to grab some food.

“Hello to you too,” you piped up from the couch, leaning on the palm of your hand.

“Sorry babe, hi,” he came up to you, bending down to kiss your forehead.

“You okay? Rough night?” you sat up, looking up at him worriedly.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he waves his hand and goes over to the fridge, grabbing some food.

You sighed and followed, leaning against the counter. He heated up his food in the microwave and glanced over at you, “What?” he yawned.

“Was it worth it?” you teased, poking at his side.

Your smile faltered as you noticed he didn’t react. He let out a weak chuckle, “Mhm.”

“Peter, I’ve known you for what? Six years now? You can talk to me bub,” you murmured.

“Do you always have to fucking ask that question? Every single fucking time I come back from risking my life for others, “was it worth it” bullshit? Do you!?” he snapped his voice loud yet low enough to be heard by you but not by Ben. He dragged his hands down his face and looked over at you with the most exhausted expression, waiting for a response.

Your heart raced and you felt your throat begin to swell, never expecting Peter to burst out like that, “I-I never meant for it to upset you P-Pete,” you whispered, “I j-just-”

“You just what huh? Y/n, love, I don’t think you understand what I do out there,” he grits through his teeth, turning off the microwave that went off. “Of course it’s fucking worth it, I’m an Avenger. A hero. It’s what we do! That’s all we fucking do,” he fumed, pacing back and forth.

You inhaled sharply, quickly wiping away your tears that fell from your cheeks before Peter saw but you failed to do so. He stopped in his tracks, his heavy breathing calming down, “S-shit baby, I-I’m so sorry-” he took a step towards you.

You took a step back, “N-no, it’s okay. I get it, it was inconsiderate of me to ask, constantly. I-I just thought it was kind of like an inside joke y-you know? But there’s no excuse for it,” you whimpered, “A-actually a part of me, h-has been wanting to bring up y-your career Peter.”

He nodded, walking over and cupped your face, wiping away your tears, “Talk to me sunshine, I-I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you at all, dammit it’s just been a long day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you just now. I-I’m calm, just talk to me. I’m here, I got you,” he pressed a kiss against your forehead, his words starting to take an affect on you.

You let out a shaky breath and nodded, “Peter, a-are you ever going to consider r-retiring? I-I know you’re young and I know it’s s-selfish of me to say, but you could do so many other great things. L-less risky careers, because we,” you choke slightly on your words, Peter instantly placing a hand on your back to soothe you. “B-because we have a family now Peter, and if you,” you sobbed, “If you died, god I don’t know what’d I do.”

Peter’s heart shattered at your words and he pulled you into a tight hug, bringing your head to his chest. “I know, I know,” he whispered painfully. “Y-you have to trust me, and what I do. I-I love you both, with all my heart. With all my entirety. But I-I just can’t give up what I do.”

You sighed deeply and nuzzled your head into his chest, “I get it Pete,” you sniffled, beginning to calm down. “I really do. But remember what you told me that night when I found out your identity?”

“Wanna check out the other web shooter?” he muttered, playing with your hair.

You stifle a quiet laugh, “Besides that. You told me you kept your secret for the longest time because you didn’t want to put my life in danger. Nor May’s, nor Ned’s. Or anyone close to you,” you sighed. “D-does that not concern you now?”

Peter tensed at your question, “W-well when you put it like that. I feel like shit now,” he grumbled making you chuckle. “Look, I’ll talk to Tony okay? I’d never want to put you in danger, let alone our own son. I-I’ve just been so wrapped up in being this superhero that everyone looks up to that I- I didn’t realize I have everything I could ever need in front of me. You and Ben,” he squeezed you tightly in his arms. You smiled in content, tearing up and held him close.

Even after that argument you had with Peter, you still managed to ask him the question. Luckily without pissing him off. He eventually came up with different creative and adorable responses each time which you absolutely adored.

“Peter, I’m going to run to the store real quick m’kay? Watch Ben,” you walk over to where he’s sitting, wrapping your arms around him.

He looks up at you and you peck his lips causing him to grin, “Okay mama.”

You smile happily, ruffling Ben who’s sitting in his dad’s lap and grab your keys, walking off. Ben pouts slightly and reaches out for you as you leave the apartment.

“Don’t worry buddy, mommy will be back,” Peter ruffles his head gently making him giggle. “Now look,” he props him up to face the TV, “That cool guy right there, that is Luke Skywalker.”

Soon after about two Star Wars movies later, Peter began to get worried. He places Ben who fell asleep back in his crib.

He walks over to his phone and leaves you another message. He paces around for a couple minutes and quickly glances at his phone repeatedly.

His heart jumps out of his heart when he hears your ringtone and immediately picks up, “Y/n? Are you okay? It’s been almost two-”

“Peter Parker,” a low raspy voice answers, “I hope you didn’t forget about me Spider-Man,” he chuckles darkly.

Peter’s eyes widen, panic beginning to rush throughout his body, “Where is she?” he spits.

“She isn’t the only one in danger Parker,” he holds your phone up, a bunch of other voices crying out for help.

“P-Peter!” he hears Aunt May wail out.

“You fucking monster,” Peter snarls, clenching his fist.

“Wilmington Fifth Street, the warehouse on the right. Can’t miss it. If you call backup, all your loved ones will be dead,” the anonymous enemy retorts and ends the call.

Peter quickly calls Tony, “Kid what? It’s like 9-”

“Mr. Stark please s-send someone over to my apartment to watch Ben. I-I have to take care of something please,” Peter explains, putting on his suit.

“On it,” Tony recognizes the panic in his voice, “Do you want me to send backup?” he asks but doesn’t receive a reply as Peter hangs up.

Peter paces around, running his hands through his hair. Within a couple of minutes he hears someone walk up to the front of the door and swings it open before they could knock, “Oh thank god, Happy. Please, watch Ben. I have to go,” he rushes back to the living room.

“O-oh okay, yeah of course. Peter what’s-” Happy asks closing the door behind him.

Peter jumps out the window and swings off to the address that clouded his mind. “God please, please,” he whimpers to himself and eventually lands in front of their warehouse.

He couldn’t just burst through the front door, that’d bring too much attention. Peter looks around and quickly swings up to the roof, finding an entrance from a lifted up window.

He scans the room quickly to see Aunt May, Ned and MJ all tied together. “Karen, is there anyone else is the building?” he mutters lowly.

“Yes. But if you act now, you can save those three,” she states.

“On it,” he grunts and swings down quietly. They all look up at Peter with fearful and tear-filled eyes, shaking their heads.

He quickly takes off the tape on their mouths and unties them, “Peter no he has her-” May sobs.

“I-It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay. All of you need to get out of here now. Police are on their way, they’ll be around the corner,” they all nod in response, too shaken up to say anything. He leads them towards a backdoor entrance. “Where’s Y/n?” he asks, before letting them go.

“She’s in the back, w-with the Vulture,” Ned looks over at Peter.

“He came back?” Peter’s breath hitches. “N-no time, okay go,” he pushes them out and quickly swings back inside.

“Karen, where are they?” Peter whimpers under his breath. She instantaneously shows the whole warehouse mapped out and where she detected two life forms.

Peter rushes over to the back and slams the door open. You sat there tied up in a chair and unconscious.

“Y-Y/n,” he sobs, stumbling over towards you.

“I wouldn’t,” a voice rings from behind you. Peter snaps his head up and shoots a web towards the voice.

The Vulture’s new and improved wings cut his web as it came towards him, “You know Parker, all those years ago. When you were a little fucking Freshman, you took everything from me. Everything.”

“You’re supposed to be in jail,” Peter snaps, walking over to him swinging a fist to his masked face. The Vulture’s wings are too fast and slashes his arm before Peter could make contact. 

Peter lets out a strained yelp and gets kicked down by him. “Now, I’m going to take everything away from you, starting off with your wife,” he spits, placing his weighted foot down on Peter’s head.

Peter yells in frustration and shoves him off, attacking him with all the power and rage he mustered up. The Vulture easily blocks his attacks and slams him against the wall, “Tsk tsk. You never learn,” he steps on him roughly and repeatedly. Kicking him down with his weaponized and sharp boots. Peter weakly attempts to block his blows but fails. The Vulture chuckles darkly and walks over to you, shaking the blood off his boot.

