#imagine without the upper armor pieces just in his blacks so you can feel his bodywarmth (and muscles) n extra close and connected and happy

[fangirlforeversthings]

A long, tight, warm hug from my favourite trooper would solve all my problems actually

[loosesodamarble]

Hi Erika!

I hope you're doing well 💕

For your OC ask game could I have 4, 16 and 29 for Josele?

Thank you!

Yaaaaay! Lola, thank you for dropping in with questions! And don't you worry, I'm doing just fine in recent days!

Now onto the answers!

4) Do they look good in red?

Honestly... I don't know?

I've never thought to imagine Josele in red before. In my mind she's always wearing neutral (brown, grey, white, black) or cool colors (mostly blue and purple). So I can't actually say definitively whether or not red is a good color on her because it's never actually crossed my mind.

She might look good in red? Red and brown (which is Josele's secondary color next to blue) often go well together after all.

16) If money wasn't a limit, what would they wear?

With unlimited money, Josele would buy herself some magic armor pieces. A shoulder pad here, arm and shin guards there, and maybe one of those chest plates that cover her upper chest (not like Charlotte's, something more realistic!).

Because normally, when Josele goes on missions, she just relies on her raw agility to avoid attacks and her endurance to take any hits she can't dodge. The unlimited budget would allow her to invest in some armor that'll give her a little more defense without sacrificing too much of her dexterity.

29) What recurring dreams do they have?

Josele tends to have lots of dreams where she's walking somewhere. Maybe she's walking through the woods or along the beach. Sometimes, Josele had lots of dreams involving her walking in complete darkness (dreams like that were most frequent after Morgen's death and while Josele was recovering from her curse). There's many instances of her dreaming of being on her way to some place, maybe she arrives at a destination and maybe she's just traveling.

Another type of recurring dream that Josele has are dreams involving her friends knowing absurd and fake secrets about her life. They're really random and often so ridiculous that Josele wakes up from laughing at how stupid it can be. Well, except that one time she dreamed about Fuegoleon interrogating Josele about sleeping with Nozel (who was dating Fue in her dream) and it left Josele a little shaken because she doesn't need more reasons to feel awkward around the Vermillions. 😆

[lgcseojin]

✱  TRACK 009

— TRAINEE MISSION: project origin audition

Seojin would fully admit that he consulted his youngest sister for ideas. He was under the assumption that it would prove a decent starting point. If he laid out the details and sat her down with markers and a piece of paper, surely the nine-year-olds overactive imagination would come into play. He enveloped it in an excuse to see his family after an additional week of him moping around. They would revitalize his energy back to what it used to be.

Dasom blinked up at him above her small art table ( of which Seojin was persuaded to sit at as well ). "Persona? Ain't that a show Dahye likes?"

"Yeah, but it also means, like, how your character is viewed by others. As a noun. Also, isn't. Dont start talkin' like me." He interjected with a chuckle.

"I know what nouns are, geez!" She continued to scribble on the paper, picking the particular colors of black, red, orange, and blue. He observed silently until she finally scraped the paper up with her tiny fingers, holding the drawing up to her brother's face. It was, indeed, a picture of a knight. He was large and posturing ( as intimidating as a child's drawing could be ), posed with a giant sword and and dark armor.

"Okay. He is a super big and strong knight! He looks kinda scary because he likes to wear black and has glowy eyes but he's actually real nice and loves his family a whole lot! His power is super strength and he can punch through any rock he wants and punch super fast!" She thrust he hand forward in a punching motion. "The coolest part is that he just came back from the dead! But he wasn't actually dead. The bad guys tricked everyone cause he... um... Ca... Cammunded?"

"Commanded."

"Yeah, he commanded the other knight guys so the bad guys didn’t like it very much cause it's what they wanted to do and they were mad that they were being defeated. But now he's back to save the country and defeat all the villains so the good guys can finally win and the world is safe."

"Wow, look at that. Y'know, you're actually pretty good at drawing and coming up with stories, Dasom..." Expression softened, he leaned forward and brushed some of the hair falling in her vision.

"I know!" She giggled mischievously, only stopping when Seojin's fingers clamp playfully on her cheek.

———

The odd sense of deja vu did not hit Seojin until he stepped into the hallway. It crashed over him like an angry wave, threatening to take him through the inescapable motions to the bottom of the sea. It's happening again, his mind agonized over the thought, spiraling out of control into a web of self-doubt. Is this what anxiety feels like? What's with the nerves? Park Seojin doesn't get nervous.

He gulped down a large breath of air and stepped into the room, hand draped across his chest to rub at the upper left spot. He bent at the waist several times in a bow to each of the staff members inside. They met him with expectant gazes, their eyes silently examining his posture. He adjusted his posture to express his confidence, voice its usual self-assured timbre.

"Hello, my name is Park Seojin. I'm going to present my audition to you today."

After the initial audition of him displaying the skills learned during the workshop, he fished the piece of paper with his sister's drawing out of his pocket and pinned it to his chest on the spot, using his body ( and black t-shirt ) as an impromptu frame.

"My knight's main trait is that he strives to be a protector of all. A strong and steady pillar of support who can lead the charge against evil. He came from a land where family means everything; looking after one another is how you survive and it provides energy that can be used for powers. In the hilt of his sword, there is a gemstone crafted by his family that holds this energy. His power is superhuman strength, which is how he can carry around such a large sword, and his punches are quickfire like a boxer. It also means he can take a lot of hits without wavering. His appearance is intimidating and a lot of people find him scary at first, not wanting to get too close... but underneath the dark armor rests a lot of light and vulnerability... and also delicious snacks."

"Speaking of his armor, it's been damaged over time. Battle after battle... none of which he's managed to escape from unscathed because he will throw himself in front of the other knights to protect them. He is persistent and was even thought to be dead for a time but has returned with great strength honed from his banishment to a no man's land to separate him from the troop he used to command. Now he's managed to crawl his way back, wearing a fireproof armor, ready to serve. However, the knight is uncertain of his steps these days... he feels it will be his last chance to prove himself as a capable warrior if he can't manage to protect the knights from evil forces. Thank you."

[thefanbasewhore]

Accidentally Bare - Preference #2

Summary: A preference/snippet of pedro characters accidently seeing the reader in their underwear. Honestly, ignore the title I suck at them lmao. I also have no idea why I kept mentioning showers. 

Warnings/Content: A little suggestive, dirty thoughts. 18+ please. 

Paring: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, and Frankie Morales/Female reader

I am also taking requests for head cannons and more preferences at this moment if anyone has any ideas!

Din Djarin

Nothing could stop the deep chill that created goosebumps that made your body shiver despite the thick wool of Din’s cape that was pulled tight around your chest. The walk back to the crest was freezing, clothes heavy and weighing you down with every squish your boots made underneath you, the temperature of the stupid desert planet plummeting at night into single degree temps, falling into the lake was definitely not on your to do list.

Water still dripping from your sleeves, fingers shaking where the fabric bundles in the middle of your chest to support the heaviness of the cape as the crushing on dense sand from heavy boots behind you let you know the Mandalorian is still there. He’s silent as ever, mad at himself for letting you even step on the ice but as soon as he saw you fall into the deep pit of water he dived right in after, forgetting the bounty, making the choice to let him escape.

The first step on the Crest is a relief, familiarity and warmness welcome you but it’s not enough to calm the numbing that took over all your senses, voiding any sensation in your trembling fingers. The breeze that falls over the crest as the ramp closes with a gush of wind but you don’t seem to care as the cape wrapped around you falls to the floor. The Mandalorian walks past you silently, which you guess retiring for the night because at the last second before the he climbs the ladder of the cockpit by the way his fingers start to peel of the beskar not caring as it trails and clanks against the floor of the ship, fingers rim the edge of his helmet lifting it just enough to see the ends of his hair curl and stick against the nape of his neck as it drips to his tunic before the cockpit swallows him. 

If it wasn’t for how freezing you were there is no doubt you would be taken back by his openness, even wet you weren’t expecting it to so wavy, a little messy but it touches the collar of the tunic and you honestly couldn’t move as the realization dawned on you. Eyes running over the length of the ladder that rattles due to deep hum of the engine, the imagine burning behind into them. 

The cool shiver reminds you of the current predicament, fingers burning and toes numb at the verge of turning purple. A frustrated huff falls from your lips as you pull at the laces of your boots, fingers too stiff to move but eventually get them off, not caring where they fall. Only functional thought is to feel the warm water of the fresher to regain feeling in your appendages.

Hands grasp the hem of your shirt, lifting it despite the cool air that nipped the skin of your stomach. With only one goal in mind and a stubborn button that just won’t latch from your pants, you don’t notice as the ladder shakes with the weight of the Mandalorian as he gains entrance back into the belly of the ship. He’s out of his armor, but the helmet had seem to find it’s way back onto his head but his upper body in a white, thin shirt, his pants hand dangerously low on his hips, they offer his body more warmth with no doubt lined with some kind of fleece, gray in color and a pair of socks. The wet pants stick to you, with your back turned toward Din who freezes the moment he notices you shimmy them down your legs, revealing the black pair of underwear the hugs your ass in the most delicious way.

He’s red, blushing, no doubt you can see the way his chest spots pink through the white shirt, hands forming fist next to his side as you turn to make a b-line for the fresher but the mass of the man catches your eyes, pausing.

Eyes never leave you, he just freezes up, unable to move as the situation seems to do the same to you. He tries, really tries not to look but can’t help it as he notices how thin the bra is, a pretty pastel pink, cute but the way your nipples harden against it is anything but, he’s speechless, mouth drying as eyes take in the smoothness of curves, drops down to the thinness of underwear, they leave little to the imagination, sticking against skin letting him see every inch and suddenly he wants nothing more than to rub his own -

His eyes lift back up to your own, the embarrassment that paints your cheeks makes him realize just how wrong it is. “I-I’m sorry.” He stutters, eyes casting down to the cotton that covers his toes, ashamed with red cheeks, horrified that it has even happened. “Just came down to use the shower -.”

Desire sirs deep inside his stomach, makes him awkwardly shift his hips as he turns to leave but the smooth hands that catch his fingers makes him pause, turning to face you once again.  “We can both use it.”

Javier Peña

Nothing can still your pounding heart, it’s racing, taking up all the space in your chest that it barely allows room for your lungs to expand, to take one good breath to sustain your frantic body needs, instead it’s broken up into patchy, erratic breaths that make you dizzy, vision blurring as a result. 

It’s a blur but there’s no mistaking the metallic taste of blood, it’s not yours but it seems like it should be by the way it covers every part of you. It dots your face, coats your hands with such thickness, soaks through the shirt to stain your chest pink. There’s so much of it, it takes over and fills all your senses. All you see is red, all you feel is hands rub your face to talk yourself out of this moment of weakness but the way it smears even worse across your skin, fills the pores of your skin, makes bile raise but swallow it down. 

It’s been an hour but fear still makes you shake, not bothering to even talk to anyone the moment you pull the trigger just driving home without a single word, not even to your partner Javi. The door of your apartment is even left open in your own wake, trying to yank the soaked clothes, not caring as your bloody shirt falls from shoulders staining the white carpet of your apartment. 

Finger fumble with pants as well, too shaky but none the less slowly shimmer them down flushed thighs. You suddenly can’t move, no matter how bad the shower calls you from the other room, shaky fingers press to the floor under you for support as you lower yourself to the ground until the rough carpet scratches the back of thighs but your thankful to feel something other then pure terror, relish in the scratch the spreads to the back of your knees as you bring them to your chest, lean against the couch for support with a shaky chest.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t realize how much time passes as the low baritone breaks through the sound waves, Javi averts his eyes, realizing the vulnerability on the situation. “The door was open, I just let myself in.”

“I-It’s okay.” Chest moves with the stutter, unable to realize your in nothing but a thin bra, that leaves little to the imagination and a matching black thong, that shows just how much the carpet irritates the skin of inner thighs, leaves a big rash just on the underside of your cheeks.

It’s not the way he intended seeing you like this the first time, beautiful doe eyes filled with tears that slip past beautiful, full eyelashes. It makes his heart stop, the low light of the lamp in the corner contour the dark shadows of your face, show the sharpness of cheek bones, outlines the shape of your jaw. He hates the way he can’t look away from your heaving chest, flushed breast barely fill the cups of the lacy bra, down the smoothness of skin, still stained a dark red from all the blood, down to the edges of inner thighs. 

You watch as his gaze falls between your legs but when they meet up at your face again, his lips fall, a deep sigh as a thick layer of tension fills the room. There’s nothing you want more then to forget this feeling, distract yourself with Javi.

Suddenly, he’s all that’s on your mind. The way his tongue runs over those perfect lips, wanting to feel the sensation of his moustache against your upper lip, the burns between your thighs. It’s what you think you’re getting as he lowers to his knees, finally give into the temptation of each other but the blanket that falls to your shoulders surprises you. His fist wraps around each end to ball it against your chest as his other hand reaches for a small piece of hair that frames your face, pushing it behind your ear as his lips ghost over it. “Let’s get you in the bath, cariño, yeah?”

Unsure eyes meet his, not trusting your own legs but his gentle fingers that fill the gaps between your own reinsuring. It’s a soft whine of surprise that makes you look up at him, a thankful sad smile that makes Javier return one that shows every scar of his soul, the feeling all too known to him. “I got you, honey.”

Agent Whiskey

It’s a mix up, an annoying one but none the less it’s not like you can kick Whiskey out of the hotel room and besides you’re both functioning adults, staying together in the room should be no problem but it’s a little difficult to feel comfortable with a stranger especially with one as pushy and touchy as the cowboy. 

He’s nice, very polite but smug. There’s always a tight smirk across his face, sexy eyes that test your every move as you bring the rim of the glass to your lips with a soft sigh. The bar of the hotel is loud, a thick cloud of smoke from the passerby's tickles your nose. You try to ignore it, but turn abruptly even catching Whiskey off guard as he adverts his gaze but he’s not as sneaky as he thinks. 

It’s hard to remember exactly why you turned when he offered a sweet smile, elbow against the bar while his hand wrapped around his own glass, other hand spraying over the thickness of his thighs, sitting to face you with that dumb smirk. You really can’t help it as your eyes fall between his legs, “What’s up, sugar?”

It’s either he chooses not question why or is just so used to women checking him out but your throat dries at his peering gaze, the way he wraps his lips around the glass after his tongue pokes out to wet them. It makes your face hot, averting his intimating eyes. “Nothing, thought I saw something is all.”

“Mmmm.” It’s a small hum, hesitant like he wants to ask more but settles with the answer. It’s quiet, not awkward but the tension is heavy, clouding the space between you both. Scooting to the end of the seat, eyes nervously looking at him as you shift onto your feet, standing and muttering. “I’m going to head back to the room.”

“Alright sweetheart. I’m gonna have a few more drinks, head up without me. If you need me.” Two fingers press against the shell of his ear, his way of saying I’ll hear ya. You try not to let it affect you but the heat that crawls up your skin makes you huff, closing the door of the hotel room tightly. 

A shower, to sooth the burning desire for your new partner, it was embarrassing, feeling like a teenage girl for a man that you barely know, all hot and bothered by him simply spreading his legs but it felt like an open invitation just for you. Hands reach for your shirt, pulling it up with little hesitation except for when it catches the onto the ear piece, stepping forward with a yelp as your foot comes in contact with the large bed frame. Pulling the ear piece off with not much thought, throwing it and the shirt onto the bed, fingers pop the metal from the buttonhole also discarding your pants. 

It all happens so fast, the door crashes open, hitting the wall. Pure instinct takes  over, despite only being in a very, very revealing bralette and a matching lacy thong fumbling for the gun on the night stand next to you, pointing it towards the mass of a man but let out a sigh of relief. “What is wrong with you? barging in like that, I could have shot you.”

It goes to deaf ears, smooth lines of your collarbones catching him off guard, dropping to the soft curves of your breast. He steps closer, shutting you up immediately as his fingers spread out across the hem of your underwear, warmness erupting to the lazy trail of his fingers. 

The cocky smirk that overpowers your own confused one as a tick falls from his lips, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes peering under that stupid cowboy hat, “Now If you wanted me to see you naked you didn’t have to pretend you’re in trouble, darlin’.” 