“N-no, Y-Y/n, please n-no,” he gets up slowly, his ears beginning to ring and his sight becoming blurry. The Vulture circles you, cutting off your restraints and kicks you to the floor, your body falling to the ground with a thud.

You wake up to a sharp pain impaling your stomach, the Vulture’s point of his wing shoved into your torso. You let out a blood-curdling scream, bright red seeping out from your clothes. You feel something warm and thick begin to spill from your mouth.

“Y/n!” Peter shouts, tears streaming down his face. He limps over to you and falls by your side, screaming out in agony.

Suddenly the walls shake and Tony appears with the rest of the Avengers that were nearby to help. “Fuck,” the Vulture mutters and makes a run for it, about to fly off.

Tony blasts him down and flies down, managing to fight him off. Steve helps him out and they capture him, getting his weapons off him as they cuff him up.

You look around beginning to see white. Your ears fill with ringing and faint voices, until a familiar weak voice snaps you back into reality for a moment.

“M-my pretty girl, h-hey. Hey,” Peter whispers, brings your head onto his lap.

“P-pete?” you barely whisper, weakly raising your hand to his cheek.

“Y-yup that’s me. Your husband, the father to our child,” he shakily holds your hand against his cheek.

“B-Ben? Baby B-Benjamin?” you ask, eyes fluttering as you stare into Peter’s glossy eyes.

He nods in response, tears dripping down from his face onto yours.

You go silent for a while, trying to process everything that just happened. Peter chokes on his sobs, and brings you close to his bruised body.

“P-Peter?” you rasp.

“Y-yes my love?” he sniffles, brushing a hair out of your face.

“W-was it worth it?” you ask tiredly, lips quivering as a slow tear rolls down your cheek.

He lets out a loud strained sob, shaking his head furiously, “N-no. No it wasn’t. It wasn’t,” he wipes away your single tear with his thumb.

You barely curl your lips in an attempt to smile and close your eyes, going limp in his arms. Peter bursts out in a fit of sobs and hugs you close to his body, his body trembling against yours.

Tony and the rest of the team stand around nearby, pain filling their hearts and tears welling up in their eyes as Peter cries out in misery.

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[dadsbongos]

Reges Sumus

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa (which game/anime? who tf knows) Dynamic: Izuru Kamukura/Reader (heavily mentioned Hajime Hinata/Reader) Warnings: despair arc tings, i tried to put more into izuru’s character so i’m sorry if he comes out ooc :( Summary: Izuru knows he’s miserable, but he can never find himself pulling away. ~~~

“The world has fallen into despair. A despair so deep the entirety of humanity has cascaded into bloodlust. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Those outside our walls feel it all. Those outside our walls are jealous of us. Of our hope. Of our unity. Of our home. We cannot let them take us. We cannot let them take anything that is rightfully ours. Protect this place with your lives, for if you fall - so does our hope. So do I. So go out and fight, fight with all you have, fight with all you are. For your spouses, for your parents, for your children - for me. As long as you do so, we can save this world. We will save this world using my Ultimate as a weapon.”

“Praise be, oh Dominus.”

“Praise be, Reges Sumus.”

(Y/n) outstretched her arms to the crowd, “Now go, my children, my loves, save this world!”

In near perfect synchronist, the people pulled down their masks and turned to the large front door of the ransacked mansion, picking up their guns, bats, and knives as they left. Just in case, of course, it wasn’t their fault if someone wasn’t willing to give their rations to the leader. Same as it wasn’t their fault if their bat slipped over someone’s head, hard enough to crack open the skull like a nut, or if their fingers slipped over the trigger long enough to kill a small family over a can of beans. It wasn’t their fault. It was despair’s. It was Junko Enoshima’s.

“Dominus, aye?”

Looking to the source of the voice, (Y/n) gave the boy a close-eyed smile, she turned completely and waved off the guards that escorted the pair, “Fuyuhiko, Peko, my dears!” she let her hands fall on the blond’s cheeks, pressing a holy kiss to his forehead, leaving a lipstick stain in her wake before moving onto Peko and doing the same, “It’s lovely to have you visit.”

They both knew better than to wipe off the lipstick stains on their skin, anything even close to slander aimed at (Y/n) could be met with merciless death at her follower’s vengeful hands.

Fuyuhiko looked about the lavish room, decorated with stolen jewels and furniture, before nodding, “Not fuckin’ shabby.”

“Thank you,” (Y/n) clasped her hands together, bringing them to her chest in delight, “As much as I adore having you here, I must ask why drop by so suddenly?”

Peko piped up, “We got chased out of a hideout. Kazuichi thought it’d be funny to send us some Monokumas.”

“Oh, my! That’s not good at all,” the girl shook her head before turning and beginning to walk up a set of stairs, “Come.”

Following close after, Fuyuhiko watched as his fellow Despair trailed her fingertips gently over the paintings of herself hung in the hall. (L/n), (Y/n), Ultimate Charisma, had truly built herself a cult of lies. The belief that somehow her followers could rebuild the world and rid it of despair, somehow she could save the world with the power of her ultimate status.

She had no intention of doing so, but it gave the people something to believe in and fight for - and that was good enough.

“Here we are,” (Y/n) opened a bedroom door, a queen-sized mattress laying on the floor with no bed frame, “It’s the best I can do at the moment, my dearest apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fuyuhiko brushed off - he knew better than to complain.

Peko nodded, “This is enough.”

“I’m glad,” she gestured the pair inside, taking each of their hands and pressing a kiss to their knuckles, “Anything for my comrades.”

As she left, she shut the door. What despair would become of the poor soul whose room that was, a shiver went down (Y/n)’s spine at the mere thought.

Minor, of course, but only in the moment. It was one of many things that would slowly build up into a cacophony - and she was reveling in it.

Entering her own room, (Y/n) jumped slightly at the dark silhouette standing by her king-sized mattress, completed with the fanciest bed frame she could steal, before recognizing the long, flowing hair. She smiled at the boy, hands already reaching out for him, “Oh, Izuru, my darling,” she took his cheeks, lovingly brushing her thumbs over the bones and bringing his forehead to her lips in a staining kiss, “Did you get in with Fuyuhiko and Peko?”

He made no gesture of nodding but the agreement was there, or perhaps he simply ignored her question and she was projecting upon a blank canvas, “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to start a cult, but won’t they tear you apart when they realize what you’ve done?”

The lies she’s told. The things she’s stolen. The people she’s killed. The sins living in her veins thrived on every weeping babe and execution splattering across these walls of hers.

“Isn’t that the point? The despair. Having everything I’ve worked for crumble when the worms revolt,” she answered, sitting upon her bed and patting the space beside her for Izuru, “Sit, my dear, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he corrected.

“No, but I missed your face,” she leaned over, not particularly caring of any personal boundaries he may have, and brushed back his hair, slicking it away from his face and tying it back, “Well, it’s not truly your face, is it?”

Izuru didn’t respond, simply watching as the woman took a finger down the bridge of his nose.

“It’s Hajime Hinata’s,” her smile faded for the first time in a long time, a soft frown taking its place, “We were close, you know?”

“So I’ve heard,” Izuru grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist as her fingertip brushed his cupid’s bow, “I have no memory of that, you know.”

“I do.”

“So don’t force me to.”

“I’m not,” denying his claim, (Y/n) knew he didn’t believe her - though to be fair, she didn’t believe herself either, “I just like the despair of being so close, yet so far, from my beloved Hajime.”

Silence festered within the room once again.

A smile slowly teased back onto (Y/n)’s face, “You must be tired, but there’s something I simply have to show you.”

He knew where she was going with this, an attempt at recruitment as usual, but something deep, deep, deep down told him to go along with it. Perhaps it was a rare pity.

Perhaps it was the part of him enamored with the one called Dominus.

Perhaps it was the part of him that mourned the Ultimate Gamer.

Perhaps it was both.

Perhaps it was him. 

Any which way, he stood and followed after the woman, the red of the sky drenching the walls through cracked, dusty windows as they traversed down the hallway.

Passing Fuyuhiko and Peko’s room, passing the guard’s posts, passing the main room - (Y/n) led Izuru to a room at the very end of the grand corridor. Cardboard had been hastily tacked onto the wood with messy, uneven letters spelling out ‘nursery’ in bold. She pushed the door open easily enough, despite the clear indication it should’ve been locked, and gestured the long-haired man through. 

It was dark save for the faint light emanating from a baby monitor hooked onto a stained crib in the corner with ‘K.S’ etched into the corner. From what Izuru could see, there were about four cribs in the room and all of them filled with a sleeping baby.

“I feel no sympathy for babies in despair.”

“I never wanted kids,” (Y/n) brushed past the man and his words, her voice quiet to avoid waking the children, “I always thought they were snotty, whiny, loud, annoying little money-suckers who took and took and took until they were of age to take care of themselves and then they leave you forever…” she ran a finger over the sticky wood, “and I still do. But Hajime,” she hesitantly took a glance at Izuru, knowing she’d never find what she wanted in his gaze, “Hajime liked kids. He wasn’t sure he wanted any but I think he might’ve.”

Izuru watched the woman slowly revert back to his side to watch the babies as they slept, “So?”

“Do you want kids, Izuru?”

“I’m a war criminal.”

“War criminals can want kids, can’t they?” she huffed at his difficulty, previously cheery attitude slipping into her real feelings, “Someone being unfit to be a parent doesn’t stop them. I don’t know of any restrictions preventing someone from having a child, do you?” when he didn’t respond, she continued, “Hajime’s parents were unfit and still, they had him. I’m glad he was born but I wish it was to better people.”

“He didn’t seem to resent them. From what little I can feel of him.”

“He doesn’t seem to resent a lot of people he should. But it’s his life, who am I to interject?” she sarcastically mumbled, patience for Izuru Kamukura growing thinner, “I told him the procedure was an awful idea and look who’s standing next to me…”

“You seem to hate me and yet you strangely desire me at your side.”

“I told you already, it’s the despair.”

“I’m not stupid, (Y/n), I can see through you.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Your request is impossible and you know that.”

She just wants her boyfriend back, is that really so much to ask for?

“My request is…” she paused, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows, “My request is…”

“I’ll be taking a room for the night,” he coldly informed.

“Stay with me,” (Y/n) took Izuru by his sleeve, fingers grasping at the clothes she’d never seen on her lover before - and she still hasn’t, technically. Because it wasn’t him, no matter how much she wished for him to magically wake up and be Hajime again - deep down, she knew better.

Izuru looked at the woman, her eyes slowly wetting and bottom lip quivering. She didn’t want him. She may have thought he was attractive, but that was only because he had stolen a man’s face.

She’d never want him.

It… stung. To know a woman so enamored with a lesser version of yourself, or who you had taken over, wasn’t similarly enamored with you. And she never could be. He didn’t like feeling so hurt over her rejection. He didn’t like knowing why it hurt.

Because he always wanted her.

He shook off her hand before wordlessly leaving the room and beginning his trek towards their shared abode for the night.

He wasn’t Hajime Hinata, he was Izuru Kamukura and he knew that no matter how much he wanted the sting to die, he would still be Izuru Kamukura when he woke up in (Y/n)’s arms the next morning.

It was Junko’s curse.

It was despair.

[votederpycausemufins]

for the longest time my brain just did not want to write. but then two scenes came to mind and bam, chapter!

and as always

@petrichormeraki​

Wilbur showed up like he was arriving at a party. In a sense he was since Dream was taken down and he was going to see Tommy again. Dream may have revived him, but even that wasn’t going to convince Wil to help the tyrant. When he reached Philza and Techno, he was surprised to see no sign of Tommy. “So, where is he?”

“Tommy? He’s showing off his base to Tubbo.” Grian spoke up, making Wilbur notice him. His parrot wings were folded tightly so they couldn’t be seen, which was perfect for him. "Hey, you got something in your hair.”

Wilbur patted his head. “What, my hat?”

Grian shook his head and put a blue feather there. “It’s right there.”

“I can feel you put something there.” Wilbur pulled the feather out. “Don’t need you-” He stopped talking once he actually looked at the feather.

“Hey look, I’ve got one too.” Techno said pointing at the yellow feather placed behind his ear.

“No.” Wilbur sounded dumbfounded and looked back at Grian, who now had a red feather stuck in his own hair.

“Alright, let’s go see Tommy.” Grian spoke nonchalantly before Wilbur grabbed him.

“Oh no you don’t! You don’t just get to drop that bombshell on us and walk away!”

Grian laughed. “What, missed me?”

“Yes! Where the fuck were you?”

“Oh, here and there. How are you doing being alive again.”

“Less violent than I was before dying I suppose.”

“Good! But I’m still not letting you near Tommy.” When Wilbur tried to say something, Grian stopped him. “Nope, you can’t argue. I’m oldest now.”

“What the fuck to you mean, I’m a minute older than you bird boy.”

“Not anymore, I’m now in my thirties.”

“Wh- How?!”

Philza put a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “We can talk more when we meet back up with Tommy.”

“Yeah, we can visit his base hermit cribs style. I’ll grab my backup elytra and some rockets!” Grian ducked into a shop to use their ender chest. “Oh yeah, are you guys okay with rockets? Because Tommy told me Tubbo doesn’t like them. They won’t explode or anything, they’re just to help you with flying. Obviously dad and I won’t need them, but uh, you guys don’t have wings.”

“I’ll take them.” Wilbur said. Techno was less eager, but did also accept the elytra.

As Grian was about to take off with his family, Scar cleared his throat to get their attention. “Now Grian, while I am glad that you have found the family you lost, I am still very serious about that paperwork. I have different forms for if they’re planning to stay permanently or if they’re just going to visit often. I can send the paperwork to your mansion if you want though if you just want to come to town hall right now, we can do it there.”

“Scar, right now I want to talk with my family and figure out what we’re doing. We can’t really sign paperwork if we don’t know which paperwork to sign, right?”

Scar nodded in agreement. “Alright, I’ll send it to the mansion then. Also about the other people visiting.”

Grian flapped his wings to quickly get into the air. “Sorry Scar too far away can’t hear you byeeeee!”

On the ground, Phil sighed, though he was smiling. “I guess this means we better start flying. Let’s get up higher for an easier take off.”

Though it took an attempt or two, the avian lineage seemed to help Techno and Wilbur get the hang of using elytra extremely fast. Though in the air, Grian hadn’t flown too far and the others easily caught up with him. He guided them to the south west towards where Tommy’s base was. 

As it came into view, Grian couldn’t help but laugh as he heard a gasp from behind. They landed in front of the arch acting as a doorway on the ground floor to find Tommy leaning against it. “Took long enough dickheads.”

Grian was about to jokingly scold Tommy when Wilbur went to hug and or lovingly bully his younger brother. Tommy waved his arms in an attempt to get Wil to stop, but he kept running towards Tommy. Just before he could reach the blond, he was tackled to the ground from the side by Grian.

“Grian! I was joking! It was going to be fine!” Tommy complained, helping to pull the avian off Wilbur. “You don’t have to keep mothering me! Stress does that plenty!”

“It’s not my fault I wore the chicken mask that long.”

“That is entirely your fault! And wearing a mask that long doesn’t change anything.”

Tommy and Grian continued to playfully argue until Philza caught their attention. “Oh right, forgot we had meetings to get to. Hey Tommy, which floor do you think is best for talking about all this.”

Tommy put a hand on his chin. “Hmmm, how about the sixth floor? I mean, that one is based on the smp.”

“Sounds great!” Grian said before flying up there, leaving the others behind.

“Hey! No fair!” Tommy shouted up. “Some of us have to use rockets to fly! Ugh fine we’re taking the bubble stream.”

Entering the tower, the first floor was just completely made of cobble. It was his favorite block and all, so if he was going to mainly use the first floor, that was the design he wanted. There were also a number of chests placed around to the point that it had become a bit of a chest monster. Wilbur couldn’t help but be curious and opened one chest, eyes widening at the contents. “This is filled with diamond tools and armor! You’re just leaving it here?”