Frankie Morales

There was never a day Frankie thought he’d be in the deep end of the forest again. The memories are still fresh, the sun doesn’t quite sting his skin like the one in Brazil but it’s a close second, the aching memories still squeeze his heart but it’s a silent burn, one he’ll take to his grave and a life he thought he left behind forever.

Frankie is a man haunted by his past, the memories never let him forget that life he used to lead. He is anything but soft, he’s kind, caring, smart, passionate but a sucker for a pretty face. It’s shown in the way he shameless answers too quickly for his liking at your proposition. To rescue your father, a man that owed a bunch of narcos too much money but you had nothing to offer except to help a single father who seemed to be struggling. 

Maybe it was the way your sad eyes looked at him with an exaggerated expression, tiredness sag your face, large purple bags that crinkle with every sigh. There was no hope, and even if your father was alive, he kissed that life away a long time also, but then again here he is.

Deep in the jungle of Argentina, sun beating down and burning his skin, sweat beading on his forehead, between the valley of his chest as he swings the bottle of water back, the coolness soothing his raw throat. Your stance matches his own, shoulders dropped, heavy breaths but slower, the heaviness of the gun wrapped around your shoulders.

You were slowing him down, it was no lie. He told you multiple times he would do it but specifically didn’t want you to come with him, he would handle it all but sending a man alone to do something like this, despite how experienced he may be it didn’t seem right.

“Go.” You huff, fingers pushing against his shoulder. It had been the third time he stopped for you in ten minutes, clearly frustrated with a crinkle of his forehead, annoyed eyes looking for any sign of danger, even with the thick trunks of trees that camouflage into the color of face paint that decorates both yours and Frankie’s faces. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He looks unsure but nods lowly, turning as his feet to walk up the ledge of the tree as you take a deep breath, fingers trembling as you try to catch your breath, ass hitting the dirt harder then you intend to but it’s a relief to aching feet. It’s a blur of blackness, hand reaching up to pull yourself up but instead pull at something squishy?

Before you could react, big, black bugs by the hundreds run up your legs, crawl under your vest and shirt. The yell that echoes the forest is what catches Frankie’s attention, turning from his short distance ahead to find you. Face hot, fearing the worst as his heart pounds against his chest. Arms flaring frantic through the thick ropes and vines as he slips skillfully past above ground roots of trees.

You are no where in sight but the peaks of dark green clothes along the brush catch his eye, picking the fabric up, clutching your shirt between fingers. With one more look around he notices another piece of clothing, but the sound of splashing catches his attention. It’s not too far, just over a large tree that separates his view from you. It’s not what he expects, practically naked except for the nude bra and matching underwear that makes his eyes widen. If it wasn’t for the panic on your face he would have taken a second to appreciate the beauty in front of him, let desire burn deep on his skin but the way you frantically try to rub the bugs off makes him take action, hands catch your own, comforting eyes meeting your own. “Relax, relax, I’ll get them off.”

“It’s burns.” It’s a soft whine, as his fingers fall to your own, pressing them against his warm skin as he flattens his other hand down the skin of your arm, down your stomach with a delicious sting from the heat of his. 

“I got you, honey.” The words are low, sugary as the realty of the situation makes your own cheeks flush. The bugs are gone, scattering at feet but his gaze never leaves your own. Only inches away from your face, lips so, so close but what really makes you dizzy is the way his hand cups your waist, squeezing so gently as his hot breath fans your face, fingertips trail to the wire of your bra, something in him snaps, giving into the desire as his lips press against yours with urgency.

tags: @victias​ @altarsw​ @coonflix​ @mudhornchronicles​ @buckysalefty​ @capsheadquarters @godohammers​ @ilikemymendarkandfictional​ @rogertaylorsfalsettogivemehives @maileecabudol @itsfangirlmendes​ @mermaidbrina​ @nikkixostan​ @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel @dinsbeskar​ @est19xxshit​ @owloveyounever​ @engie115 @impala1967666​ @akatasukilove​ @nerdalert-andi​ @mailee420​ @you-and-i-deserve-the-world​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @winter_rxn @Sporadicshoebailifffish

[purple-goo-writes]

SnapShots: MariFlash One Shots

Snap 3: Barry Allen: Policeman by Eva Simmons

Hey, Mr. Policeman I don't want no trouble I just wanna drop my jiggelin' down to the floor Hey, Mr. Policeman Why you wanna holla at me?

I just wanna drop my jiggelin' down to the floor No arrest badman mind ya bizz No arrest badman mind ya bizz No arresta baddaman mind ya business Down to the floor (bring 'em down)

Barry felt like swearing as Medusa got away yet again! This was starting to piss the Scarlet Speedster off like nothing before! And what’s worse! 

It didn’t help that she was very distracting in another way...

Barry could have sworn he had her… like he had already captured her and yet he was hit with a sinking feeling of deja-vu as he goes to grab her only for Medusa to simply twirl out of his reach again and somehow manage to paralyze him (Again!) with that damn Venom Shot of hers! The hooded snake themed rogue driving him up the wall with how she constantly got the upper hand in their battles. It was like everytime he got the upper hand she was one step ahead of Barry, even when he was pretty sure he had surprised her… 

Wait…

It was like she always knew what he would do next and each time it was after Medusa touched the snake bracelet wrapped around her right wrist behind the stinger. She usually did that before hitting him with the large stinger (shaped like a snake fang) protruding from the wrist of her gauntlet. He wondered why only her right hand wore a gauntlet… What if it was because she needed to have her left hand free in order to touch the bracelet behind the stinger?

The Flash just may have a way to capture this rogue before she can rob another jewelry store. Though, he wondered what she was looking for given she hasn’t stolen anything, just broke in. Either way, next time he will be better prepared for him.

Luck seemed to be on his side, as Barry was once again called into another jewelry store break end. Seriously how many jewelry stores were there in Central City? The Flash was off like a shot as he raced to apprehend Medusa finally. This time the snake would not be getting away from him!

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Flash quipped as he skidded into the Kay Jewelers on 15th Street, tsking as he saw the broken glass cases. “Seriously what are you so determined to find?” The snake turned to him, emerald lips pulling into a smirk showing off a slight hint of fang as her blue eyes glittered with mischief, “Oh the speedy mouse has come to play again?” Medusa purred whilst she slowly trailed a hand up the front of her skin tight body suit and armor, “Should I be flattered about all the attention you pay me, mousey?” 

It annoyed Barry that he was so distracted by such a simple action, though he had to admit that Medusa was very attractive. He blamed the fact that apparently he was attracted to strong and confident women, even if they were villains. The suit didn’t help matters with how it hugged and left nothing to the imagination without revealing any skin outside the lower half of her face where her hood and mask didn’t cover. It was mainly emerald and black with the black being the armored pieces and the emerald being patterned like diamondback scales, gold was sprinkled throughout the suit accenting certain areas. Barry wasn’t even sure what color her hair was due to it constantly being covered by the snake hood. 

“I wouldn’t be flattered. I’m going to bring you in this time, Medusa.” Barry snapped out before charging her, trading high speed blows with the villainess. He just needed to keep her from using the bracelet!

Unfortunately, Medusa was as dangerous as she was attractive. Case in point the number of times she has thrown him through a wall with surprising amounts of strength. Like just now as the snake managed to catch Barry by surprise long enough to grab his wrist and judo flip The Flash over her shoulder. 

Shit! He managed to zip away just in time to dodge her Venom Shot. 

Not this time! 

They continued to trade blows, with Barry having to continue to dodge the painful sting of her gauntlet. Finally, he managed to grapple her to the ground, holding her hands above her head. And trying rather hard not to think about the rather compromised position they were in. Barry felt a blush bloom on his cheeks as Medusa looked up at him with amusement, clearly not bothered that she was just captured and would be going to jail soon. 

“Now we just need to wait for the police to arrive,” Barry huffed whilst trying to ignore just what this would look like when the others arrived.  

Medusa chuckled, before arching up pressing close to Flash grinning when the superhero stiffened, “Oh, do you have me where you want me, mousey?”

Flash felt the blush staining his cheeks getting darker as Medusa pressed closer, one of her legs moving to let him settle between her thighs causing him to squeak, “Miss! This is highly inappropriate.”

“Awww, but flirting with you is half the fun of the battle,” the snake purred, loving the way Flash’s face was now as red as his suit whilst she pressed closer. Leg hooking over his hip, letting Medusa grind up against Barry causing him to squeak again, his hold on her wrists slacking some from the shock, “Besides, you are such a cute little mouse to play with.” “Why do you keep-” His words were cut off by Medusa pulling a hand out of his hold and using it to pull the startled blond down into a heated kiss. Barry groaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut before stiffening in pain as his whole body went stiff as a board. “Oh, little mouse, never assume you caught a snake,” She purred, easily rolling them over so that Barry was laying on his back with Medusa straddling his paralyzed form. He mentally groaned as the villainess slowly stood before striding out of the jewelry store after blowing him a kiss, “Until next time, Flash~”

[i-write-sometimes-blog]

Lost Without You (Bo-Katan x Mando!Reader)

Request: Can I request a Bo-Katan and maybe a Mando!reader like reader has sworn the creed like Din and they’re taking on an empire ship together and readers jet pack gets hit and she falls in the water and Bo panics because reader hasn’t resurfaced so she dives in after a d they have a cute moment together afterwards. lol sorry it’s a lot. Love your writing btw! By anon

Word count: 1,764

Warnings: Drowning counts? Also terrible attempt to describe cpr

A/N: This was fun to write. It was also my first time writing Bo but I kinda like the way it turned out. Hope you like it, let me know what you think!

The mission was almost over, you couldn't say it was the easiest you've been to but it was finally over. The ship was under your possession, Koska was piloting as Bo-Katan and you were taking down the remaining stormtroopers.

Flying with the jetpack around the ship allowed you to have a clear shot at the railings and upper levels of the cargo ship, your job was to blast anyone who tried to escape.

From the air you caught the familiar helmeted figure of Bo-Katan fighting hand to hand with the few remaining stormtroopers. She was a skilled warrior, moving fast and throwing punches at the white helmets around her with ease, these guys didn’t stand a chance against her. However, one of them saw the opportunity to grab his blaster from the floor while Bo-Katan was just finishing the last one of them and he aimed directly at her.

Just when the imperial was about to fire his weapon you shot him down, the thud of his body falling to the durasteel floor of the ship alerted Bo. She looked over her shoulder, finding the fallen trooper before turning her head to look at you.

"What would you do without me, Bo?" You said through the communicator earpiece under your own helmet. 

"I've survived a war and a purge." She said in her usual cold tone. "I think I'd be fine without you."

You chuckled. Bo-Katan wasn’t someone to express her feelings often, aside from her anger. She was always focused on her mission to regain Mandalore, no time for other things. But deep down you knew she had feelings for you. Something in the way she was protective over you in missions and something in the way her emerald eyes seemed to soften when she saw you let you know there was a heart beating for you under her beskar cuirass.

"Oh, come on!" You told her. "Admit it, Kryze, you like having me around." you teased.

Thinking all the enemies were gone you both lowered your guard, used to one another's company. Neither Bo-Katan or you noticed the Imperial officer with a blaster in hand coming out of the farthest hatch. 

"How sweet but-" Bo started but before she could finish with her words, a single blaster shot hit right in your jetpack. "Y/N!" She barely screamed when she saw the fire in your jetpack.

The shot broke the engines that kept you in the air, sending you flying in all directions and even though you tried you were incapable to control it. Finally it sent you directly into the water beneath the big ship.

The moment you felt the cold water you tried to swim back to the surface but the heavy beskar of the armor and the extra weight of the jetpack wouldn't let you. The helmet didn't make it any easier to breathe, it was making it rather harder but you weren't going to take it off, you wouldn't break the creed. And though you were fighting to get to the surface you only sunken more and more with every passing second, until you ran out of air and the world seemed to turn black.

Meanwhile on the ship, Bo immediately shot down the sudden menace before running to the railing of the ship, looking at the water for some sort of sign of you.

She waited for a moment, trying to control her nerves, hoping she would see your familiar helmet emerging from the water and she was ready to hear your voice through the comlink with some kind of comment that would make her roll her eyes. But after a short time of waiting none of those things happened and that put Bo-Katan in alert.

You were not resurfacing.

Without thinking it twice the woman jumped to the water, the fear of losing you completely taking over her because after all this time with you, Bo-Katan couldn't stand to lose you, she'd lose Mandalore before losing you.

She found you floating in the water like a ship stranded in space. Panic rushed through her body as she thought the worst. Wrapping her arms securely around you she ignited her own jetpack to pull you out of the water, placing you on the nearest platform .

She took off her helmet, worriness on her face as she waited for you to wake up, to say something, hoping for any sign of life yet she only heard silence. Concerned, Kryze leaned close to you.

You weren't breathing.

Bo-Katan needed to take a decision and fast but if she was to save you she must take your helmet off. 

If it were up to her she would have taken your helmet off your head a long time ago, she longed to see your face, find out the color of your eyes, dreamed to kiss your lips...  but there was this creed you sworn to. You were a Child of the Watch, a cult that she thought was stupid, however Bo respected it just because it was important to you.

She knew you would never forgive her if she ever dared to take your helmet off.

But this was a life or death situation and she preferred to be hated by you the rest of her life than losing you. She'd rather be hated but know you were alive than live knowing she could have easily saved by removing that piece of beskar off your head.

She sighed, preparing herself to finally take your helmet off. She grabbed it by the sides, admiring for a moment the designs over the metal before sliding it off your head.

Bo-Katan almost forgot her mission when she finally saw your face, perfect features that seemed to match perfectly with your voice, you were just as she imagined. But your eyes were closed as if you were asleep, reminding her of why she broke your way in the first place.

Returning to her mission she took your cuirass off your chest and started with the reanimation process, applying pressure to your chest with her hands alternating to provide some air to your lungs. 

“Come on, Y/N.” she murmured, growing more desperate with every new push on your chest. “You can’t leave me.” she said, her voice cracking a little. “Please, come back to me, cyare.”

You woke up gasping for air, coughing as the water inside you left your body finally allowing you to breath. The first thing you saw in front of you was Bo-Katan kneeled next to you, her red hair looked messy and wet, a relieved smile curved her lips as her green eyes looked down at you.

“Hi, grumpy.” you barely murmured, still coughing a bit.

“Welcome back, Y/N.” she said. “You gave me a good scare there.” 

You smiled at her but the smile disappeared as soon as you noticed the weight missing in your head, the way your voice wasn't making echoes, you haven't seen the world this way since you were a kid.

You weren't wearing the helmet. You broke the creed or rather, she did.

"Bo!" You told her, confusion in your voice. "What- why?"

"I'm sorry." She rushed to said, her tone was a bit more serious now, it was the tone she used to give arguments. "I had to do it."

"No, you should have-"

"Let you die?" She cut you off. "Forget it, I could never." Her eyes changed when she looked at you, they were not angry as always but actual concern seemed to paint them a lighter green. "I don't expect you to forgive me for breaking your creed, but when I saw you weren't coming out of the water I thought I lost you."

You watched her face carefully, there was fear on her face, sincere pain, weakness. For a woman that was always as strong as the beskar of her armor this was new.

"And I realized, I don't want a life without you in it." She said. She wasn’t someone to express her feelings often but actually Lady Bo-Katan, last one of House Kryze, rightful heiress of Mandalore didn't know what she would do without you. She'd be lost without you.

"I love you, Y/N." She confessed. "I love you, you enormously stubborn pain in the ass." She said with a smile.

You couldn't help but chuckle at her words but at the same time you were confused, upset for breaking the creed that was part of you for most of your life. But on the other hand you couldn't be happier now that you knew Bo's true feelings for you.

Hesitating you leaned closer to her. Your lips closer to hers for a few seconds before capturing them in a delicate kiss. You kissed her sweetly almost shyly for a moment, after all this time with her this was the very first you met her lips.

“I love you, Bo.” you murmured. Her green eyes admired you for a moment, filled with a mix of emotions, love was one of them. 

She leaned to brush your lips again, long and delicately while her arms slowly wrapped around your waist pulling you close to her body making you smile between kisses, you enjoyed her closeness, her warmth against your body. And when the kiss was over she rested her forehead against yours for a moment and you stayed like that, just enjoying each other's comány.

The comlink beeping dragged you back to reality.

“Bo, Y/N, do you read me?” you heard Koska’s voice.

“Bring the ship to the coordinates I’m sending you. We had a small jetpack malfunction.” Kryze said, looking at her gauntlet, pressing a few buttons. 

“Copy that.” You heard your friend say.

Bo-Katan turned her gaze back at you, there was a little smirk over your lips. “What?” she asked.

“So, you can’t live without me, huh?” you teased, remembering her words.You observed her putting on her helmet again and shaking her head.

“Don’t let that get to your head, cyare.” she chuckled, handing you your own helmet. “Now, come on. I wanna continue our little talk somewhere else.” she said in a teasing tone before the Imperial ship you had taken appeared in front of her, the hatch already open for both of you.

You looked down at the helmet in your hands for a moment and sighed before placing it back in its place. This was a new start for you, but you were sure that meanwhile Bo was by your side you were sure you could take anything.

Tagging: @natasha-danvers

(In case you want to be tagged for specific things or everything I write, just let me know)

[stubbychaos]

Saviin’ika

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: You grew up hearing terrifying tales of Mandalorians and the atrocities they were capable of inflicting upon innocent people, but when a grouchy heavy-infantry warrior offers to walk you home after you treat his wounds, you think that perhaps they aren’t the scariest monsters that reside on Nevarro.

Rated: M for mature themes, though there’s no smut in this part.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, graphic injury involving intestines (not detailed at all, I literally just use the word ‘intestines’ to describe the injury), Paz gets stitches and hates needles just as much as I do, brief mention of an armed robbery.

Notes: This is so self-indulgent it’s not even funny lol. I just wanted more fluffy Paz fanfic since he only got like thirty seconds of screen time and I’m still thirsting over him. I plan on this being only a few chapters, but knowing me, I won’t know when to stop.

You’re not sure how you ended up in this position, currently taking care of a massive Mandalorian that had somehow been injured in some sort of intense scuffle, though you find it difficult to believe that anyone in the galaxy could get the upper hand on the intimidating warrior that absolutely towers over you by more than a foot.

You can’t even imagine anyone with the guts to try to take on someone so intimidating.

You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before, but you have heard old tales of vicious warriors made of metal that lived underground and took what they wanted without much regard for others, not caring if they had to hurt women or children to get what they wanted. Judging by the way he had stormed into the tiny infirmary, angrily demanding that you be the only one to tend to his wounds, you think the rumors must be true and you had accepted immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the huge warrior’s wrath should you deny him. He hadn’t even asked where your office was, merely stalking past you after you had scrambled to get up from the front desk where you had been working on the reports you had been asked to work on and file.

Currently, you watch in awkward silence as he slowly detaches his massive weapon from his back, breathing a little harshly or grunting whenever he moves in a way that causes pain. You step forward and raise a hand to help him, but his helmet whips threateningly to where you’re standing and you immediately back up, fear turning into slight irritation because you’re a nurse and you should be helping someone who’s clearly uncomfortable. After a few painfully quiet moments, the Mandalorian finally props his massive weapon up against the stiff cot in the center of the room and moves onto removing his chest piece, though it seems to be a harder task for him.

“W-Would you like some help, sir?” Your question comes in the form of a meek murmur and he immediately freezes at the sound of your voice, his intimidating visor staring you dead on, “I-It just seems like you’re in quite a bit of pain. I don’t mind helping, really.”

His black gloves fall to his thighs and you watch with disdain as a few droplets of blood drip onto the white tile, though you take the defeated gesture as a sign that he’s willing to let you help him. You remain as professional as possible as you approach the huge warrior and bashfully reach up to undo one of the latches that rests above his collarbone before repeating the action with the other one, though you find it’s broken and slightly trickier to unlatch. Deciding it’s not a good idea to mention his shoddy armor, you remain silent as you stand on your tippy toes to remove the heavy piece of steel, a hand reaching around him to catch the back piece.

His helmet cocks to the side at the small huff you let out, not prepared for how heavy the piece of armor was.

After you help him remove the rest of his heavy cuirass and the extra padding covering his ribs, he surprisingly obliges your meek request for him to lay down on the stiff cot before you cautiously untuck his tunics from his utility belt that he refused to take off. Even with two dangerously deep knife wounds and several intense bruises, you think it makes him no less scary and you’re certain he can easily deal out some serious damage if he so desires, even in such a compromised position. The Mandalorian has over a foot on you and even before removing all of the padding and layers of clothing, you had been able to tell that he’s still a big guy, more muscular in certain spots than others and you force yourself to stop thinking about the softly defined abs that are currently exposed to you, both his gray and black tunics pulled up to his sternum. His skin is a beautiful, rich shade of brown, you notice as you briefly inspect the severity of his wounds and you can feel the intense heat that radiates from him, as if he’s a human furnace.

‘He is your patient,’ You remind yourself as you quickly stand up to gather a few things, including your thoughts, ‘A massive, terrifying patient that could easily crush you in the blink of an eye.’

You have your back to him, thoroughly washing your hands when you clear your throat and speak up quietly, “Can you tell me what you were stabbed with?”

“Does it make a difference? I’m injured, that’s all you need to know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you gather all the supplies you need before sitting in your chair and pointing your bright lamp at the severe injuries; you gain a little courage as you pull your surgical mask over the lower half of your face and slip on your glasses so you can see better, grateful that you can now focus on the injuries rather than the stubborn Mandalorian. The gashes are both several inches long and though they don’t seem critically deep, you can tell that he’s lost quite a bit of blood and will suffer severe consequences if you don’t help him soon.

“It just helps to know what weapon was used to cause the injury. If it was rusted metal, it can be more prone to infection--if it was glass, there could still be shards in the wound. I’m not asking about the circumstances involving how you got these injuries, just the weapons involved.”

He grunts and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers curl against the cot when you begin to flush out the wound. Something tells you that he’s not used to being the one getting injured during a battle and you can’t imagine a warrior bigger than him catching him off guard; you force yourself not to ask about the circumstances revolving around his injuries. You had learned long ago not to pry into the lives of criminals and bounty hunters, understanding that it always put them on edge and made them wary of you.

“It was a dagger--few inches long and definitely not rusty.”

“Does your left shoulder hurt at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You huff a little, cheeks burning and you can’t tell if it’s from frustration or embarrassment, “The less critical wound is located in a spot where your spleen could have been affected if contact was made with the dagger, though it doesn’t seem to be deep enough to cause any trauma to the organ. A sharp pain in your left shoulder is oftentimes a sign of a ruptured spleen.”

You reach up to lightly dig your fingers into his firm shoulder, only pulling away when he shakes his helmet a few seconds later, “No, there’s no pain there.”

“Thank you. The wounds didn’t seem deep enough to cause any injury to any organs, but we don’t really have the proper technology to know for sure,” His visor tilts towards your face, though you don’t notice it as you remain concentrated on cleaning the nasty wounds before pulling out your suture kit, “The infirmary is low on supplies at the moment--a couple of raiders broke in a few weeks ago and took a lot of machines and medicine from us. I’m afraid I don’t have any bacta patches, but stitches should stop the bleeding just fine. You’re lucky the dagger wasn’t very long.”

“I got stabbed and you’re calling me lucky?” He doesn’t sound angry and something about his lighter tone makes you think it’s disbelief that his modulator hides.

You raise your brows and you’re grateful for the surgical mask hiding your amused smirk as you get to work on stitching up the deeper wound first, “Considering I had a Twi’lek come in earlier with his intestines practically falling out of his stomach, I would certainly say you’re one of the luckier patients I’ve ever gotten. Stab wounds and blaster shots I can handle, guts and brains are another story.”

“You’re a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village--most people are dead before they even make it here.”

He makes a small noise from the back of his throat, “Makes sense. Surprised this place even has an infirmary in the first place.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly the flashiest hospital in the Outer Rim,” You say sarcastically, tilting your head to the side as you lean over his torso to get a better look at what you’re doing, “Why did you ask for me?”

“You were the only one that actually looked competent,” He huffs, stretching his arm behind his head when you gently nudge his bicep a little, “Everyone else was standing around doing nothing. You were the only one actually working.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or some sort of backhanded one, but you take it for what it is and continue your work, being as swift and precise as you possibly can. The Mandalorian, however, makes it difficult when he keeps shuffling around and you would have thought for such a big warrior, he’d be used to pain by now. If you were in any other situation, you might have found amusement at the thought of a huge Mandalorian hating needles, though you suspect it goes deeper than that and judging by the scarce amount of scars scattered on his torso, he must not get hurt often. 

Men in this village tend to have quite a big ego and usually hate having their pride bruised; you think that maybe Mandalorians are no exception to that notion, especially when they are rumored to be the galaxy’s fiercest warriors.

You let out an exasperated sigh when he shifts for the umpteenth time and his helmet immediately jolts to stare at you through that unforgiving visor, “What? Something wrong?”

His tone is condescending and you wince a little.

Of course he’s just like the rest of your patients--rude and probably cruel.

“You just…” You cringe at how shaky your voice is and steel your nerves, “Could you stop moving so much, please? It’s slowing down the process and causing more unnecessary pain.”

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a vibroblade just inches from your face.

He grunts a little and turns his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, growing deathly still underneath your skilled hands.

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

You bite your tongue and continue without so much as a nod. You’ve learned long ago that when it comes to patching up criminals or bounty hunters, they have no qualms about harming people smaller or weaker than them and this Mandalorian is quite possibly the strongest patient you’ve ever tended to and you’d rather not anger him. So, instead of rolling your eyes at the childish man, you continue to stitch the second wound that comes to a blunt end on the right side of his hip, just above his utility belt. After tenderly wiping the dried and fresh blood away from his torso, remaining mindful as you clean around the sutures, you begin to unroll a thick wad of gauze as well as some medical tape.

“The bruising on your ribs looks pretty intense,” You murmur after finishing with the stitches and lightly wrapping it with a bandage; you tilt your head a little at the way he jolts when you tenderly press a cool hand against his warm, bruised skin, “Did you hear a pop or crack when you were hit?”

“I don’t know,” He admits brusquely and you are all too aware of how bothersome bruised or broken ribs can be. Despite your better judgment, you think that perhaps that’s why he’s so cranky, “Couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when you think of the massive weapon propped up against the cot, just inches away from your thigh, and you shake your head a little, “I think I might have a jar of bacta salve that could help with the soreness. If you apply it twice a day, it should speed up the healing process a considerable amount.”

“I don’t have enough credits for anything with bacta in it, so don’t even bother,” He grunts as he stubbornly sits up and lowers his helmet to inspect your work before turning to you, watching as you stand up. 

You ignore his words as you approach the cabinet where you keep several clear jars filled with all sorts of vibrant, colorful liquids and gels and you think you feel his eyes on you as you stand on your tippy toes to reach the small jar on the top shelf. You were grateful that your little supply of homemade remedies and salves had remained untouched, for the most part, after the infirmary had been raided. You try to forget about the scary situation, though you still found yourself having nightmares of a Trandoshan pressing a blaster between your eyes, all while threatening to blow your brains out if you move an inch.

“Please, take it,” You insist, unscrewing the lid as you approach him and gathering the cold salve onto your fingers, “Something tells me you get injured a lot.”

His leather-clad fingers wrap gently around your wrist and stop you from rubbing the healing ointment into his skin; if you weren’t so terrified, you would have marveled at how massive his hand was compared to your much tinier one, “I don’t want your pity.”

Much to your dismay, your voice shakes a little when you speak in a whisper, and you feel the way he loosens his grip on you, though it hadn’t been painful or caused discomfort in the slightest; you’re somewhat surprised that he’s capable of gently handling someone so much smaller than him.

“It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

“Then what is it?”

“Kindness,” You murmur, feeling ridiculous when he scoffs at your answer and you just know that your cheeks are an angry shade of pink, “I do not wish to be as cruel as everyone else on this planet. I would like to think I would be shown the same kindness if I was as injured as you are, though I doubt one would help me. Besides, I don’t like seeing people in pain and I know broken ribs can be bothersome and painful.”

He silently stares at you for a few tense moments, his helmet giving you no indication as to what he’s feeling.

“Fine,” He lets go of your wrist and you let out a sigh of relief, hand shaking terribly as you begin to rub the salve against the worst of the bruising; you ignore the way he tenses under your hand and how he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes you closely, “That kind of attitude will get you hurt in a place like this.”

“I know,” Your cheeks flush and your eyes burn as you refuse to meet his gaze, your voice growing thicker and quieter when you speak again, “I know, but sometimes it doesn’t.”

He’s still staring at you as you finish up and he grunts a little when you offer him the deep, dull blue cuirass you had helped him remove earlier, carefully helping him put it back into place. After sheathing his huge canon against his back, he accepts the little jar of salve from you and tucks it into a little brown pouch attached to his utility belt with a disgruntled ‘thanks’. You’re not sure why you do it, but you instinctively trail behind him as he leaves the room and makes his way into the lobby; it’s not like he needs your assistance, but he doesn’t say anything to make you think he’s annoyed with you or doesn’t want you there.

It’s not until a deep voice calls out your name that you freeze in your footsteps and turn around with dread, the Mandalorian tilting his helmet to stare at you and an older man over his broad shoulder. Your own shoulders tense and are nearly touching your earlobes as your boss approaches you, looking angry and irritated with you even though you haven’t said a single word to him in hours. 

His face is a deep shade of crimson and you can smell his putrid breath as he yells at you, “I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

“N-No sir,” You panic and instinctively flinch when he harshly grabs your bicep and violently rattles you, “Something came up, sir. I had a patient that had two stab wounds and I just uh, I figured that took priority over a few reports that aren’t crucial. He was in pretty bad condition and I just thought--”

“I don’t give a shit what you think takes priority over my demands,” He hisses, lowering his head to get in your face and intimidate you and you absolutely loathe that he succeeds in frightening you, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking do it without hesitation. I need a nurse that will do her job, not a useless pathetic excuse for a human being that can’t file a few reports by the deadline I give her. Is that understood?”

You blink away the tears and nod fervently, ignoring the bruising grip he has on your arm, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I can’t handle having you around fucking everything up right now. Go home.”

"But I--" You're cut off with a harsh squeeze and you try to keep the pain out of your voice when you speak in a quiet, shaky whisper, "Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry."

When you turn around, lightly rubbing what you know is going to be a painful bruise in the morning, you're surprised to find the blue Mandalorian still standing near the entrance of the infirmary looking extremely tense--more so now than he had been earlier when you’d been stitching his wounds. His visor is trained on you and he's firmly holding the handle of his vibroblade; your eyes widen a little when you realize he had been seconds away from causing a scene and you wonder if the warrior would have actually killed your boss. 

You remain frozen in place until his hand eventually falls from the handle and you skittishly brush past him, his visor following your quick pace as you leave the infirmary and hastily make your way down the empty street, your face flushed and tears burning your eyes.

You just want to go home and lay down and forget about everything that--

"Nurse," The Mandalorian’s deep voice immediately makes you freeze again and your shoulders hunch up when you hear his heavy footsteps slowly approaching you, slow and precise, like predator stalking its prey. Your eyes squeeze shut as you fear the worst case scenarios, knowing all too well of the kind of pain men of his size and strength could inflict on someone like you.

Oh Maker, were you all too aware of what cruel men were capable of. 

When you apprehensively open your eyes, you find it impossible to look at his helmet and stare straight ahead at the center of his chest that’s protected by dull blue metal. You’re paralyzed with fear as you wait for him to strike--to shoot you or perhaps drag you behind the infirmary to have his way with you.

You prayed that he would kill you, rather than robbing you of that innocence that you still weakly held onto.

You’re frozen to the sidewalk when he finally comes to a stop about half a foot away from you, fingers clenching against his thighs and you feel ridiculous when a tear escapes the corner of your eye and slowly travels down your cheek. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from your previous encounter with the older man who constantly made your life a living hell or the fact that there’s a possibility that you’re about to be brutalized by a terrifying Mandalorian.

His helmet cocks to the side when you take a tentative step backwards, your hands wringing together as vicious waves of nerves threaten to suffocate you.

“P-Please don’t--”

"It’s late and dangerous to be walking alone. I'm going to walk you home."