Tommy looked over to what Wil was referring to. “What? Oh, that’s from endbusting. It’s all cursed gear. You should have seen the time I caught Joe afk and gave him a set of binding diamond armor. I’m not sure how he didn’t notice right away, but the moment I mentioned I liked his armor, he jumped in the nearest lava pool.”

“Really? Other than the curses, this seems like it’s pretty good?”

“Not really. No one is really stealing from each other so everyone’s got great gear. Besides, part of the prank was giving Joe diamond gear. He apparently said he wasn’t going to use diamonds this world and burns them when he gets them.”

“He just burns diamonds?!”

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugged, then walked over to one of many bubble columns. “Here, this one goes to the sixth floor. You guys go first. I want to make sure you go in it and not the others. I’ll show off my shit hermitcribs style later.”

When they got off the bubble elevator, it was something that was recognized immediately. The floor was made of grass and one wall was missing and looking right at the now setting sun. In the middle of the room was a simple bench and a jukebox.

“Your bench.” Wilbur spoke up, making Tommy nod.

“Yeah. There’s also one in the shopping district. That’s for more public stuff. I’ll just be hanging on the bench and other hermits can show up to talk about shit. This one’s for more private stuff like this.”

“Or for letting me cuddle with you.” Grian poked his head up from the other side of the bench. 

Tommy’s face turned a shade of red. “We do not cuddle!”

“Then what do you call what we do when you’ve had a long day and need me to come over so you can use my wings as a blanket.”

“Hanging out. Cuddling makes it sound weird.” Tommy crossed his arms.

Grian just tackled Tommy and wrapped him in his wings. “You’re not allowed out until you admit it!”

“Never bird bitch!”

He rubbed the feathers against Tommy’s face. “Say iiit!” Tommy just plucked a feather out making Grian pull back. “Ow! You didn’t have to do that!”

“I thought you wanted us to talk as a family or some shit.”

Grian rolled his eyes, but did nod. “Yeah, you’re right.” And then he sat down on the ground across from the bench. The others found their own places to sit and just sat there in silence for a few moments before Wilbur started the conversation.

“So, you changed your name then huh? Everyone’s calling you Grian.”

Grian nodded. “Yeah, I started using it back when I was in the orphanage and legally changed it when I was eighteen. Though it took a while with the criminal record.”

“I’m sorry, your what?” Philza asked sternly, but Grian just shrugged.

“Yeah I sort of murdered some people. I probably could have found a way around it, but at the time, it was the best answer I had. And I didn’t really have a good support system. I mean, I had friends, but how are you supposed to tell them you have voices in your head telling you what to do when they’re already not the best people themselves.”

Philza rubbed his forehead. “How bad?”

“Well…”

“No, nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

“So, you’re a Watcher?” Techno spoke up in a monotone voice.

Grian used enough of his power to make a third eye appear for a second before making it disappear again. “Yeah, whatever took me from you guys happened again and dropped me off in a world that was like, so many years in the past. I actually got dropped there with a lot of people and the Watchers sort of played around with us. Nothing as bad as what Dream seemed to be doing, just puzzles and cryptic clues and portals everywhere to push us forward in time when they saw fit. Eventually they convinced me to join them.”

“Just like that?” Techno raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, I was a real pain in their side for loads of time before they finally asked me to join. I’m pretty sure it was because it was because that was the one way to get me to stop messing around.” Grian laughed at his own joke before looking sadly at the floor. “First thing I did was start looking for you guys. I assumed you would still be in the castle or somewhere nearby, but the place was abandoned. And it’s harder to find someone when you don’t know what world they’re in.”

Philza started to reach for Grian, but the younger avian’s wings started to puff up in agitation. “You know, I don’t know if I should be happy that I found you or upset. I could have never figured out where you guys were unless I got lucky peering into worlds. Only reason I found out was because Tommy came here. And he only came here because he ended up in a dangerous world with no family helping him. And you nearly took him back there.”

Tommy put a hand on one of Grian’s wings, making him puff up even more. “Hey, calm down Big G. You made sure they couldn’t do that. And if they do try, just knock some sense into them.”

Grian calmed down, though there was still tension in the room and no one spoke. The first thing that broke the silence was a yell from above them. “Tommy! How do you get down? I don’t have a water bucket on me!”

Tommy jumped up from where he was sitting. “Oh shit! I’ll be right there Tubbo!” And Tommy jumped out the window. Grian waited a moment before asking the others to look behind them, which they did just in time for all of them to see Tommy making a face at them all as he went up the bubble stream. A few moments later, Tubbo was going down a different bubble elevator and then Tommy glided in through the window. “Sorry, I keep the down one closed off so the bees don’t wander their way into it on a suicide mission. Tubbo couldn’t find it and obviously he’s not flying around.”

“Can you actually ask him to come up here? I want to say something that involves him.”

“Got it.” Tommy leaned out the window. “Hey Tubbo! Come back up here! Use the one with green glass!”

A moment later, Tubbo exited onto the floor. Tommy pushed Wilbur off the bench to make room for Tubbo to sit. “Hey! How are you so strong!”

Tommy gestured at the room around them. “I mean, I got help from some of the hermits for the interior, but the exterior was all me. I mined tons of shit looking for diamonds and I used it for here. I mean, I also got some help with the flag on top, but otherwise, all seventeen floors were built by me.”

“Seventeen floors?!”

“I know, they’re all as tall as this one so it’s small as fuck. Only big one is the top since I didn't waste an extra ceiling with the roof there.”

“You should do what Tango did last season and add a dragon or two.”

“Nah, might just start making a castle to pair up with it.”

“Tommy! What the fuck!” Tubbo said suddenly. “How did you get so good?!”

“It’s just sort of how we do stuff here on Hermitcraft.” Grian answered. “You were at Iskall’s tree right? That’s his base. He got us to help collect the leaves, but he’s been placing it all.” Tubbo just looked like his head was about to explode. “Anyway, I wanted Tommy to call you here because I didn’t get the chance to tell you. You’re the admin of the smp now.”

“I’m what?!”

“I figured after all I’ve heard about you from Tommy, you would be safe to turn into the admin. Obviously it can be moved to someone else, but you were the first choice.”

“I can’t be the admin! What if I end up like Dream?! I already wasn’t the best at being president! What if I screw up and they put me in pandora’s vault too!”

Tommy hugged Tubbo. “You were a great president, you just had to deal with bad people. And they’re not going to put you in some stupid fucking vault for a mistake.”

“And if they do, we call in Mumbo. Speaking of him, I should call him over.” Grian pulled out his communicator and hit the call button for Mumbo, putting it on speaker for the fun of it. When the redstoner answered, Grian spoke in a dramatic and joking tone into the microphone. “Mumbo. Babe. Light of my life. Father of our children.-”

Though Grian sounded like he was going to continue, a tired sounding Mumbo came through to stop him. “What do you need Grian?”

“We’re at Tommy’s base. Can you come over and meet everyone?”

“I was already planning on finding you. I’m of course on Grian watching duty after that stunt you pulled. I would have already shown up but the redstone blocks finally needed replacing.”

“Remember to bring scaffolding. You know water and redstone don’t mix.”

“I’m well aware. Bye Grian.” And Mumbo hung up.

Grian and Tommy explained more of everything on Hermitcraft and answered more questions while they all waited for Mumbo. Finally there was the distinct noise of scaffolding being placed and they saw a tower appear in front of the window and then keep going up. From below, they could hear Mumbo talking to someone else he had brought along. “You don’t need that much. Grian said they’re only on the sixth floor.”

“But I want to see Tubbee! Tubbee Tubbee Tubbee!”

“You can see Tubbee later. C’mon, let’s see Grian first.”

After the talking stopped, up the scaffolding came what looked to be a small child. Behind them was someone a bit taller, but obviously still young, and last was a man in a black suit and a mustache.

“Dad!” The smallest one ran over and jumped at Grian. Wilbur looked between Grian and the kid.

“Wait, so that wasn’t a joke. You actually have kids?”

“Well you have Fundy. I have these two. Meet Grumbot and Jrumbot.” 