You flinch when he gently grabs your elbow and he's quick to drop it instantly, much to your surprise, "Y-You really… that's not necessary, really. I do this every night and usually don’t have a problem."

He grunts a little and holds out his own elbow for you to take, "It wasn't a question. You helped me and gave me medicine even though I had no credits to spare. Let me return the favor by walking you home,” You stare at his thick arm with distrust carved into your soft features and he must notice it because he eventually speaks up again, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago, nurse. I have no desire to harm someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially you, of all people. Besides, even if you’re capable of protecting yourself, you’re clearly shaken up right now and not thinking straight.”

“I don’t know you,” The Mandalorian is still holding out his elbow for you to take as you argue with him in a weak murmur, “How am I supposed to believe you’re not just like the rest of them?”

He scoffs a little at your words, shaking his helmet as if he can’t believe you just compared him to a bunch of amateur criminals and bounty hunters, “I don’t like these people anymore than you do. I hate criminals that hurt others who don’t deserve it or can’t defend themselves. Let me walk you home this once and you’ll never have to see me again. You have my word.”

Something about the sincerity in his deep baritone leaves you a little breathless and you no longer feel as threatened by the Mandalorian and you think he’s being utterly genuine with you. There had been disgust in his voice as he spoke of ruthless criminals and perhaps you had misunderstood him and his intentions all along.

“Still don’t believe me?” He sighs when he mistakes your thoughtful silence for hesitance towards his insistent offer to walk you home, “Here, take my vibroblade and if you feel uncomfortable, I’ll let you stab me.”

‘I’ll let you stab me.’

It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous words that a man has ever said to you and your eyebrows shoot up at the nonchalance in his modulated voice, like this is something he says every day. You quickly stop him as he reaches for the handle of his weapon, though you’re not afraid of him hurting you with it, but more incredulous that this huge warrior would give you the chance to do such a thing.

“Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

His chest heaves and you’re surprised by the deep laugh he lets out at your innocent question, adamant about placing the heavy weapon in your palm, “Yes, I think I have. Now let’s get going.”

“O-Okay,” Your heart is still frantically beating from the initial fear of him taking advantage of you, along with the strange feeling of such a sharp weapon in your hand, “It’s just--it’s kind of a long walk and I’m sure you have better things to--”

“I don’t,” He firmly interjects, almost sounding exasperated with you, “C’mon, tighten your grip on that vibroblade. The later it gets, more rats come out of hiding and target people like you.”

Hesitantly, you curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow just above his vambrace, testing the thickness of the fabric there and squeezing until your fingers stop shaking. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin underneath his tunic and relish in it a little, the atmosphere of Nevarro quite brisk this late at night.

“Thank you for doing this,” You whisper, cheeks burning brightly at how close you are to someone so powerful while holding one of his weapons,“I-It means a lot to me.”

“You said you do this every night.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip as you think of all the bad run-ins you had whenever you had to walk home this late without the protection of a Mandalorian, “It doesn’t make it any less scary when these bounty hunters and criminals find out I’m nothing more than the village nurse.”

You pretend not to notice the way he tenses next to you.

As you lead him to your little hut on the outskirts of the quiet village, you remember all the stories of how Mandalorians were vicious savages and you wonder just how accurate they are. You can't imagine someone with an inherently violent disposition offering you his arm and blade while he walks you home and perhaps your initial impression of the Mandalorian was made in too much of a haste. A few late night stragglers sneer at you and the unfazed Mandalorian and even though you should feel frightened to be walking home alone with a fierce warrior, you find that his presence has quite the opposite effect as people move out of his way to avoid any confrontation.

You can’t remember the last time you actually felt safe walking home so late and you’re barely aware of the way you push yourself closer against his side.

"That man," The Mandalorian's deep voice startles you and you notice him drop his tone in the slightest, "Does he always treat you that way? That roughly?"

You're surprised that he's actually starting a conversation with you, as he seems to be a man of very few words, but you think over his blunt question and carefully choose your words, "It is for my own good. How am I supposed to learn and become a better nurse if I can't follow simple orders?"

"He shouldn't put his hands on you like that. It’s not right when he’s larger than you and you can’t defend yourself properly."

You smile sadly and gaze up at the twinkling stars dotted in the night sky, "He is my boss and my father. He can do whatever he wants as long as I'm working for him and living under his roof.”

“Father?” He cocks his helmet to the side, as if he’s confused by your words, though all you hear is disgust in his modulated voice when he speaks, “A father should never lay a hand on their child the way he did with you earlier. Parents are supposed to protect their family, not hurt and bruise them. He should feel ashamed of the way he treats you and how he talks to you--it’s dishonorable.”

“I am an adult, not a child,” You lazily give him a single-shouldered shrug and sheepishly turn your attention to your worn out boots and your bruised knees that peek out just from the hem of your dress, “It doesn’t bother me. Like I said, it’s better for me to learn this way and he only does it because I’m always messing up.”

“It should bother you,” The Mandalorian shakes his helmet and you think he must be pitying you or judging you, “You should stand up for yourself and leave. Make a better life for yourself.”

You huff out a small laugh, though there’s nothing funny about his words or yours, “Tell me, Mandalorian, where would I go? There is only one infirmary in the village and it’s owned by my father and I have no other useful skills that would help me thrive in a village overrun by bounty hunters and criminals. The nearest city is hundreds of miles away from here and I do not make nearly enough to afford transportation nor to start my life over; my father made sure of that.” 

You’re smiling, but it’s bitter and wistful, wondering why this Mandalorian wanted you to fight for a better life when there was no such thing that existed for you on this planet, “It is easy for you to tell me to fight for myself when you are covered from head to toe in impenetrable steel. My father could ruin my life if he so desired and I would not give him reason to punish me more than he has already.”

“That is no way to live, orikih baar’ur. The way you are treated is no better than the way an owner treats their slave.”

You don’t understand the language and wonder if he’s judging you in his native tongue, and even though you try to shrug it off, you still feel the pain on your shoulders and arms from your last punishment.

“It’s not living,” You agree, lightly squeezing his arm to reassure him that you’re fine, though you think you’re trying to reassure yourself more, “But I’m still surviving and doing what I love the most, helping others. It would be selfish of me to ask for more.”

The Mandalorian grows silent and you wonder what’s going through his head as you lead him through the village, where clustered buildings eventually give way to smaller houses and huts that could do with some renovation and patching up. You think of your own hut that could do with some fixing up, what with all the holes that have been punched through the walls in your father’s fits of rage, or the way rain trickles through cracks in the ceiling and oftentimes leaves you feeling sick with a fever after a night of tossing and turning on a wet mattress. Thinking of how you grew up so poorly and in a hostile environment, it makes you think far more of the Mandalorian’s blunt words and something awful churns in the pit of your stomach.

‘That is no way to live…’

You lift your head up to the stars again and wonder what lingers beyond this forsaken planet, what beauty exists in the galaxy. You had once heard tales of planets covered entirely in oceans or jungles and as you peer at the rocky and volcanic terrain that surrounds the two of you for as far as the eye can see, you wonder what beautiful sights the Mandalorian must have experienced during his years of travel. You remember a patient of yours describing the beauty of Naboo and all of the sights she had witnessed during her weeks of residing on the planet. Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t envision massive rolling plains of emerald grass, or glimmering sapphire oceans with waves just as violent as the most fearsome warrior you’ve ever met, the man walking next to you. 

You wonder what it must feel like to have a cool, fresh breeze kiss your flushed skin.

You try to imagine tasting ripe, fresh fruit, rather than bland ration bars, or the scent of sweet flowers tickling your nostrils, rather than the putrid scent of some poor creature being roasted alive.

“My place is just up ahead.”

He must hear how forlorn you’ve become, voice slightly high-pitched and crackly, as if you’re trying your damned hardest not to break down in front of him, because he tilts his helmet to gaze down at you. 

Your cheek is nearly grazing his bicep and you don’t even realize how close you are to him until you smell blaster fire and something spicy on the fabric of the long-sleeved gray tunic he wears underneath a short-sleeved black one. He’s warm, you realize, despite being covered in cold blue metal, and you wonder how such a huge, cold man could make you feel the safest you’ve felt in years, before your mother had passed away and your father was a little less cruel, though not by much. 

You swallow the lump in your throat when the hut you share with your father grows closer and dread threatens to send you fleeing in the opposite direction, though you’re willing to stay next to his side just to enjoy a few rare moments of serenity. Your father won’t be home for another few hours and you hope by then, his anger will have dulled into harmless embers, though you won’t get your hopes up.

“Thank you again for walking me home,” You clear your throat when you two come to a stop in front of the sad excuse for a home and you reluctantly pull away from him, fingertips grazing the crook of his elbow before falling to your side, “They don’t speak too kindly of Mandalorians around here, you know?”

He cocks his helmet downwards and to the side, seeming all too comfortable to speak with you before parting ways, “What do they say?”

“My father used to tell me tales of your people being savages,” You sound shameful as you confess this, tilting your head upwards the tiniest bit to gaze at the geometric emblem embedded into his cuirass, “That Mandalorians would kill innocent people and steal from them with no remorse, that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill women and children, or even torturing them. My father told me your people were worse than the monsters that plagued my dreams.”

You don’t back off when he steps a little closer and reaches out to lightly touch the little violet you always keep tucked behind your ear or in the soft weaves of your braids when it’s too hot to wear your hair down. It was something you wore in your hair every single day since your mother’s death, as she would always stick violets in your thick braids whenever she would style your hair in the morning when you were younger. You remember how she would explain the several medical uses for violets--how it was versatile and could be used for compresses, salves, soothing teas, poultices and much more.

You hadn’t even realized it had become a habit to constantly wear the pretty wildflowers in your hair until the Mandalorian unknowingly pointed it out.

“And what do you think about my people?”

“I used to believe the stories,” You hesitantly crane your neck backwards to peer into his t-shaped visor, wondering if he has warm, soft eyes that betray his cold, modulated voice and you watch as his hand promptly drops to his thigh before he can touch your ear, “Now I think the monsters in my nightmares are far more terrifying than the Mandalorian who walked me home tonight. If your people are anything like you, then I think the rumors are just that--silly rumors that should be ignored.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” His voice drops into a cool rasp that sends shivers up your spine and for what reason, you’re not so sure, “You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” You murmur just as quietly, eyes desperately searching everywhere on his dull blue helmet and you count the number of scuffs created from blaster shots or perhaps sharp daggers like the one he had been attacked with earlier, “You told me yourself that you have no desire to harm innocent people. I think you are the first man on this planet to show me any form of kindness.”

“I don’t doubt it,” He reaches for your arm, just as he had done earlier when he’d first insisted on walking you home, however, this time you don’t flinch and he cocks his helmet a little as he lightly strokes the inside of your clothed elbow with a leather thumb, “Good night, saviin’ika.”

“W-Wait!”

He tilts his helmet to the side when you quickly hold out his vibroblade that you had loosely been holding onto the entire walk home, almost forgetting that he had let you borrow it in case you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

You hadn’t--not once.

“Keep it, at least for now,” He reaches out to gently curl your thin fingers back around the handle, speaking up quickly when you part your lips to protest, “You shouldn’t be walking around without anything to protect yourself, especially this late at night.”

“But wh-what about you?”

Immediately, your eyes land on the heavy cannon attached to his back, along with the blaster on his hip and you cringe, knowing that this warrior would undoubtedly be able to take care of himself without his small blade. Still, you think the Mandalorian is amused as he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, just above his utility belt, and tilts his head backwards and to the side.

“I think I will somehow manage,” He sounds just as amused as you figured he would, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, cheeks still burning like hot coals, “Will I see you again?”

“What? Want to see me get injured again?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling when you detect a twinge of amusement in his deep voice, “You don’t need to go and hurt yourself to come visit me, Mandalorian. I would prefer to see you in one piece and those ribs all healed. Don’t forget to use that salve--”

“Twice a day,” He finishes and shakes his helm a little at the bright smile you give him, “Take care of yourself, saviin’ika. Don’t hesitate to use that vibroblade if anyone threatens you.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian. See you soon.”

orikih baar’ur= tiny medic

saviin’ika=little violet

[umaficwriter]

SOUVENIR IS AMONG US!

KALIJAH SMUT DARINGS! 

I was feeling like shit and started this weeks ago, finally came to finish it and kinda don’t give a damn about how it turned out, still, hope you like it! 

You can read it on AO3 or FFNET or even, down below this lovely gifs. 

The light breeze of a New York’ spring night passed through Katherine mahogany curly strands as she admired Jane and Greenwich street down ten floors below. She engulfed a full breath, filling her lungs with the not so clear night air, cigarette smoke coming from the party on full swing behind her.

The balcony was empty. She had compelled anyone that came in her direction away, so it would stay that way.

Finally, Katherine Pierce had piece of mind.

She had run for so long, firstly from her past in Bulgaria, then from Klaus and all that his figure entailed, then she ran from him when he found her. And then she had made her escape when he failed her once again.

Elijah Mikaelson.

Not her biggest mistake, nor regret, but close enough to discomfort to make chills arouse in her body when she recalled his figure. His suits represented an armor she once thought she would be able to penetrate. Oh, was she wrong.

For he could never be truly hers.

Elijah was like an expensive gift you bought someone, just to regret later you gave it away when in fact you wanted it to yourself, when on his part. he seemed to consider her, them a disposable souvenir.

New York back in August, tenth floor balcony Smoke is floating over Jane and Greenwich street

 Katherine leaned over the steel railing, aiming her vision to the busy Big Apple streets. Her heightened senses catching the environment around her. The faint smell of putrid trash from the alley couple blocks away, the blinding headlights of cars so tiny from where she stood. The wind picking up the hairs on her arms, giving her body an enjoyable hum. The cigarette smoke entering the balcony from the lounge party behind her, the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air coming from the humans inside the giant apartment that wasn’t hers.

She should go back down to hell; she was its Queen after all. Mystic Falls people had been so naïve believing she would die after the tunnels caught fire…

She was Katherine Pierce, a survivor, of the upscale kind, caring for her life, being it as a vampire or otherwise.

She had woken up, without Stefan, completely naked in the throne that had been hers for sometime now.

A smile had creeped itself on her features, her limbs stretching as if she was a sated cat after a long afternoon nap.

Since then, she had given up on tormenting that filthy gang. Stefan was truly dead, although not in Hell, for Katherine’s dismay. She wished she could enslave him for eternity, albeit looked like it wouldn’t happen.

Shrugging, Katherine looked over her shoulder to the gathering inside the condo. She didn’t know anyone there, as expected, she didn’t live in this world anymore. She was just passing by the human land, and soon enough, she would go back to Hell to ruin her tormenting souls even more.

Another strong breeze floated the NYC night, and that was when she felt it.

At first, only a discomfort in the pit of her stomach, similar of when she was being followed, or observed. Case being the latter tonight.

Goosebumps from your wild eyes when they're watchin' me

The smell the wind brought was rich blood, expensive cologne, leather from Italian shoes, moving in her direction.

Her unliving heartbeat scaled, for she knew very well whom was walking inside the recently opened balcony glass’ doors, bringing the blasting music to her ears.

Katherine didn’t dare uttering words, she maintained her position as the man closed the doors behind him, muffling the sound from the party once more.

Was he to think she was her doppelganger?

Katherine would prefer he did not make that mistake. She also knew he would not.

His presence was enough to make shivers run down her spine. Katherine wasn’t fazed by what they had in the past. She had decided to bury those feelings deep inside, still he awoke a brutal wave of desire inside her. And as a supernatural creature, her emotions were as heightened as of a vampire, if not more, considering she fed from souls as well as blood. The latter just for reminiscing the thrill of the hunt.

Shivers dance down my spine and head down to my feet

The hot night wind picked up her skin and she hugged herself, running her hands through her arms, before directing her speech at him.

“The noble, family-oriented brother so far from home. I wonder why is that?” her voice was laced with sarcasm, although Elijah picked up a faint tone of hurting. He couldn’t blame her.

After Niklaus’ death, Elijah had bid his family goodbye and decided against settling in New Orleans. Marcel had claimed his throne back, for being king had never been Elijah’s call.

Hope was attending the Salvatore Boarding School and he didn’t see the need to disturb his niece education, still he visited her and even took her to vacations when the time called for it.

Elijah had chosen traveling the world instead, although always coming back to the US for his supernatural business, New York to be precise.

The city always brought good memories into his troubled mind.

It reminded him of the second woman he had loved. So deeply, her name remained engraved in his heart and soul.

Elijah was aware he didn’t have any right to claim her, nor search for Katerina, so he had not.

He had talked to Alaric once about her whereabouts and it was then he had discovered of her last attempt in destroying them. They believed she had died in the fire.

Elijah never had.

She hadn’t the first time in 1864, she wouldn’t have this time around.

Still, imagine his surprise when he caught her silhouette in the veranda at a party one of his associates was throwing.

He wasn’t to attend, he never did. Petty, unimportant things he would justify. Except, this night he was strangely bored by his usual book and wine program, hence his presence.

Elijah couldn’t say he regretted it.

From the moment he walked into the large apartment, loud music and abusive expanse of drugs had surrounded him. The Original had gone to the bar and ordered various doses of whiskey, before his business subordinate had found him, urging him to mingle around the gathering, and have a proper drink.

Elijah had bled various wrists inside his glass, being slightly intoxicated by substances within the blood he fed from.  

And that was when he saw her.

Alone over the balcony, her slender body hugged by a lace black dress, her hair in soft waves adorning her stance and stopping over the middle of her spine.

That was, without a shadow of doubt, Katerina Petrova.

“Niklaus is dead,”

“I know,” she turned around to finally face him. “Lucifer fed from his soul,” Elijah saw the faintest of smiles quirking over her lips.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I assure you, he doesn’t remember who he is, so it’s no fun torture him,” she justified, for she knew that was what he wanted to know. “Although, he deserves it anyway, for everything he caused me,”

Elijah looked down at his expensive shinny shoes.

“Apologies are never going to fix that,”

“No, they won’t,” agreed the brunette woman.

“And what you’ve been up to?” the trivial question floated from the man’s mouth as he moved beside her and leaned his back over the steel banister.

Katherine mirrored his position with her wine glass in hand and almost scoffed with his bluntness. It was clear he already knew what she had been up to.

“You already know, skip the small talk, what is it you want from me?” she questioned before downing the last of her drink, setting her glass over the nearest surface. “I mean, aside from everything you’ve already taken, obviously,”

He deserved that; he also would take it.

“I’ve got word you’ve been ruling over Hell, although I was never certain of the veracity in this tête-a-tête,”

She rolled her eyes. Elijah was much smarter than that.

“You want to know about my line of work?” she asked a little taken aback, after all, what kind of mundane questioning was that?

“Well, you don’t seem too keen talking about our past, do you, Katerina?” he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.

She gave him that credit.

He wanted a civil conversation? She could do that.

“I feed from blood just for the rush of it, although what I really need, all inhabitants from Hell for that matter, to survive is: souls.”

He nodded in understandment. “Any soul?”

Katherine shook her head “Supernatural souls,”

The pair didn’t utter a word for a little while.

“How’s your life without your brother?” she questioned. For anyone knowing their history, would claim she was only being cruel. Maybe a little bit yes, but Katherine really wanted to know how he felt.

Maybe she refused her devoted heart from breaking, but she still held Elijah dear. The Petrova only had a different way of showing it.

“Never thought life could be this calm,” he honestly answered, a ghost of a smile dancing in his features.

She smiled and turned her face at him.

“Do you miss him?” she already knew the answer, still she couldn’t avoid it from going out there.

“You already know the answer to that, Katerina,”

“True,”

“At first, I couldn’t stop thinking about him,” Elijah prompted and crossed his arms and legs in front of him. “but then, time has passed, and grief ran its course…” he paused “now he’s a pleasant and hurtful memory,”

“Just as me, I presume?”

He turned his upper body at her, unfolding his arms and passing his hands through his short brown hair.

“Just as you were half an hour ago,” he confirmed.

“You really did give up on us, didn’t you?”

He let out a heavy shudder “I couldn’t promise you anything, they’re were broken words, like stiches. It was shattered glass we could not put back together to perfection, so I let you be,” she didn’t turn her head back at him. “I’ve never forgotten about you, if that’s what you’re asking.”  

“You never came to say goodbye,” he didn’t respond to that “you know, Damon showed me a version of you with me, when I was in my deathbed, then you dissipated into his face and he promised he would kill you,”

“I’d like to see him try,”

“He’s human now,”

Elijah seemed surprised in hearing that piece of news; Alaric had never mentioned that, also he had never asked.

He turned to face the sky and the street ten floors down, she didn’t mirror his posture this time.

“What should I call you? To summon you.”

She let out a chuckle.

“That’s not how it works, Elijah,”

His name floating from her lips, made him aim his looks at her and smirk in amusement.

“You didn’t respond me, what is it Katherine and Katerina do?”

The woman looked down at her Jimmy Choos’ and folded her arms in front of her lace covered chest.

“Katherine rules Hell with iron fists, has no mercy whatsoever, never had, but when she comes up to the land of the living, she drinks nice wine, walks long distances…”

“What about Katerina?”

“She cooks,” they both smiled at that “and read lots of romance novels that remind her of what she never had,”

“You did have love,”

“You, then Stefan, then you again,” she pointed out unfolding her arms and counting on her fingers to emphasize. “and look how that turned out,”

Elijah looked away back into the beautiful night.

“What is it you want, Elijah?” it was her turn to question.

“Right at this moment?”

She turned her head in his direction. His eyes were locked with hers, his nose almost touching hers, his breath dancing in her face.

“Yes,” she whispered looking down through her lashes, just to look inside his eyes once more.

“You,” he whispered back and didn’t gave her time to refuse him as he advanced his lips to touch hers in a long kiss.

Katherine’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as their kiss deepened, his tongue invaded her mouth in a ferrous battle while his arms circled her waist in a vice grip, bringing her closer with nothing in between them aside from their clothes.

Elijah let out a groan when she bit his lower lip hard making it bleed, which she latched on looking up at him through her long lashes. He hissed and used one of his hands to grip the rail when she descended one of hers to the front of his trousers, fondling his half-hard member.

“Katerina,” he nibbled on her earlobe, while he moved her hand. His whisper sounding needy, and that was what he was indeed.

Elijah moved his mouth to her neck descending to the feminine jaw, ‘till he reached her plump lips again, but Katherine had other plans in mind.

The brunette woman pushed him away, until his back hit the far corner of the veranda. Elijah new what was to come. Usually, he would give her pleasure first, but she looked irrefutable into having him the way she wanted.

Katherine unzipped his slacks while attacking his mouth, his hands gliding along her slim arms, arousing modest shudders from her.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

 She separated herself from his mouth and descended her body, kneeling in front of him. Freeing his length from its cloth prison, Katherine looked up at him and smirked deviously.

“Now you’ve summoned me, I must show you the extent of my abilities,”

Elijah smirked back at her, and it transformed into a board smile when he felt her hot mouth on him.

Her lips surrounding his penis felt amazing. Her skilled tongue swirling around him, making him murmur with excitement, while she bobbed her head making him harder than he was before.

His member pulsating inside her mouth made Katherine heart beat faster, he was delicious, and the sensations she was causing him, the sounds he was making as he slowly let himself relax, encouraged her to suck him harder and faster.

Her mouth left his member, as Elijah grabbed the back of her head, moving her face away from his lower region and bringing her to him, to engulf her in a passionate kiss.

Elijah spun her around and made her sit on the steel railing. With a swift move, he moved her panties away and ran his fingers through her folds, feeling how ready she was, he inserted two fingers, while she gripped his suit clad arms with such force Elijah didn’t know if it would heal as fast as it should.

The Original kept his slow pace, and when he felt her walls clenching his digits, he removed them from her, receiving a disapproving wail.

Katherine reopened her eyes only to close them shut, as Elijah replaced his fingers for his engorged shaft, filling her up with a strong thrust.

“Oh God!” she proclaimed and held his shoulders tighter.

“If saying that was wrong before, I can’t imagine how much more it is now,” he mocked as he kissed her neck and Katherine smirked, sighing as he moved almost all out of her, just to pump back in with another hard thrust.

She guided her mouth to his neck and moved his shirt collar away, biting him hard, while he started moving frenetic into her, searching their deliverance.

As their breathing shallowed signalizing their approaching climax, Elijah moved them to the glass doors.

Neither giving a damn about someone watching them.

Katherine’s back hit the surface hard, while she let out a moan appreciating the pain and feeling Elijah’s penis never leaving her aching core.

The man stopped his pace and observed the woman in his arms.

Her chest moving up and down, her face flushed and her lower lip between her teeth.

Katherine opened her doe orbs and looked straight into his.

All sounds dulled around. Her blood pumped hard against her hot skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he prompted in a throaty whisper, his whiskey-blood-laced breath hitting her face, his words transforming her insides into puddle.

She smirked and leaned her head ‘till her mouth touched his earlobe, pulling it with her teeth.

“I want you to finish what you started and fuck m-“

Elijah thrusted deep while Katherine swallowed her words.

An almost animalistic groan left her lips while he continuedly kept going, the hot friction creating a delicious sensation, building more and more, until the stars in the night sky mingled with the ones behind her closed eyelids.

Katherine didn’t speak his name when she came, although he whispered hers in a prayer to the devil herself.

His seed ran down her thighs as he collected himself and helped her lower her dress.

Neither elaborating on what had just happened.  

Calling your name, the only language I can speak Taking my breath, a souvenir that you can keep

 They met again two months later.

Mid October’ sundown shone beautifully over New York skyline while Katherine Pierce sashayed into the luxurious hotel lobby.

Elijah had invited her into his apartment in the 5th avenue, although the she-devil wanted to keep things carnal only, and frequent his place was opposite to that.

So, she had suggested a random hotel.

Knowing full well he would choose the one they’d stayed when looking for the Cure a lifetime ago.

Sunset tower lobby, waiting there for me

 And there he stood.

In all his glorified tailoress. Armani suit, combed back hair, elegant and subtle. Not giving away what was about to happen a few floors up in just a couple instants.

At the sound of high heels on the marble floors, Elijah looked up, smiling at the figure approaching.

He was hopeful she would come, as a good serve he waited so. Although regarding the possibility she could not.

Fortunately, he had been wrong.

They don’t greet using words, but he ghosts a hand on the small of her back, as he guided them to the elevator. Her hand grazes his upper thigh when they enter the gold metal box, he stands behind her, hovering over his new favorite thing in the world.

Guess she always has been, he only had just remembered one of the reasons why.

Katherine waits for the elevator to shut its double doors, before turning her neck to look over her shoulder, encountering his face inches from hers.

She smirks with the proximity that wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

She leans up and captures his lips with hers in a sensual kiss. Her tongue darts out to touch his and that’s when Elijah moves them to the lift’s wall, his hands multiplying as he tried and touch her every inch at the same time.

Katherine’s head hangs back as he explores her neck with his mouth, only a hint of his fangs coming out to play and that pulls a moan from her throat.

When the transport dings its destination, he reluctantly breaks their contact, and lets her out into the presidential floor first.

In the elevator, fumble for your key Kissed in every corner, Presidential Suite

Opened a Bordeaux from 1993

 When Elijah opens up the room’s door, contrary of what Katherine thought, he does’t jump right back at where they left.

He aims his steps to the light’ switch and dims it, leaving the room in a comfortable yellow glow.

Outside the twilight shows itself purple and orange, subtly letting the night in.

Elijah goes for the glass’ center table, and only then she notices the wine bottle as well as two glasses siting there.

He had thought everything through then, huh?

What did he think this was?

A reconciliation encounter?

Even with those questions inside her head, she collected her tongue and accepted the wine glass when he offered it to her.

“My favorite,” she quips after tasting the grape fermented juice.

He sheepishly smiles at her , downing his own drink.

Putting her glass aside, she goes to him. Her walk purposeful, her heeled feet tapping on the hardwood floors, her hips swaying, and Elijah appreciates the sight.

Elijah deposits his glass by the side table and backings until he reaches the king sized bed.

“And now what?” he quips, his voice low and husky as he leans back, sitting on the mattress, his chin up high to face her standing figure.

“I though you had it all figured out, my Lord,” she taunts, tilting her head and smirking at him.

Elijah chuckles and meets her cockiness.

“Oh, but I do,”

Katherine’s eyes go wide, her lips forming an ‘o’.

“Is that so?” she pushes and leans herself forward, her hands gripping his parted knees.

Elijah’ smile doesn’t leave his face as he contemplates her mannerisms.

Katherine’s face is closer now, her wine hot breath blows on his face, as he looks through his lashes at her plump lips.

How he missed touching her.

But he lets her have her fun, looking back into her cocoa orbs.

Like a cat she’s slow on her actions, calculating every slight move while she climbs in bed straddling his thighs.

Her eyes never leave his and their wordless communication turns her on just as much as his touch.

Speaking of, why wasn’t he?

“Afraid I’m gonna burn you?”

“If anything is I who burns for you, Katerina,” he justifies, his head going to the hollow of her neck and shoulder, grazing his teeth there.

She hisses with the caress and her hands travel from his knees to his shoulders, moving his suit jacket away from his frame.

With his tongue darting out to taste her neck, Elijah whispers in her ear

“Delicious just as the forbidden fruit,”

“Rich, since you’re tasting the devil herself,”

He chuckles again and takes a yelp out of her sinking his fangs deep into her flesh and vamp speeding them to the nearest wall.

The coherence escapes the doppelganger as the sensations of shared blood curse through her body.

Her legs are wrapped strongly around her lover’s waist and his member is pressing between her jean-clad legs, and it feels like heaven, more so when unconsciously, Elijah starts to thrust forward into her.

“Oh, yes…” her breath is caught up her windpipe.

The sharp nails tinted black she possesses go to his man shirt and tear the fabric apart to find his bare back and scratch it with will.

His groan as he moves his head from her jugular is guttural and makes her chill in excitement.

Elijah’s fangs are out, his lips red from her blood and the veins around his eyes are prominent.

He’s the beast she wants and when she goes to kiss him, he trumps her, enveloping them in a bruising lip locking.

The Original dismisses her jacket and blouse like rag, although leaves her bra on, vamp speeding them back to bed, throwing her over the soft surface.

Katherine gets rid of her jeans and boots as the man does the same with his garments, leaving only his boxers on.

If she was to be the she-devil, he certainly was a Greek God.

Elijah’s body was built, strong and as his fangs subsided, his beauty screamed old world elegance, even more so alluring with his bloody face.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her hungrily, his chocolate irises almost didn’t show such was his lust.

Katherine knew better than thinking her eyes were any different.

She knelt over the bed. Her hair tousled, lips parted, black lace adorning her flawless body.

Neither moved further.

It was a battle of sorts.

Who would give in first?

Katherine didn’t like losing.

Although she despised wasting time.

And thinking of that she makes her crawling to him.

A hunting peer.

She was the beast now.

Her lips reach for him.

She kisses his navel, going up to his stomach as she feels his muscles contracting there. She looks up and Elijah has his eyes half opened, trying to fight the urge to let it completely go.

Katherine giggles mischievously and ascends her kisses to his nipples, as he finally touches her again.

His hands going directly to her breasts and squeezing them through the fabric of her bra.

Katherine’s nose is nuzzling his jaw as she hums her approval. The wetness of her tongue darts out to taste her dried blood of his face, her hands running through his hair while she pulls that back, making his neck available for her to taste.

And drink.

And as she laps her tongue, filling her body with rich Original blood, Elijah moves her panties out of the way, inserting a long digit inside of her.

Katherine stops her feeding to moan into his neck while he joins another finger in.

“Don’t stop…” she pleads and he has no intention to whatsoever.

Just as expertly, her skilled hands take his briefs off the way, the heat of her palm in contact with his erect shaft.

Elijah lets out a grunt while moving his ministrations in her pussy faster, seeking her release just as she does his.

The scene was sensual, erotic in its maximum, the blood she spills when she comes with a loud wail runs down his neck and chest, just as her juices travel down his hand and wrist.

She’s panting, in her mind only his face and form.

With a strong tug, the eldest vampire alive takes off her bra, throwing the material carelessly behind him and pushes his Katerina down onto the now stained red sheets, as his head and lips descend on her hard nipples.