Wilbur opened his mouth again with a sly smirk. “Is he any good?” and then added in a wink.

When he realized what was being implied, Mumbo’s face turned a bright red and he tried talking but it was all flustered stuttering. Grian has a similar though not as pronounced reaction to the question. Jrumbot looked between his dads confused while Grumbot looked at Wilbur. “My brother and I were merely built and are powered by redstone. We have no organic parts. Our dads are not together and thus have not had se-”

“GRUMBOT!”

[thelastspeecher]

The Six Senses - Chapter 4: Ugly Things in the Darkness

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

It’s been three years since I posted Chapter 3 of this fic.  And now, I’m finally finishing it!  I had a lot of ideas and plans to do more than just four chapters, but inspiration is a fickle mistress, and I ran up against basically a wall.  Not to mention, while I was working on this last chapter, my Word doc kept freezing, so I think the Universe is trying to tell me to end the fic here.

Enjoy.

---

Summary: The assault on the company.

Ugly things in the darkness Worse things in store In the declining years Of the long war - The Mountain Goats, “In the Craters on the Moon”

——————————————————————————————

              Shermie’s van came to a stop outside a small, cozy cabin. Stan, Ford, Fiddleford, and Shermie got out.  Ford eyed the cabin.

              “Really?  This is where the kid lives?” he asked.

              “I think it looks lovely,” Shermie said. “Small, but homey.”

              “It’s the size that’s throwing Ford for a loop,” Stan explained, leaning against the van.  “The place is barely big enough for Dan’s voice.”  Shermie frowned.  “You’ll see.  Let’s head inside.”  The four headed for the cabin.  Just as Stan raised a hand to knock, the door opened, revealing Wendy.  Wendy beamed up at Stan.

              “Uncle Stan!” she chirped.  Stan scooped her into his arms with a playful growl.

              “Hey there, little gremlin,” he cooed.  Wendy giggled, throwing her arms around his neck. “Where are your parents?”

              “Mama’s in bed.”

              “And your dad?”

              “Right here,” a voice rumbled from behind the men. The men turned.  Dan Corduroy stood there, apparently just done with his work, judging by the dirty axe hefted over one shoulder.  “And ANGEL is STAYING in bed.  GOT IT?”

              “Angel?” Shermie asked.  Dan scowled.

              “My WIFE.”

              “Ah.  Yes. Is that- is that her name?” Shermie asked, clearly trying to be polite.  Dan’s scowl deepened.

              “It’s her NICKNAME.  Ever HEARD of one?”

              “Ah.  Okay.”

              “Good to see ya again, Dan,” Fiddleford said, holding out a hand.  Dan shook the offered hand.  Shermie goggled at how Fiddleford’s hand was dwarfed by Dan’s.  “How’s m’ sister doin’?”

              “All right, but NOT involved with THIS,” Dan said firmly.  “Doc says she CAN’T have more STRESS.  She’s staying OUT of this.”

              “Understood,” Ford said with a nod.  Dan sighed heavily.

              “But I can’t stay out of it,” he said somberly. Stan raised an eyebrow.

              He doesn’t use his inside voice very often.  He’s serious about this.

              Yeah, no shit, Ford said tartly.  Stan glared at him.

              Get outta my head, Sixer.  Ford rolled his eyes.

              Fine.

              “What do you mean, Dan?” Stan asked.  Dan sighed again.

              “These people…they’ve gone after my wife. They’ll go after my daughter, too. I can’t let them.”  He met Stan’s eyes squarely.  “Whether you like it or not, I’m coming with.”

              “We’ll be glad to have your help,” Ford said. He looked at Stan.  “Stan?”

              “Yeah, with Dan as backup, our odds are even better,” Stan confirmed.

              “Why do you think the company will go after your daughter?” Shermie asked.  Dan looked at Wendy, still in Stan’s arms.

              “Show ‘em, SWEETIE.”  Wendy nodded.  She closed her eyes.  Stan began to float off the ground.  He hovered for a few seconds before slamming back down onto his heels.  “Started happening LAST WEEK.  ANGEL says that’s how SHE started.”  Dan gripped his axe so tightly his knuckles turned white underneath his ginger hair.  “They WON’T do to Wendy what THEY did to my WIFE.”

              “No, they won’t,” Stan said firmly.  Dan looked at him.

              “Do you…KNOW?” he asked.  Stan reached for the information.  After a moment, he nodded.

              “Wendy’s safe.”  Dan’s shoulders slumped in relief.  “But only if we rescue Shermie’s grandkids.”  Dan grinned viciously.

              “Sounds GOOD to ME.  My AXE gets sick of TREES sometimes.”  Shermie, Fiddleford, and Ford blanched.  Stan, however, set Wendy on the ground.

              “Hey, kid, did you hear what your husband just said?” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

              “Yes, I certainly did!” the kid shouted from inside the house.  “And I’m not happy he made that sorta joke in front of people who don’t know his sense of humor!”  Stan smirked at Dan.  “You better all come inside so I can catch up with my family and scold my dear spouse!” Stan ruffled Wendy’s hair.

              “Go get your mama, sweetie.”  Wendy bolted inside.  Stan looked at Ford.  “Let’s go see our little sister.”  Ford smiled.

              “But of course.”

-----

              Dan’s pickup truck came to a stop inside a wooded clearing a little under a mile from the company’s headquarters.  Stan practically fell out of the car in his haste to be away from Dan’s distinctive body odor.

              “Do you ever shower?” Stan choked out.  Dan got out of the truck, scowling.

              “ANGEL likes it.”

              “Yeah, I don’t understand her sometimes,” Stan muttered.  Ford and Fiddleford got out as well.  “So, we all understand the plan?”  The other three men nodded.

              “We should go over it quickly, though,” Ford said. “We will break in by stealing some of the uniforms worn by the workers.  While Fiddleford causes a distraction, Stan and I use the map to track down Mabel and Mason.  Fiddleford leaves after causing his distraction, Stan and I leave after rescuing the infants, and we all meet up here with Dan.”  Everyone nodded.

              “If you NEED me, you can…”  Dan grimaced.  “You can get INSIDE my HEAD, Stanford.”

              “Really?” Ford asked.  Dan nodded.

              “I might HATE it, but it’s the EASIEST and FASTEST way to contact ME.  Can’t waste TIME with these PATHETIC worms.”

              “Usually I use more four-letter words to talk about the people who work for the company, but ‘pathetic worms’ isn’t bad,” Stan remarked. Dan grinned.

              “I just HOPE your CITY-SLICKER BROTHER takes care of my WIFE.”

              “Shermie will take great care of the kid and Wendy,” Ford said smoothly.  Dan nodded. Stan took a steadying breath.

              “We better go soon.”

              “Do our odds get worse if we wait?” Ford asked.

              “Yeah.”

              “Any particular reason why?”

              “‘Cause I’m gonna lose my nerve if I have to think about it much longer.”

-----

              One strong mental blast from Ford was enough to knock out the three guards by the back door.

              “You’ve gotten better at that,” Stan remarked as he removed the guards’ uniforms.

              “I’ve been practicing,” Ford replied.  Stan handed him a uniform.  “You’re physically much stronger than I am.  I have to be able to protect myself somehow.”

              “Yeah, yeah, I get it.  It’s just a bit surprising to see three men drop when all you did was look at them.”  Stan tossed a uniform to Fiddleford.  “Get dressed. We’ve gotta move fast.” Fiddleford nodded.  The three men pulled on the uniforms.  To Stan’s relief, the uniform included a full-face mask. Stan opened the door.  “All right, Fiddlenerd, go make us a distraction.” Fiddleford nodded and ducked inside.

              Stan and Ford waited a few minutes, then entered as well.  The moment they stepped into the building, Stan swore softly.

              “They’ve got dampeners up.”

              “We don’t need our ESP for this, though,” Ford said.

              “If everything goes right, we don’t,” Stan corrected.  “But that’s not what I’m worried about.  Mabel and Mason are babies.  The company’s already got power dampeners up for them, at this age?  Even the kid didn’t get dampeners until she was a toddler.” Ford stilled.  Stan couldn’t see Ford’s expression, but knew the blood had to be draining from his twin’s face.