He plays with them, biting and soothing it after with a blow, making her writhe beneath him.

“Lijah…” she implored.

But for what?

For him to make her cum again?

For the Original vampire to let her go?

Was she begging for release? Of what kind?

Katherine liked to think herself headstrong, but when he touched her like this, doing what only he knew how and for how long and how intense, she couldn’t straight her thoughts. Every pierce of knowledge she knew of flew through the window and the only thing left were the increasing sensations.

She didn’t know how to love anymore.

For if she did, this would be their lovemaking.

As it always has been.

Although, Elijah certainly awakened something inside her being.

Something he knew how to tame.

Calling your name, the only language I can speak Taking my breath, a souvenir that you can keep

Slowly letting her flesh mounds go, Elijah trailed down kisses until he was facing her wet entrance.

Katherine’ soft gasps echoed around the room as the man sucked her clit and gripped her thighs so forcefully, restraining himself from devouring her in one go.

Teeth grazed sensible skin and his breath oh so close washed away every curse she had in mind to praise him.

The woman could only make wonderful sounds as she moved her hips in encounter with his face.

“So sinfully divine,” he complimented, shifting his position to kiss her inner thighs not allowing her to come a second time.

“Says the saint,” ironized the girl her hands up gripping the sheets, her boobs moving with her heavy breathing.

Elijah chuckled in response.

“Am not. Regardless, Katerina let me blessedly cherish you just as such,” a raised eyebrow and a light lift of his lips, as well as those chocolate irises were all Katherine had time to process, before he was plugged to her, filling her to the hilt.

Her surprised shriek, followed by a whisper of his name fueled Elijah to take himself all out and thrust with no mercy once again.

“Fuck! Yes!” she exclaimed closing her eyes with the wonderous building up sensation growing on her lower abdomen. Circling her legs around his middle, draping her arms over his shoulders, Katherine moved her hips in encounter to his.

Male hands were everywhere as he fucked her deep. His mane being tousled by her fingers as she grunted in his ear.

“You’re such an obedient subject,” she played with the words, nibbling his earlobe as their bodies shook with the force of their bang.

He moved his head from her neck to look at her, a glimmer shinning in his beautiful eyes, as he moved her away from him.

Katherine was to open her mouth in protest, only a moan came instead when he palmed her pussy and flipped her on her stomach.

“However, I might cherish you the way I choose to,” the sultry velvet pouring out of his mouth, as well as his fingers assaulting her labia were enough to make her body shudder in a second orgasm.

Katherine was almost begging for him to enter her again.

Almost.

She bit her lower lip and enjoyed as he so subtly ran the tip of his penis along her entrance.

“Enough teasing,” she commanded after an instant, albeit her body moved back and forth to try and get him inside of her.

“And what do you want me to do, Katerina?”

Maybe she should be preoccupied this man could replace her as the devil, he certainly knew about torture.

On her hands and knees she turned her head back, her long curly hair slapping the bed, and watched the precum dripping from him.

Tempting.

“You’re gonna fuck me, with that gorgeous cock of your-“

Her hands automatically sought the wooden headboard as the vampire reentered her from behind efficiently.

A ragged breathy moan accompanied by a wave of pleasure shook the doppelganger as he deliberately inserted himself in and out of her.

His hands firm on her waist guiding her to the rhythm of his groaning.

“Katerina,” he loudly whispered seeking them both their ultimate bliss.

The sound of his palm colliding with her buttchecks made her yelp in surprise and laugh in delight.

She always liked it rough and Elijah knew it. That was exactly why he full fisted pulled her hair back as he increased the speed of his thrusts.

“Say that I fuck you like no one else does,”

She closed her eyes when his breath hit her ear. A wide cat smile appearing on her features when he enveloped her neck in his hand, aiming for lightly choking her while still moving, only slower now.

“Like you needed the reassurance,” she shot back with a groan when he went deeper.  

Elijah smiled closing his hand tighter around her slim neck.

“I want to hear you say it,” he prompted taking his member almost all off and going in slapping their bodies together.

“Yes!” she chocked hanging her head back.

Elijah felt her walls clenching around him, so he retreated himself letting his fangs come out once again.

Katherine moaned in pleasure when his vampire teeth sank on her shoulder, his moves slow and languid.

This was to be the most amazing torture out there.

She wanted to let go, although without ever leave.

“Harder,” her command was clear and he bit her deeper on her shoulder.

“Faster!” she pleaded against her better judgment and felt his balls hitting on her pussy.

It was animalistic the way he was having her. Devouring her in all ways he could. Mind, body and soul.

He didn’t know if he would have her again, so he would prolong it the best he could.

“Say it, Katerina,” he quipped blowing on her ear, the blood dripping from his fangs on her glistening bare back.

Her mouth formed an arch in bliss with his never stopping but oh so slow moves.

“You have me like nobody else does,” she whispered in surrender, feminine hands back at the headboard, while his traveled back down from her neck to her waist.

“Now, I shall the devil to heaven,”

She laughed while he sank himself deep and hard into her wet inviting hole.

Their juices mixing as they both watched the lights dancing in front of their eyes.

Katherine came first in a trembling cry, her curly head hanging low as she felt Elijah cock explode inside of her.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

Her body felt like the sun kissed it as they both laid spent between the blood smeared sheets.

Elijah had the sweetest of smiles, as if he hasn’t been the most pervert beast only a couple minutes prior.

Her hair was plastered on her sweated forehead and the man beside her moved his thumb to take it away from her face.

Katherine offered him a sated smile and wrapped her leg around him.

“What would you say about becoming my sex slave?”

Elijah laughed with that and leaned to bless her lips with his in a brief kiss.

“I would say you need to test drive the vassal again,” his voice sensual as they locked eyes and a smile appeared in her own face.

“Just to be sure I made a good deal?”

He nodded in agreement his hand traveling the side of her body, his fingers featherlight on the side of her breasts as he thrusted his hip into hers.

Katherine’s hands went to his short hair.

“Just to be sure,” he finally said sinking his head down for another kiss.

[aerynwrites]

Dude I’m a sucker for ‘Having to patch up the person I’ve been pining after for months because he got himself hurt. with all the tender caresses and soft words, and butterlflies from having to touch them. All the shivers and gasps from feeling someone taking care of him for the first time in so long. Just awkwardly seeing so much of someone’s body that you haven’t seen before that you just love so much. And then eventually he can’t take it and just grabs your hand and 1

(CONT.) 2-just looks at you and you don’t know what to say, you’re both just thinking “please tell me you feel this too.” And I’m just a sucker for happy endings for Din or any other Pedro character honestly

*****

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader

Author’s Note: I haven’t written anything soft in a while...so I hope I’m not too rusty lol. Sorry this took so long, and thank you for being patient with me!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: injury, medical procedures (kinda lol), fluff.

////

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian and the child for several months at this point, and while you both had come away with some cuts and bruises, nothing too severe had happened to either of you. until now that is.

You had been tracking down a bounty, no different than your usual day to day activities, when this trip had gone awry very quickly. You had tracked the bounty to an abandoned town, completely confident that you had cornered the man in one of the crumbling structures when an unfamiliar thunk was followed quickly by a very familiar beeping of a grenade. On instinct, Din had shielded you from the brunt of the blast, but that landed you in your current situation – dragging a shrapnel impaled Mandalorian up the ramp of the Razor Crest.

You slam your hand against the button to close the ramp behind you and Din unceremoniously stumbles to his cot and sits down, back resting against the wall as gloved hands fumble at the clasps of his armor as he tries to pry the metal away from him. Your heart races as you dig around for the medkit, eyes glancing from the cabinet in front of you back to Din. You had been harboring feelings for the beskar clad warrior since a few weeks into your partnership, but you were convinced he didn’t feel the same.How could he? He was devoted to the way, his creed, and the people that saved his life…there was no room left for you in his heart. At least that’s what you told yourself as you tried to still your erratic breathing and approached the injured man. He had managed to get his chest plate and pauldrons off and even removed his gloves and was now making a sad attempt to remove his shirt, grunting in pain as he tried to do so. You immediately saw the problem, the sizeable piece of shrapnel in his side was keeping him from removing the shirt, but Din – in his less than aware state – was not catching on.

“Din stop,” you commanded, quickly walking over to the bed, kneeling on the thin mattress by his side, opening up the medkit, “you’re going to make it worse, just let me help,” your voice was soft as you looked up at him, eyes gazing into the blackness of his visor.

His breaths are strained and erratic, but he slowly nods his head, letting his hands fall by his sides. You give him a small smile before pulling a small injector from the bag next to you, pressing it to his upper arm before hitting the button to administer the pain medication.

“nothing too strong,” you say, “But this would not be pleasant without it.”

Din knew what it was, but you found it somewhat calming to talk to yourself in situations that made you anxious. And as you take the bandage scissors from the kit and begin slowly cutting the fabric of his shirt away from him, your anxiety skyrockets. once you have it cut in half, you slowly move to peel it away from the metal. Your fingers graze his side slightly and you hear Din’s breath hitch.

“I’m sorry-“ you apologize, “I’ll try to be more careful,” you promise, thinking your touch had caused him pain.

But Din wasn’t about to tell you that the pain meds had kicked in full force, and he barely felt a thing. He wasn’t about to tell you that the reason for his intake of breath was from the shock of your cool fingertips against his heated skin – skin that had been untouched for so long. He was so caught up in is own feelings that he didn’t even notice the flush of your skin or the way your eyes refused to meet his.

You tried to ignore the fact that this was the most you had seen of the man you have a crush on since you had joined him. You shook the thoughts from your head, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the butterflies in your stomach. You had successfully pulled the cloth away from the metal in his sided and let out a small breath of relief when you noticed that it wasn’t too deep. It should be an easy and quick fix – just some bacta spray and bandages. You mutter a small apology as you grab the metal and quickly pull it from his side, completely unprepared for the large hand that flew to grasp your hip in reaction.

Okay, Din thought, maybe the pain meds hadn’t kicked in all the way.

Because as soon as you pulled the object from his side a sharp pain shot up his torso and he instinctively grasped for purchase, a hiss falling from his lips. However, he was unprepared for the warmth against his fingers as his hand fell against your hip, fingers resting against the exposed skin as your shirt had ridden up slightly. He felt you tense slightly and was about to move away when he heard you sigh slightly at the touch before resuming your work. Din did not move his hand.

Your breathing was shaky, and it felt like your skin was on fire where Din’s hand rested, fingers absentmindedly rubbing circles on the exposed area. You quickly sprayed a liberal amount of bacta pray to the wound and reached for the bandages next, applying a layer of gauze before wrapping the thin bandages around his torso. You slowly moved your hands, wrapping the bandages from his side, around his back, then back around to his front, your fingers brushing over his stomach slightly, causing a shiver to run through him and his breath to hitch once more. The small reaction brought a blush to your face, and your heart fluttered in your chest. You tried to convince yourself you were imagining things as you finished up – Din didn’t like you, and you weren’t having the effect on him you thought you were. But as you tied the bandage in place and moved to pull away, Din’s free hand – the one not still resting on your hip – shot out and grasped your small hand in his much larger one.

He said nothing for a moment, his breath coming out in short pants as he seemed to contemplate you for a long while before finally speaking, “Please,” he begins, voice barely a whisper, “Please tell me you feel this too?” he begs.

Your heart leaps into your throat and all you can manage is a small nod as your voice comes out in a mumble, “I’ve felt it for a while now Din,” you admit softly, eyes refusing to meet his.

He lets out a small sigh before tugging you by your hip gently until he has you straddling his lap. You feel your face get even redder if that was possible, and you look everywhere but him. he grips your hip slightly, fingers digging into the exposed flesh as he speaks up, “Close your eyes.”

You look at him questioningly and open your mouth to ask why, but he stops you, “Please…trust me?” it comes out as a question rather than a command and you find your eyes falling shut immediately.

His hand leaves its place on your hip and you sigh a little at the loss of contact and furrow your brows as you hear a small hiss followed by the sound of metal on metal. You want to open your eyes, but before you can even think about the action, one of Din’s arms is wrapping around your waist while the other cradles your cheek and you feel a pair of warm lips on yours. Initially, you are shocked at the contact, the realization that Din has taken his helmet off the only thing you can think of for a moment. That is until his arm tightening around your waist pulling you closer to him snaps you from your thoughts and you finally reciprocate his actions. Both of you are alight with so many new sensations. Your skin feels like its on fire as you are finally rewarded with the fact that Din has feelings for you too. And Din – well, his senses are on overload. He can barely comprehend what is happening as one of your hands cups his jaw, fingers running over his cheek lightly, while the other hand tangles in his hair.

He can’t remember the last time he felt this alive, felt this loved by another person.

When he finally pulls away, both of you completely out of breath, he finds himself yearning for more. As he gazes at you, eyes still held firmly shut but mouth pulled into a large grin, he realizes he never wants to let you go.

“Stay with me?” he asks breathlessly, gently maneuvering you both, so you are now laying on your sides, facing one another on the small bed.

You give him a warm smile, fingers tracing over his face lightly trying to commit it to memory as you reply, “Always.”

///

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[coreastories]

The Queen’s Dresser

Days and Nights of Forever Part 13 

On AO3 for kudos and download 

The first days of queenship, and the start of the queen’s famous sartorial elegance. 

Read with: 

Corea News #1: Meet Tae-Eul, the mysterious new queen of Corea

Corea News #24: 10 Times the king and queen of Corea made the ahjummas ugly-cry over their romance  (This is the Pyongyang Hospital scene)

Days and Nights of Forever Part 10 Pieces of Paper (for the 14th Rule)

This has been in my outlines for ages, but the recent fashion buzz made by the August 5 posts made me flesh it out. :) 

Let me know what you think! 

Daily life became daily life. 

He was a king. She was a queen, now. But life was somewhat normal until after breakfast. 

He always woke up first. He was an early riser. Sometimes Tae-Eul would blink to consciousness with the gray light of dawn seeping between the gap of the draperies and she’d have a moment to think she was the first one to wake but no, Gon’s arms would tighten around her, and he’d kiss her on the cheek or temple and burrow his face into her neck. 

They’d have another cat nap cuddled together, or make love, or make love and then nap again, before one of them got up. 

That was usually Tae-Eul. And when Tae-Eul got up, Gon would, too. She’d tried to make him sleep a bit more because she was only going for a workout, but he’d said, “I’ll watch. Or we can spar.”

So this became a part of their morning routine. 

Perhaps this one wasn’t normal, was it? How many couples in the kingdom or the republic had a suite converted into a dojang and started most mornings sparring? 

Tae-Eul loved it. Gon had now become comfortable and competitive enough to be a gratifying sparring partner. He didn’t pull his kicks and hits-- not by much. He expected her to dodge or parry. 

He was bigger and heavier, so he was pretty much what she had trained all her life to attack. 

The first morning they’d done this-- and once she’d taught him a lesson about his nonsense of not wanting to hurt her-- their spar lasted almost an hour, each of them getting to know each other’s moves, getting into each other’s defenses, and getting under each other’s skin. They’d discovered each other’s tender bruises when they made love in the shower. 

The second morning when she’d suddenly feinted a swing and then brought him down with a leg sweep, they decided to do away with the usual courtesies. No bowing. Not even facing each other across the mat. It was much more fun to never know when the other was going to start. 

Like now. As soon as they came out of their dojang’s shower in their workout clothes--tees and sweatpants--Tae-Eul spun a kick to Gon’s head. 

But his head was no longer there. 

Rising to full height from his momentary duck, Gon grabbed her by the waist and dropped her on her back on the mat, locking both arms around her shoulders as he leaned across her from the side, trapping her torso with his completely. 

She squirmed and bridged her hips and tried to lift him using her elbows and feet but she couldn’t budge him. “What are you doing?”

He was grinning as he kept her pinned, his head resting almost casually on her opposite shoulder. “This is jiu jitsu, of course. Tap when you’re tired.” 

She bared her teeth. She couldn’t believe the bastard surprised her with jiu jitsu. “Like hell I’ll tap.” 

She bridged her hips, using her feet and legs for leverage, but that did nothing because he was on her upper body. She could feel him laughing against her and it just infuriated her more that he had enough breath and energy to laugh. He was only pinning her with his body weight. 