              “Shermie’s grandchildren must be something special, to warrant such protection.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan shook his head.  “We can’t think about that right now.  We’ve gotta focus on getting the kids outta here.”

              “Absolutely.”  Ford pulled out the map.  He inspected it closely.  “I know which way to go.”

              “Well, age before beauty,” Stan said, gesturing for Ford to lead the way.  Ford huffed slightly, but began to walk.

              The company’s facility was different than Stan remembered.  He wasn’t sure whether it was because they had decided to switch up the design after relocating, or because he hadn’t seen it much when he was in the facility, since he had spent so much time locked in blindingly white rooms.

              Clearly, they haven’t changed their favorite color. The tile floor, walls, and even chairs and tables they passed were all white.  Would it kill them to have one piece of furniture that doesn’t look like it was bleached?  In the sea of white, a bright yellow plaque on the wall caught Stan’s attention.  He came to a stop in front of it.  Luckily, Ford noticed before he had walked very far.

              “Stan, we have to move,” Ford hissed, backtracking to where Stan stood.  Stan gestured at the plaque.

              “Apparently, this place has an actual name,” Stan said quietly.  The plaque proudly listed the names of donors that paid to construct the new headquarters of the Cipher Paranormal Studies Corporation.

              “I’m not surprised,” Ford whispered.

              “We were never told the name.  That’s a dick move.”

              “Stan.”

              “You’re right, this is the least dickish thing they’ve done.  But I still feel like we shoulda been told the name of the place we grew up in.”

              “Stan, we need to move fast.  We don’t want Fiddleford’s distraction to go to waste,” Ford insisted.  Stan nodded. He followed Ford away from the plaque, but glanced back at it briefly, a strange feeling in his chest.  Almost like his dampened clairvoyance was trying to tell him something.

-----

              “Here,” Ford whispered, coming to a stop in front of a closed door.  A sign on the door read “Subject Incubators”.

              “Damn, that’s a creepy way to say nursery,” Stan muttered.  He pushed open the door.  Like everywhere else in the facility, the room was bright white.  The furniture was the same color, including two cribs tucked against the back wall.  “There!” The brothers rushed over to the cribs. Stan’s heart sunk.  Only one crib had a child in it.

              “This must be Mabel,” Ford said, gently lifting the baby and nestling her in his arms.  Mabel giggled loudly.

              “But where’s-” Stan started.  The door opened behind them.  They spun around.  Two employees stood in the doorway, one carrying an infant.

              “Who are you?!” one of the employees snapped. In lieu of a response, Stan bolted across the room, tackling the employee who wasn’t carrying a baby before they could raise the alarm.  He kicked the door shut.  A jolt of pain accompanied the movement, making him gasp.

              Fucking hell.  My age is catching up to me.  The employee he’d tackled quickly recovered, shoving Stan off.

              “They said nanny duty was easy,” the employee spat.

              “Well, whoever told you that was lying,” Stan retorted, grabbing the front of the nanny’s uniform and pulling them in.  He then grabbed the nightstick attached to his hip as part of the uniform and whacked the nanny over the head with it. The nanny dropped to the floor, unconscious.  Stan got to his feet, prepared to attack the second nanny.  Instead, he saw Ford holding both babies and standing over the second nanny’s unconscious body.  “Huh.”

              “Please take one of the infants,” Ford said, panting. Stan took Mason from him.  “Thank you.”

              “Good work, Ford.”

              “Save the praise for after we’ve left the building,” Ford said.

              “Fair enough.”  Stan opened the door.  He caught sight of movement at the far end of the hall.  “Shit, more nannies are headed this way.  We gotta go.”  Stan and Ford sprinted out of the room, running until they had left the nursery far behind.  They came to a stop, breathing hard.  “Okay.” Stan gently cradled Mason in his arms, muscle memory from Wendy kicking in.  “We got the babies.  We got away from those evil nannies.  Now what?”

              “You’re the clairvoyant,” Ford snapped, holding Mabel close to his chest.

              “I can’t really do the clairvoyance thing if they’ve got power dampeners going,” Stan snapped back.

              “Fine, fine.”  Ford looked around.  “Should we go the way we came?”

              “Wh- you’re the one with the map!”

              “…I dropped it,” Ford mumbled.

              “You dropped it?!”

              “It was either the map or Mabel.  I chose to drop a piece of paper over our infant relative,” Ford said snidely.  Stan rolled his eyes.  “You helped to draw the map.  Do you remember anything from it?”

              “Not really, no.”  Stan looked up and down the hall, yearning for the familiar sense of churning in his guts to guide him.  “Maybe…that way?”  He turned left, going up the hall.  Ford followed.  “If the power dampeners weren’t up, this’d be a piece of cake.”

              “We might rely upon our powers too much,” Ford said quietly.

              “You might be right about…that…”  Stan trailed off.  They had reached a dead end.  A single, open door was in front of them.  Through that door, something was glowing.

              “What is that?” Ford asked.  He walked into the room.

              “Stanford, we’ve gotta get these kids outta here!  We can’t waste time trying to figure out whatever bullshit the company is doing now!” Stan hissed.

              “Oh, my god,” Ford whispered.  Stifling a groan, Stan entered the room.  His jaw dropped.  The room was massive.

              Well, it’s gotta be, to have room for…that. There was an enormous structure in the middle of the room, an upside-down metal triangle.  A circle was cut out of the center of the triangle, bordered by strange symbols.  Two metal circular platforms stood in front of the triangle.  An identical pair stuck to the ceiling like stalactites.  The platforms glowed a faint blue, as did lines of lights along the edges of the triangle.

              “What is that?” Stan asked.

              “My ride out of here,” a voice boomed.  The door slammed shut.  Stan and Ford spun around.  They were still alone.  “And you boys, as well as the other members of your deliciously powerful family, are my ticket.”

              “Okay, first, it’s gross as hell to call babies ‘delicious’,” Stan said.  “Second, who the fuck are you?”

              “I’ve had many names,” the voice said vaguely. Ford elbowed Stan.  When Stan looked, Ford pointed at a loudspeaker on the wall, from which the voice was coming.  Stan nodded.  “But the one you’ll recognize is Cipher.”  Stan’s blood ran cold.

              Cipher.  Cipher Corp.  The company’s real name.

              “Cipher,” Ford said.

              “That’s right!” Cipher said cheerfully.

              “Are you the boss of this whole fucked up shindig?” Stan asked.

              “Obviously,” Cipher scoffed.  “I have to admit, it was a delight to watch you grow up.”  The ice in Stan’s veins was promptly replaced with fury.

              “You stole us from our family!” he snarled. Cipher sighed.

              “I took you in,” he said, sounding disappointed in Stan.  “Your parents didn’t want you.  They didn’t want either of you.”

              “You-” Stan started.  Ford put a hand on his shoulder.

              “Cipher, what do you want with us?” he asked.

              “I already told you.  You’re part of my triumphant return home.  You, your twin, those darling children you’re holding, and even that young lady you think of as your sister are part of this.”  Stan heard a hitch in Ford’s breath.

              “Leave the kid alone,” he snapped.  “She’s been through enough!”

              “I’m not sure that she has,” Cipher said. Stan opened his mouth to shoot a retort, but before he could, there was a loud explosion.  Ford stumbled back a few steps, nearly falling.  The loudspeaker crackled.  Stan knew what had happened.  He knew.

              “Cipher’s gone,” Stan said confidently.  Ford looked at him.  “He probably went to find out what happened to knock out the power dampeners.  Now, let’s get the hell outta here before he comes back.”

              “We don’t have the map.”

              “We don’t need one now.”  Stan furrowed his brow, focusing as hard as possible on what route they should take to get out.  “The shortest route has a bunch of guards.  Looks like you’ll get plenty of chances to practice that telepathic attack of yours.”

              “At this point, I’ll take anything over more physical exertion,” Ford muttered.  “Lead the way.”

-----

              Exhausted and sweaty, but still alive, Stan and Ford finally arrived at the clearing Dan was waiting in.  Fiddleford was already there, pacing back and forth anxiously.