And she was getting tired.

She straightened her legs and just rested limply on the floor. She smirked when he stopped laughing and instantly stiffened in awareness. He rocked forward a little bit more from his knees and ankles, and pinned her a little bit more firmly on the mat. 

He looked at her warily now. 

It was her turn to grin. “I bet you’re getting tired. You’re not in a comfortable position at all, are you?”

“No. I can stay here on top of you all day.” 

Of course, a court maid opened the door just as he said that. 

Tae-Eul closed her eyes and felt her blood rush to her neck and face. 

Without moving an inch, Gon said, “Annyeonghaseyo. Are you new?”

Tae-Eul felt as much as heard the thump on the mat as the maid dropped to her knees. “Pyeha. I’m so sorry. I was told to check here and clean. I was told I should do so before six.” 

“Ahh. I suppose we got here too early today. You can go.” A pause. A chuckle with his breath fanning across her ear and cheek. “She’s gone.” 

Tae-Eul bridged her hips and braced her legs and feet. But this time she didn’t try to push him off. She just started rocking him side to side. As she’d calculated, he hadn’t expected it, and he went off balance as she pushed and pulled him back and forth while he was on his knees. 

On the fifth pull, she had both hands on his shoulder, and on the sixth push, she pushed both hands on that shoulder and managed to break his pin. With the space she created between their bodies, she pulled both legs toward her chest and then kicked him off her. 

She followed his momentum as he landed on his back. She sat on his stomach, braced with her thighs and feet in case he tried something. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks so she might as well just continue blushing. With more audacity than she really felt, she said, “Well? What happened to staying on top of me all day?” 

He must have seen her embarrassment at her own words because he laughed, looking at her with that gaze that still made her want to hide or kiss him. Both. It wasn’t heated. Just too intense, too admiring. 

He put both hands on her knees and squeezed. “I can. But we’re going to Pyongyang today.” 

And just like that, she folded over and hid her face against his shoulder. 

“What should I wear? Are they going to dress me again?” 

He stroked her hair. “I’ve laid out something for you, and you won’t need help getting into these, so no, they won’t dress you.” She could hear the smile in his voice. The last time she’d been ‘dressed’ was at their wedding, when she’d been helped into heirloom silk and the dragon robe and the pheasant robe. Everything had been gorgeous… and overwhelming.   She lifted her face and looked at him. “You laid something out for me? I guess you do know clothes. The first thing you did when we met was go shopping.”

“No, the first thing I did was hug you.”

“No, the first thing you did was infuriate me.”

“I was just answering your questions.” He smiled at her and stroked her hair. “And you can really wear what you like, you know.”

What a lie that was. Tae-Eul knew she couldn’t just wear what she wanted, or rather, what she’d been used to. Truth be told, she hadn’t really wanted to wear what she had been used to, all those clothes she’d worn as a cop. She simply felt she had to. 

When she made detective and no longer had to wear a uniform, she’d been at a loss about what to wear. In the end, she defaulted to big trousers, roomy shirts, roomier coats, clothes she could move around in, clothes in sizes that disguised how small she was. 

It was always fun when she punched someone and they were stunned at both the punch and at the strength of it from the size of her. But she’d always faced lowlifes or their wider circle who all had things to hide and she’d rather not face them without armor. Her big clothes had been armor. 

And now those lowlifes were far, far away from her. The people around her were their complete opposite in station and stature, she’d seen how the women in this strata dressed here, and she knew what was expected of her as queen. 

She swung herself off Gon and got up, nudging his ribs with her foot when she was standing and he was still lying there. “Come on. I want to see what you laid out for me.” 

He sat up and stroked her leg over her sweatpants from the back of her knee to her ankle. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go. You can take your time. And contrary to what Secretary Mo says, they can certainly wait to meet you.” 

She bent down and retrieved his hand from her ankle, then used it to pull her to his feet. He went willingly enough, and she continued to pull his hand across her shoulders. He tucked her against his side and she looked at him with all the fondness she felt at that moment. 

“Fourteenth rule,” she said. “Let me worry about my job. You have yours.”  

Back in their suites-- no maids encountered in the hallways this time-- he watched her face as they walked into their dressing room and she saw what he had laid out for her. 

Laid out wasn’t the right thing to call it. The whole thing was on a dressmaker’s dummy so she could see how it would look when worn. 

She smiled. Gon grinned, half-smug, half-relieved. 

“I thought you’d want something more familiar to start,” he said, squeezing her shoulder gently. “And I knew you might not want a dresser yet, not until you get really busy.”

“You thought right.” She stepped away from him and touched the fabric. Soft. It was a black pantsuit, with bronze buttons on the front and on the cuffs, shiny enough when it caught the light, but still subdued. The blouse was white. It was simple. She loved it. 

She decided she wouldn’t ask if the buttons were genuine, precious metal. Then what Gon said registered. “A dresser?” 

“The queen’s dresser. It’s an official position. Someone who picks out your outfits so you won’t have to. Historically, he or she is your chief eunuch or court lady.”

They looked at each other and they both stifled a laugh at imagining Lady Noh dressing either of them. Gon shrugged. “She would look after our clothes. She checks everything.” 

“I suppose it’s not normal if you just continue what you’ve started? I like this.”

That boyish smile grew bigger and then turned impish. “I won’t mind. I’ll make time for it. I have lingerie and nightgowns in mind.”

Tae-Eul pursed her lips. “I won’t mind either. I love you whatever you wish to wear.” 

She counted three seconds for that to sink in and then she turned away giggling to go to the shower as he sputtered, “They’re for you! Not me! Why would I-- there are still rumors about me and Yeong-- don’t say stuff like that--” 

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

As Gon had predicted, three senior court ladies vying for the queen’s dresser position turned up with Lady Noh that morning. That day’s trip was their first official visit since the marriage, and the first time the kingdom would lay eyes on the queen. 

The women all looked familiar. He had probably seen them in his own dressing room over the years. 

Except for his valet, whom tradition had dictated to always be younger than the king, he hadn’t interacted with anyone who came and went from the dressing room, but he knew their faces.  

And now he looked over the women. One of them just might be chosen as his wife’s dresser. Her most intimate maid.

His wife. That still thrilled him when it crossed his mind. 

The three ladies all wore their hair in a bun, and in their uniform, they looked interchangeable, but they all looked kind enough. He knew Lady Noh was quite picky about faces. 

In contrast to the king’s valet who was always younger so that he didn’t surpass the king’s seniority in any way, tradition dictated the queen’s dresser to be older than the queen, to impart dignity and wisdom to the queen. 

Gon decided Tae-Eul didn’t need to know that. He whispered as much to Lady Noh while they waited for Tae-Eul to appear. 

“Oh, my queen, you look lovely.”

“You have the perfect body proportions for suits.”

Gon looked up-- that last comment made him grimace a little-- as the court ladies erupted into movement and soft but insistent compliments. 

There she was, walking in with long strides and her shoulders square. Her eyes sought him immediately, so he made sure his gaze locked with hers. He knew saying anything right now would just make her squirm because of the people around them, so he just nodded and smiled. 

He realized the last court lady hadn’t spoken yet. She seemed to be the youngest of the three, maybe late-thirties or early forties. She was approaching the queen now. 

“How does it feel, Your Majesty? Do you like it?”

Hmm. That was nice. Not obsequious. Sensible. Gon could see potential in this court lady. 

Tae-Eul turned to her and said, “Yes, I like it.” She twisted her torso and swung her arms across her waist, testing the sleeves, and the court ladies all had to step back. Gon grinned. Probably a calculated move. 

“You made a good choice with the shoes,” the same court lady said. 

Gon looked down, and Tae-Eul did pick the perfect pair of pointed shoes for the suit. She looked perfect. 

He could also see all the women in the room staring at her with open expressions of admiration. Lady Noh, three senior court ladies, and three maids in attendance, and they were all looking at Tae-Eul. 

Lady Noh had told him Tae-Eul grew prettier the longer you looked at her. That memory still made him smile. And Yeong-- not in many or similar words-- had told him that the palace pretty much agreed with Lady Noh’s assessment. 

The Royal Guard had put ears out, of course, to detect any malicious intent, but there were none. If anything, the palace was smitten. 

The court ladies and court maids were always talking about the queen every time one of them saw her, and the talk was always the same: how fine and flawless her skin was, how fair, the natural waves in her hair. They’d even discussed her figure, slender without lacking the right curves. How tall she actually was, the same height or taller than the court maids considered tall among them. 

Well. Gon agreed with all that. His wife was perfect. 

“What do you want done to your hair, Mama?”

“Maybe a braided bun, to add texture to the suit.” 

“With your hair down, it makes the suit and pointed shoes casual and accessible rather than a power outfit. But you still look very put together.”

Points to the third court lady again. Gon leaned down to Lady Noh. “What’s her name?”

“Torres Chung-cha,” Lady Noh whispered back. “She’s only half-Corean.” 

“What’s the other half?”

“Filipino.” 

“Family is known to us?”

“Oh yes. They’re good people.” 

Gon looked at Tae-Eul, and she was looking at the suit’s reflection in the mirror, her lips doing that unconscious pouting tic he hoped no one would ever point out to her. 

“I’ll leave my hair down,” Tae-Eul said. 

“Maybe I can run a heated brush through it?” said Torres Chung-cha. “It will look polished and splendid.” 

Tae-Eul caught Gon’s eyes in the mirror, and he saw her curiosity and approval. The court ladies saw it, too, because they immediately produced the ceramic brush. One of them plugged it in with an extended cable, another accepted and positioned the chair a maid had fetched, and Torres Chung-cha received the brush from her peers with humility equal to their deference to her now as the candidate with the highest chance of succeeding. 

When Tae-Eul was seated and they started on her hair, Gon sat down too, crossing his legs and stretching an arm on the back of the sofa. 

“So who was that new maid who was hazed and sent to the dojang this morning?”

It was amusing how synced Tae-Eul and Lady Noh were as they jumped a little and raised their eyes to the ceiling. The five uniformed women all looked at the floor. Tae-Eul was red to the roots of her hair and glaring at him through the mirror. 

Torres Chung-cha was the only one who laughed softly. “Pyeha, that’s my cousin. She started yesterday.” 

Tae-Eul asked, “Is she all right?”

“Yes, she is, my queen. It served her right. She should have known better and only accepted instructions from her senior court lady. I hope she didn’t disturb Your Majesties?”

Tae-Eul said, “No.” Gon said, “Well--” 

Torres Chung-cha was grinning. “You would have no worries on that account, of course, Your Majesties. My cousin wouldn’t talk. Well, she couldn’t talk for an hour or so.” 

Gon laughed and opened his mouth but closed it again when he saw Tae-Eul giving him a look that promised retribution if he didn’t. So he did. 

Tae-Eul looked at Chung-cha reproachfully, but Chung-cha only beamed. 

Gon nodded to himself. He had done what he’d intended. Tae-eul needed someone she could talk to rather than talk at, and Torres Chung-cha had proven she was that someone. 

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

Pyongyang wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. Tae-Eul let out a breath as she and Gon stepped away from the car and walked to the entrance. 

The Children’s Hospital didn’t have a helipad--a situation Gon told Secretary Mo to fix immediately--so they drove from another building whose name she couldn’t remember just now.  

There was crowd control already in place, and the Royal Public Affairs Office had kept a tight lid on the date. The result was only two news crews were there when they arrived, probably ones with eyes on helipads and recognized the royal chopper when it landed. Onlookers only came when they saw the press, and they were just passersby with time on their hands. 

“Pyeha, Mama,” was on everyone’s lips, and amid all the bowing and greetings, Tae-Eul nodded and smiled, her hand in Gon’s, gripping his tightly but remembering to let go when she saw the sign to the wards. 

Gon looked down at her then in surprise, as if he’d forgotten she could detach her hand from his, which was a silly thought. She bit her lip to keep from laughing hysterically. “I’m going this way, Pyeha.” She tilted her head toward the inpatient department.

“Ahh, of course, thank you, wangbi. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” 

He leaned toward her and Tae-Eul thought he was going to kiss her--and what would she do then? Let him? Deflect it?-- but he only went past her cheek to her ear, and whispered, “Saranghae.” 

She walked away before the dork said or did anything else mortifying, but she stopped short when she remembered the order of precedence. She was supposed to move only after the king had moved. 

When she turned back to him, he was still there, smiling, and motioning for her to continue on her way. She did as if she hadn’t just made a faux pas. To her right, In-yeong caught her eye and gave her a small nod of assurance. The Parks were royalists and In-yeong had been raised on guns and royal protocol, so that nod meant a lot to Tae-Eul. 

She visited all three floors of the inpatient rooms and talked to some of the kids, told them to listen to their mothers, drink their medicine, and get well soon. The rounds should have been quick, but doctors and nurses and parents all seemed to stop to talk to her, and she couldn’t turn them away. 

By the time she trailed kids and parents to the new wing, her fingers were trembling a little. 

It wasn’t because of the people-- they were all so nice. But Tae-Eul realized she wasn’t really used to talking to people. She usually interrogated them. Or arrested them. Her circle had been small all her life, people who were already around her in the first place, either at home, at the dojang, in class, and then at the academy and the station. 

She knew how to be polite and charming, but she’d just discovered doing it twenty-five times in a row was draining. She’d been polite and charming to twice that many people in the last hour. 

She also smiled and waved for photos about a dozen times before Jangmi saw she was tired of it and subtly stopped it through the rest of the guard. 

Tae-Eul was relieved when she was finally beside Gon again. 

The rosette to the new wing took up about half of the double doorway. It was in all the royal colors, black, blue, gold and crimson-- and she and Gon stood on either side of the huge rosette and cut the ribbon. 

There was loud applause and cheers, and Tae-Eul was sincerely happy because this new wing would help so many sick children. It was amazing how money well-spent could do so much. It made her proud and happy of this country--her new country. 

She wondered if that happiness had gone to her head or if she was really feeling lightheaded. 

She smiled and waved to more of the photos and hoped she didn’t look as pale and clammy as she felt. 

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

Gon took one look at Tae-Eul and caught Yeong’s eye. Yeong looked at Tae-Eul, looked at Jangmi, and Jangmi looked around and went into the nearest consultation room. When he came out and nodded, Gon rose from his seat and raised a hand to the people in the universally understood language of asking to be excused. 

Then he pulled his wife to the room Jangmi had checked. 

Yeong closed the door just as Gon pulled Tae-Eul against him. She sighed and burrowed her face inside the lapel of his coat and Gon was a little alarmed at how heavily she leaned on him. Up close, she looked even paler. He pressed his hand against her cheek and neck. Her skin was a little cold.   

“Are you all right?” 

She nodded. “I’m fine. Let me just catch my breath.”

He stroked her back. “I remember my first royal visit. I was 15. It was at Sejong University, and the Ministry of Science and Technology and I were awarding one of the research centers a grant of nine billion won. I remember meeting so many people, including the foreign exchange students. I had to go sit in an empty room in the middle of it all.”

“Really?”

Gon nodded. For all her bravado and pluck, Tae-Eul was shy. It was something easily hidden by the nature of her job, where initiative was paramount, but Tae-Eul wasn’t someone who basked in attention. In her job, the light was on her targets, whether they were suspects, accomplices, witnesses, or informers, never her. 

He’d been raised and prepared for this and it was still exhausting when he did it for the first time. “It helps to think of something else. Everyone just becomes background.” 

She sighed against him. Her face emerged from his lapel. Her grip on his back relaxed. “Who’s your dresser?”

Gon smiled. She was such a quick study. “I don’t really know. I pick all the clothes you’ve seen me in since we met. The normal clothes anyway. And when I have to go somewhere, sometimes I don’t like what they lay out for me and I pick something else, but for the most part, they do well.” 

“That’s why you were good at being my dresser today.” 

“And you liked what I picked.”

She nodded against him, and she felt lighter, once more standing on her own feet. 

“I like that I won’t have to think of clothes if I have a dresser.”

“Hmm, yes. You just have to tell them what you like and don’t like. It’s still your decision, but your dresser should also be able to predict your preferences and decisions.”

“Is it really okay when I break protocol?”