              “We’re here,” Stan croaked, removing his mask. Ford removed his as well. Fiddleford and Dan’s heads shot up.

              “Oh, thank the Lord,” Fiddleford said, resting a hand over his heart.  “I was startin’ to get mighty worried.  Did the distraction help ya or was it too late?”

              “It was perfectly timed,” Ford said.  He and Stan walked over to the truck. Fiddleford sighed in relief.

              “Good.  I had some issues tryin’ to decide how to set up the distraction.”

              “It worked out great,” Stan said.  Fiddleford grimaced.

              “Not really.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “He DROPPED the doohickey he made with my WIFE’S magic,” Dan rumbled.  Fiddleford glared at Dan.

              “I told ya, that ain’t how the lil tie I made works!”  He looked back at Stan and Ford.  “But…yes, I did drop it in the chaos.  Ya don’t think that’ll be a problem later on, will it?”

              “Of course it’s gonna be a fucking problem!” Stan burst out.  “You just handed over the kid’s powers to the company!”  Fiddleford quailed.  Ford put a hand on Stan’s shoulder.

              “Stanley.  It’s okay. That’s something we can deal with at a later point.  Right now, we need to be glad that everyone got out unharmed.”

              “Yes, how are the lil ones?” Fiddleford asked.

              “Surprisingly quiet,” Ford said.  Mason abruptly began to fuss in Stan’s arms.  “Never mind.”

              “They had power dampeners on for these little gremlins,” Stan said quietly.  Fiddleford cocked his head.

              “Well, ain’t that just their policy?”

              “Not for babies.  They put in the power dampeners when they decide that someone’s ESP is getting strong enough to cause problems,” Stan explained.  “Your sister only got power dampeners when she was a toddler, and you know how powerful she is.”

              “So these lil sweeties ‘re goin’ to have some strong ESP,” Fiddleford remarked, peering at Mason and Mabel.

              “That would be the logical conclusion, yes,” Ford said.  Fiddleford grimaced.  “We can finish this conversation at Dan’s place, I think.”

              “Yeah,” Stan said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the company decided to start combing the woods looking for us.”  He felt a nudge at the back of his mind and let the knowledge wash over him.  “Yep. They’re already coming.  Let’s get outta here.”  Dan got into the truck.

              “Took the WORDS out of my MOUTH.”

-----

              Shermie and Wendy cooed over Mason and Mabel, who were buckled into carriers, ready to be brought home to California.

              “They’re so little!” Wendy gushed.  Shermie smiled at her.

              “Yes, dear, they’re newborns.  When your younger brother is born, he’ll be as small as them.”  Wendy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

              “Whoa,” she whispered.  Shermie chuckled.

              “Hey, uh, Sherm, can we talk to you in private?” Stan asked.

              “Sure,” Shermie said.  “Fiddleford, Dan, mind keeping an eye on the babies?”

              “No problem,” Fiddleford chirped.  Dan nodded.  Shermie followed Stan and Ford outside.

              “What’s going on?” Shermie asked.  Stan crossed his arms.  He looked at Ford, waiting for him to start the conversation.  Ford sighed.

              “The company already installed and turned on power dampeners for Mason and Mabel,” he said.  “Power dampeners are expensive to maintain, so they’re only turned on when necessary.  The fact that they’d already turned them on with Mason and Mabel being so young…” Shermie paled.

              “They’re going to be particularly powerful, aren’t they?” he whispered.  Stan and Ford nodded.  “Oh, no.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’ll- I’ll have to warn my son and daughter-in-law.  But even with the warning, I don’t know how well they’ll be able to handle it.”

              “I’m going to go to California,” Stan said. Shermie stared at him.  “Ford and I realized that one of us should stick near you and the kids, to keep an eye on them, and we decided that I would.  I don’t really have much of an attachment to any particular place.  Not to mention, I can see danger coming from a mile away.”

              “Stan, that would be fantastic,” Shermie said, audibly relieved.  Stan shrugged.

              “It’s important to look out for family.”  He smiled.  “Even if you’ve only just met them.”  Shermie smiled back.

              “Still.  Thank you.” He glanced back at the cabin. “What about Wendy and her mother? They could probably use some protection. I know that Dan is rather formidable, but…”

              “I’ll be staying in Gravity Falls,” Ford interjected. “Stan and I saw something in the company’s facility that concerned us, so I won’t just be staying to keep an eye on Wendy and the kid, but also to find out what I can about what we saw.”

              “What did you see?” Shermie whispered.  Ford shook his head.

              “I honestly don’t know.  But it can’t be good.”

              “If I get any bad vibes or if Ford or the kid give me a call, I’ll head up to help out,” Stan said.  He grinned at Ford.  “But Ford proved he can hold his own today, so I think I can leave him here without too many problems.”  The door to the cabin opened.  Wendy sprinted out.  She tugged on Shermie’s pant leg.  Shermie looked down at her.

              “Yes, dear?” he asked.

              “Mr. Shermie, the babies laughed!” she enthused. Shermie’s eyes widened.

              “Well, that sounds like something I should be there for!”  He looked at Stan and Ford.  “Are you going to come inside as well?”

              “In a moment,” Ford said.  “Stan and I need to have a quick conversation.”  Stan nodded.

              “All right,” Shermie said mildly.  He took Wendy’s hand and went inside with her. Stan and Ford looked at each other.

              “Do you really feel comfortable being on your own in California with Shermie, Mason, and Mabel?” Ford asked quietly.

              “I’ll figure it out.  I don’t foresee any big problems,” Stan said.  Ford sighed.

              “Still.”

              “What about you?” Stan asked.  “Are you sure you can handle the kid and Wendy and the company?”  He scowled. “Or, I guess, the Cipher Corporation?”

              “I’ll be fine.  Like you said, the second there’s any issues, I’ll contact you for help,” Ford said smoothly.  Stan felt a nudge at the back of his mind.  When the information came, it made him raise an eyebrow in surprise.  “What?”

              “This town has more secrets than just the company. You better be careful.”

              “I will,” Ford promised.  Stan snorted.  He turned around to head back inside.

              “Ford, I don’t need clairvoyance to know that you just lied through your teeth.”

[seasonsofeverlark]

Beautiful Dreams

Author: @ameliaodair​

Prompt:  Katniss and the children are down with a cold. Peeta takes care of them. Brings them Lamb Stew and favourite baked goods. He draws colouring pages for the kids but all are colouring. He puts in a fall realted movie. As all who are sick are snuggled together in the master bedroom. Katniss says shes cold Peeta goes and gets more blankets walks out of the room to get more comes back and looks at his wife and children all cuddling together watching the movie and thinks how did he deserve this. [submitted by @katnissandpeeta125​]

Rating: G

Author’s Notes: Thank you @eiramrelyat​ for betaing :)

Word Count: 1977

___________

“Thanks, dad. Katniss caught the kids’ cold and woke up feeling pretty miserable this morning,”  I tell my father, explaining the care package I am picking up after placing the order at the butt crack of dawn.  It is filled with all of her favorite foods; two pints of lamb stew, a dozen cheese buns, and half a dozen mini rolls of Mallorca sweet bread for the kids.

“The kids are feeling better, though?”

“They’re on the uphill slope,”  I tell my dad as I climb into the driver’s seat of my car.  “I better hurry up and get back before the kids destroy the house. I love you, dad!”  I yell out to him before shutting the door behind me, and wave through the window as I pull out of the parking lot.

“Daddy, Daddy!”  Stella yells excitedly as soon as I open the door. She runs up to me and wraps her tiny arms around my legs⎯ nearly knocking me down in her all too adorable Winnie the Pooh pajamas. 

It utterly blows my mind at how easily children bounce back after being sick.  I remember around a year ago when Stella had the flu. It only took her two days before she was running around, bouncing off the walls and full of energy. Yet, when Katniss and I were run down with fevers, it had been almost a week before we could muster the energy to simply lift our heads from the pillow.  Thank goodness for our wonderful parents who live less than five minutes away, or I do not know what we would have done.

“Hey sweetheart, where is your brother?”  I ask her, making my way into the kitchen to place the care package down on the island.

“In his cwib, daddy,”  she tells me matter-of-factly, giving me a slight roll of her eyes as if I should already be aware of this information.  Scooping Stella up, I raise her in the air and blow a raspberry on her belly.

“Why don’t we go check on him?”  I ask her once her giggles subside, then I carry her into her and her brother’s room and set her down.

Lucas is sitting up in the corner of his crib, hugging one of his favorite stuffed animal teddy bears.  At the sight of me, he erupts into the most adorable toothless grin, seeming to emanate an almost iridescent light in the process.

“Come on big guy, how are you feeling today?”

“Da-da.  Ma-mee!”  He chirps, grabbing onto the rail of his crib to steady himself while holding his stuffed teddy bear out to me.  I reach in the crib to scoop him up, and the three of us make our way into the kitchen.  We stop at mine and Katniss’s bedroom first, and I crack the door open, poking my head in to peek in on her.  But no matter how sick she is, her hunter’s instincts are always as keen as ever, and she lifts her head groggily from her pillow.

“Peeta, are you okay, the kids—” She croaks, her froggy voice sounding no worse for the wear.

“We’re okay, I was just going to heat up some lamb stew.  You want some?”

“That sounds amazing.  Will you guys  keep me company?”  She whines in her sick throaty voice.

“Of course, just give us a few minutes and we’ll be in here.”

“Okay.”  She moans and her head collapses to the pillow, gravity getting the best of her.

Once we are in the kitchen, I strap Lucas into his highchair while I heat the lamb stew.

“Daddy, forgot to get dressed!”  Stella squeals, already trying to peel off her nightgown.

I pour the lamb stew into a pot and set it on the stove to simmer for a few minutes. “Honey, remember, we’re having a sick day, pajama’s only,”  I playfully scold her, twirling around like one of her ballerinas to show off my own pajama pants.

“Do you guys want to watch a movie with me and mommy in our bed?”  I ask Stella, raising my voice an octave near the end to make it sound more enticing than it actually is. 

“Wif lots of bwankets and piwwow’s?”  Stella beams, her eyes lighting up as if it’s Christmas morning.

“No—” I begin, frowning and pretending it’s a bad idea and my heart sinks when I see her eyes sadden a bit, so I quickly brighten my face with a radiant smile, “—with lots and LOTS of pillows and blankets!”  I finish quickly and watch as her eyes return to their previous state of sheer excitement.

“And coworing, daddy?”  she asks, already running into the playroom to collect her crayons.

Lucas is squirming in his seat, already bored of sitting there with nothing to do, so I hand him a wooden spoon to bang against the tray of his highchair.  Stella returns with her container of assorted crayons, and I frown at her, wondering why she didn’t bring her coloring books.

I stir the lamb stew and test it out on my tongue, making sure it’s hot enough, and then give my attention to Stella.

“You forgot your coloring books, sweetie.”  I point out.

“Siwwy daddy, you draw the coworings.” She grins, shaking her head and pointing to me.

“Oh, okay,”  I concede, shrugging my shoulders.  

One rainy day a few months ago, Stella was flipping through a coloring book, and noticing her frustration after the third time, I asked her what was wrong.  With a disappointed face, she informed me that the coloring book didn’t have the specific image she had in mind, so I offered to draw it for her.  Ever since then, Stella refuses to color in the pre-drawn coloring books⎯ preferring  my sketches instead, which I suppose I should be proud of.  My daughter does have exquisite tastes.

“I think it’s done, are you guys ready?”  I ask the kids after scooping the stew into two bowls and placing them on the food tray.  I remove the tray from Lucas’s highchair and pick him up to set him down on the floor.

“I’ll carry our food and drinks. Stella, will you help your brother?  We’ll come back for the rest after we eat.”

I carefully pick up the food tray which contains two bowls of lamb stew, a plateful of cheese buns, and the sweet bread, then motion for Stella to follow me into mine and Katniss’s bedroom.  When I look behind me to make sure they are not far behind, my heart swells with an inordinate amount of pride as I see Stella crawling on the floor next to Lucas.  She’s making a game of having him chase her into our room, and I cannot help the ear-splitting grin that overcomes my face⎯ nor do I want to.

Katniss is already sitting up in our massive bed and has made room for the three of us to climb in with her.  I hand her the soup and she takes it greedily⎯ lamb stew being her favorite.  Stella climbs in first and scoots up to Katniss, then I pick Lucas up from the floor and swing him in the air and plop him onto the bed. He bursts into a contagious round of giggles that Stella catches for a moment.

Once the kids have calmed down, I climb in next to the kids and we all situate ourselves under the covers, getting ready to have breakfast in bed as a family.  Stella grabs her own piece of bread and takes a bite into it.

“Peeta, will you hand Stella a napkin?  I don’t want crumbs—”  Before Katniss is able to finish, I already have a towel wrapped around Stella’s waist, ensuring that it will catch any pieces that do not make it into her mouth. 

Katniss turns her head to meet my eyes and mouths the words ‘I love you.’  I can’t help but lean over the kids and plant a kiss on her forehead.  “I love you too.”  I tell her, meeting her eyes.

“Daddy, you fowgot me!”  Stella mumbles with a mouthful of bread, glaring at me with those beautiful bright blue eyes that resemble my own. 

“One for you—” I tell her, kissing her cheek, and then move to Lucas, “And one for you.”

I begin pinching off pieces of the sweet bread dipped in lamb stew and feed it to Lucas in between bites of my own.

“You guys want to watch a movie?”  Katniss asks after turning her bowl up and slurping the last remnants of her stew.

“I want Winnie-Pooh!”  Stella squeals, scrunching her shoulders up excitedly.

“Winnie-The-Pooh it is!”  Katniss says excitedly, but I see her rolling her eyes behind Stella’s back.  Stella is obsessed with Winnie the Pooh, and we have probably watched ‘Winnie The Pooh’s Season of Giving’ at least fifty times since the beginning of October.  And since Lucas is too small to voice his opinion yet, Winnie The Pooh it is.

Once everyone has finished eating and are moaning over their full bellies, I clear the food from our bedroom and sit the food tray on the counter in the kitchen. I save the dishes for later, eager to return to my amazing family.  Stella disappears for a moment, returning with her container of crayons and my sketch pad.

“Dwaw Pooh, daddy?”  she asks me, her eyes so wide and blue⎯ how can I say no?  I scoop her into my arms, hugging her tightly, and place another kiss on her cheek.

“Of course, baby girl.”  I release her and she snuggles up to Katniss while I sketch her an image of the famous Pooh Bear.  She accepts the picture and secures it on her clipboard and begins coloring away. 

“No, Lucas, we don’t eat crayons, we color with them,”  I tell Lucas, giving him his own piece of paper and showing him how to utilize the crayons.  Fascinated with the array of colors, he begins fashioning his own masterpiece while we watch Winnie the Pooh.

Stella is exhausted by the time she has colored in every bit of white on her paper, as is Lucas.  Tired baby that he is, he nestles himself onto Katniss’s chest, while her chin rests on the top of his baby-soft hair.  She leans up to kiss the top of his head, inhaling his signature baby scent.

“Are you cold?”  I ask Katniss, but I already know the answer as I feel her shivering next to me.

“I’m okay.”  ‘Liar.’ I think to myself.

“I’ll be right back,”  I tell her, popping out of bed before she has time to object and run into the playroom to search for her favorite blanket.  The kids were making a fort a few nights ago, so it must be in here somewhere.  It takes me a little longer than I expected, but I finally find it.

Scooping it up, I make my way back to our bedroom but stop myself in the doorway⎯ my heart fills with so much joy I think it may explode on sight.

Sitting before me on our bed is my beautiful, amazing wife, fast asleep and lightly snoring, with Lucas curled up on her chest just the way he did as 0a newborn.  Stella is scrunched up on her side with Katniss’ arm securely around her back.  And all three of them are fast asleep.

Standing in the doorway, witnessing this perfect family we have created, I grin from ear to ear, intoxicated with so much love, wondering how I got so lucky for these amazing creatures to be mine.  I slip into bed next to them and kiss each of their heads before spreading the blanket out to cover all of us.  And although reality can’t get much better than this, I fall asleep, awaiting beautiful dreams.