“You’re really worrying about that now?” he said in mock outrage. “After all the names you’ve called me? I haven’t beheaded you yet, have I?”

She raised her face from where it still rested on his chest and looked at him with eyes that sparkled a little. He saw so much there, and he tightened his arms around her. 

“I need something for me,” she said quietly. “I’m the queen today. The king’s wife. Even my clothes will reflect on you and the country. I need something that’s mine. Just mine.”

He understood. Since he’d met her, he’d also become Lee Gon. Not just the king, but Lee Gon-- and he had made things his, too. He had decided to be Lee Gon as much as king, and he was still discovering what that meant beyond mathematics and rowing. 

Meeting her gaze, he said, “Someone asked me once what kind of king I was. And I didn’t know how to answer her. I’m still discovering the answer to that now.” 

Two teardrops spilled over but she was smiling. He wiped those tears. 

“Let me break the fourteenth rule for a second. Your queenship is yours. You are queen because you’re my wife yes, but you’re also queen in your own right. You have your own authority. You’ll need that authority because it’s going to be a thankless job at times, but I’m already excited about how you’ll shake this country.

“And everything you do to define your queenship will be one hundred percent yours because of your fourteenth rule, won’t it? I won’t have any input unless you ask me. But-- I hope you won’t mind it if I step in where needed. I don’t want you to be any more exhausted than you need to be. And I have been doing this since I was eight.”

She nodded and he smiled at her trust. He hoped he had demonstrated enough times in the past that he never stepped in until she needed him to. 

“Your clothes should reflect you and no one else. You’re the queen. You can set trends. You don’t have to follow any.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “I doubt I’ll set any trends.” 

“You might if I’m your dresser.” 

They laughed. 

“Can I give you some practical advice?”

She nodded, squeezing his waist. 

“When your photos are taken, smile smaller and don’t move much. That way, it won’t tire you out. Just smile with your eyes and that’s it.” 

She smiled brightly up at him, her eyes curved slits. “Like this?”

“Well, no. Haven’t you been listening? That’s gonna hurt your cheeks.” She laughed and then calmed down, looking at him fondly. “There. That smile. Small but sweet.” 

She held the smile she was giving him and she looked so beautiful he kissed her forehead. Would have kissed her if he wasn’t aware of the public outside the glass windows. 

But he’d been aware of them since he was eight. 

“Let’s go. We’ve been here long enough.” 

They came out of the room to a quieter cheer, with some staff and parents asking if the queen was all right. 

Tae-Eul gave them a small smile and told them she was fine. She was. 

Of course she was. 

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

The ribbon cutting at Pyongyang Children’s Hospital was followed by a whirlwind of more appearances. Tae-Eul steadily got used to it all, her stamina increasing and her cheeks getting used to the workout, and true to his word, Gon laid out her clothes for her. More suits, casual dresses, tops and trousers and skirts. 

Over time, she also altered his choices, exchanging this blazer for another one, or this blouse for that one instead. On paper and in the palace ranks, Torres Chung-cha was the queen’s dresser, but so far, all she was doing was give Tae-Eul confidence in her choices. 

Especially in shoes. Tae-Eul always picked her shoes, and Chung-cha seemed to genuinely like what she picked. Tae-Eul had tested her thrice already, picking pairs she knew weren’t quite right, and all three times, Chung-cha had spoken her mind. 

“No, no. Not quite.” 

“Oh no, Mama, you only wear brown leather shoes with blue, and even then, it’s the absolute last resort. We’re not in the twenties, we don’t have to wear brown shoes.” 

“I’m not letting you out of the palace in that.” 

Shoes were easy enough for her to pick, since all the shoes she had were nice. Tae-Eul also discovered an affinity for some additional height. 

She’d always prefer flats, but she liked the way pumps pushed at her heels and the rest of her spine. Her gait changed. Her posture changed. It gave her a sense of aptitude and capacity, like she could face anything--and stomp painfully on anything that got in her way. 

Maybe that was why Seo-ryeong liked pumps so much and didn’t seem to wear anything else. 

“We have a line with Chanel, Versace, Givenchy, Diane von Furstenberg, Stella McCartney, and three boutiques who can supply different designers and brands. I think I have your preferred looks in my head now and if the king stops being your unofficial dresser,” Chung-cha said with wry amusement, “I’d like to try my hand at actually dressing you.” 

“He does have that trip to Sweden and it will take five days,” Tae-Eul said, telling herself she wasn’t actually already hating it. “You’ll have your chance then. But why are those designers all European? American? What about Corean designers?” 

“Hmm. Corean design is mostly streetwear, so far. Nothing you could wear, Mama. Rejina Pyo has nice coats. I can show you a selection. Leesle Hwang-- she creates modern interpretations of the hanbok. Although I think the Royal Court would prefer you to wear a hanbok properly if you’ll wear one.” 

Tae-Eul lifted her chin. She could still hear what Gon had said. Her clothes were her decision, hers alone. Hang the Royal Court. And if it helped a designer gain more recognition, all the better. “Let’s see what she has.” 

Chung-cha nodded, bowed, and left the room. 

Tae-Eul stood up and looked at her reflection. She-- well, Gon-- had always stuck to neutrals before, but now she was in her most colorful and most feminine outfit. A sheer purple blouse  and floral print skirt in black and silver. She had to wear a silk tank underneath the blouse. The shoes she picked were also bold with three colors, black fading into nude at the heels. And the heels and soles were red. 

Chung-cha said they were the most gorgeous Louboutins she had ever seen, and the nude color almost blended in with Tae-Eul’s ankles and legs. 

Tae-Eul had wondered if she needed to put on red lipstick, which wasn’t her at all, but Chung-cha told her it was fine. Purple and red just worked together by themselves. 

The heels were the tallest she’d worn so far, and when Gon came into the room and stood beside her, the top of her head was level with his ears. 

“Wow, you’re taller,” he said, smiling. He wore a simple black shirt, black trousers, and a beige coat. It was the perfect, understated match for her more colorful outfit. 

They were going to a children’s party. The Minister of Social Welfare’s first granddaughter was celebrating her 100th day with 100 kids and 100 elderly folks. The kids and elderly were from indigent families, orphans, or completely alone. The ministry--with backing from the palace-- would establish these children and elderly in school and housing. 

“You look like a doll. Perfect for a little girl’s Baek-il.” 

He must have seen the change in her face, because he put an arm around her shoulders and said, “You’re beautiful. You look absolutely fine. Too fine.” He frowned at their reflection at the mirror, specifically at her legs. “Maybe you should change into trousers.” 

She backhanded him on the stomach. 

It was very light but he groaned and doubled over. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot!” She stroked his stomach over his shirt. She had hit him there that morning in their spar. She hugged him and it felt good to be able to place her chin and laugh over his shoulder without having to tiptoe. 

“Try not to hit me in this sore spot until it heals, woman,” he said against her hair, which was down with the waves enhanced. “I’m already your dresser. Let’s not show them I’m also your punching bag.”

“Why didn’t you dodge?” It was a kick and he had to have seen it coming. He had been too winded earlier to answer when she’d asked, and she had been too busy checking if she’d cracked his rib to insist. When she was sure he was only bruised, she’d gone to get ice and forgot her question. 

Gon leaned back from her. “You really don’t know?”

She shook her head. 

“You were wearing tights! I ban tights on our spars.”

She gaped at him and then laughed.

“Well, you’re the queen’s dresser. You can remove all my tights.”

It was his turn to gape and laugh, since it took her two seconds to realize and sputter, “I mean from my wardrobe! Remove them all from my wardrobe!”

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

Sejong University 9 billion grant really happened in 2002 and it really came from the Ministry of Science and Technology. 

Chung-cha means noble. Patricia means noble. This is for the Patricia in my life, who needs some bracing. I hope this will do?

Swoon, I just saw your comment and I think you’re happy with the coat hiding here. Hahaha.

Please let me know what you think! This is a big chapter! I hope that makes up for the recent gap. More to come! 

[suntumarchive]

Part 2/4 of the commission for @the-elusive-libbin ! Thank you so much! ;u;

Fandom/s: The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim Character/s: Vilkas, Farkas Kink/s: Hunger, stomach noises, upset stomach CW: Werewolf mention, cannibalism/vore mention

Plot: Farkas and Vilkas are out on a mission to explore the supposed hideout of the Silver Hand. After they’ve had no luck, they discover it’s too late to return home before the sun rises, and that they’ve been starving for longer than they thought.

___

How long has it been since Vilkas marched off on his own? When he and Farkas, his twin brother, had arrived in this forest, the sun had been high up, but by now, the sky was pitch black, with only the fire giving off some light. Farkas didn’t like it when they split up. Especially not when Vilkas was the one going after enemies, and he was asked to stay behind and “keep his eyes open”. Not only would Farkas also like to get some action, crush a few skulls here and there… it was also incredibly boring to just sit around and play the waiting game. No sane person would dare to get lost in a place like this anyway… especially not during the night, when it was cold, lonely, and honestly, a bit scary in the dark as well. Even the fire didn’t give off much warmth, or comfort… The Companion had considered wrapping himself in several layers of fur to keep the biting wind away, but he remembered his brother had only scolded him for that idea in the past. Apparently, if someone, or something, attacked him, he wouldn’t be able to react fast, because he had to untangle himself first. But how was that going be of any use when he was freezing to death out here?

Farkas grumbled, resting his head on his knees. It felt like he’d waited for several hours already, and now he was tired, hungry and impatient. Where in the world was his brother? Was it time to go and search for him yet? What if something happened to him? He tried to listen for the sound of Vilkas’ armor, footsteps, anything really… but all he heard was the crackling of the bonfire, the rustling of the forest, and the occasional bark or squeak of an animal in the distance. Farkas’ eyelids fluttered, not wanting to withstand the exhaustion any longer...

A sudden, metallic sound of a sword being slammed down on the ground cruelly brought Farkas back to reality, the shock making his heart skip a beat. For a moment, he was preparing himself to attack, but he looked up at Vilkas, whose eyes were glowing with rage. Even though he looked pissed enough to rip him to shreds, his brother was incredibly happy to see him in one piece, and quickly swallowed down his urge to scold him for treating his weapon like this.

„Where have you been.”

Vilkas’ low, gruff voice sounded even darker than usual. If his twin had been a bit smarter, he might have caught the glimpse of fear, the relief, and the desperation that swung with it, but he only heard that his brother was upset, and immediately tried to lift the mood.

“Did you forget me here?”

“I did not forget you, numbskull. You were supposed to wait for my sign and then follow me.”

“I was…?”

Vilkas groaned out loudly, and rammed his knuckles against the top of Farkas’ head, almost causing him to keel over.

“Ow!!”

“Sometimes I wonder if your brain fell out when you were a kid and you replaced it with a piece of bread!!”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you hit me all the time!! – Oww!!!” – That earned poor Farkas yet another rough clout…

“I have to hit you because you only understand violence, smelly oaf! … Did anything happen while I was gone?”

Farkas grumbled, rubbing over the spot where his brother punched him before, and watched him add some more wood to the dying fire. Vilkas’ fingers had a blue-ish color, hinting that he was freezing.

“No. It was only cold and lonely.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes, but then half-heartedly patted his head, much to his surprise.

“I’m sorry. I suppose I should have come up with a clearer sign to follow me…”

“… Follow you where exactly?”

“Were you even present when we talked about our mission?? I thought I made it easy enough for you”, Vilkas sighed, plopping down next to him. He turned to his brother and gestured with his hands intensely as he explained.

“This cave over there. The supposed hideout of the Silver Hand. I go into the supped hideout. You wait here and keep an eye out for trouble, in case it’s a trap.”

“I could follow you until that part, yes.”

“Yes. Good. And then, once I clear the supposed hideout, you were supposed to listen out for the howl.”

“… The howl?”

“Yes. The howl. That was your sign.”

“… Oh.”

Vilkas groaned and rubbed his eyes. No, don’t get angry, waste of energy… the transformation had already cost him a lot of stamina.

“Wait, when you say supposed hideout, does that mean there was nothing in there?”

“… Huh. It’s hard to believe you made that connection yourself. But yes. It seems they left.”

While that was good news, it also meant that they must be hiding somewhere else…

“Then why were you in there for so long?”

“Because I was transformed, looking for enemies, then looking for food, and because I was looking for you!!”, Vilkas hissed.

“Because I thought you could have stumbled into a trap when I called you inside! But no, you were out here, cozy at the fire!”

“… Oh. I’m sorry.”

Farkas really was sorry… he didn’t mean to worry his brother. He also understood why he was so angry… he must have been terrified. Despite their powerful werewolf forms, it was hard to tell what the Silver Hand was capable of doing… Countless werewolves had already lost their lives to them, and honestly, he was always worried he or Vilkas could become one of them...

Grrruuuummmrr…

Suddenly, a low rumble cut through the silence. Vilkas perked up and was about to draw his weapon again, before he thought that it was too consistent and too close to be the growl of an animal. Instead, he quickly realized that the noise came from Farkas, who awkwardly lowered his head as his brother looked in his direction. He had his muscular arms protectively wrapped around his middle, and the noise finally faded into high pitched gurgling, leaving the man with rosy cheeks.

“You didn’t find any food in there by chance, did you…?”

Vilkas remained silent for one or two seconds, but then couldn’t help but chuckle. This damn baboon was too cute sometimes. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t be angry with his brother, even though he was pretty damn stupid.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t find any food.”

“No food…? None at all?”

“None. Not a bite.”

The desperate look on Farkas’ face made him want to chuckle again, but in all honesty, he was only reminded of how much his own stomach was complaining. Luckily, Vilkas was blessed with the better genes in many ways; even his belly wasn’t as loud as his twin’s. So instead of the low, intense rumbling his brother had to deal with, he got constant, but almost inaudible gurgling, which was rather easy to hide. But apparently, hearing someone else’s stomach growl from hunger triggered his own appetite - much to his surprise, his belly began to roar out loud. Vilkas gasped softly and placed his hand on his upper belly, but that didn’t stop the powerful noise… In fact, the warmth of his own touch only seemed to intensify it. He could almost feel his skin vibrating underneath the fur part of his armor, and Farkas stared at him with so much disbelief, that he felt himself growing bright red with shame. Wasn’t he supposed to be the more sophisticated one…?

“We should have brought more supplies…”, Farkas mumbled, to which his brother could only nod. He really should have considered just how long they would be out here… Now that Vilkas was back outside, in the safe company of his brother, his body gave into its natural desires, demanding rest and nourishment after he was on his feet for so long.

“Do you think we can make it back to Jorrvaskr tonight…?”, Farkas asked, sounding hopeful. Vilkas hated to shatter that hope, but…

“… No. We’ll arrive in the morning. Earliest.”

“So we have to spend the night out…?”

“Yes, I suppose we do.”

Farkas groaned as he leaned back, supporting his body with both arms… he didn’t have time to cover his stomach as it began to roar again, as if to protest about the lack of food until tomorrow. His brother couldn’t help but stare at his slowly rising and sinking middle, as if he expected to see it vibrate along with the yelling of his starving organ.

“Can’t we just… hunt us some tasty rabbit-“

“No. It’s too dark. We don’t know what’s lurking out there. Maybe the Silver Hand is still nearby.”

“I meant in our-“

“No. A transformation takes up a lot of energy, remember? It’s not smart to transform while we’re hungry anyway. We might attack some travelers. Or each other. And we’d be even more likely to run into the Silver Hand.”

“Some human sounds good right now though… We could just eat them all…”

“Farkas.”

The man decided to finally give up and lay down on the cold moss and grass, moaning audibly to reinforce how upset he was. There was no use to reasoning with Vilkas though… he usually had a counterargument, and it ended up being smarter anyway.

“You know just like I do that the Silver Hand is too dangerous to approach without a plan”, Vilkas said, slowly sinking down next to his twin. He shuddered a bit at the wetness of the ground… hopefully they wouldn’t catch a cold out here. There was definitely some nausea building up inside his stomach…

“Even if we’re stronger in our werewolf forms… if they outnumber us, we couldn’t even kill and eat them.”

“Oh, I could swallow one alive right now…”

“You couldn’t even fit a whole human in there if you wanted to”, Vilkas teased.

“Pardon me? You should have seen me on my last hunt! I think I scared our new pup quite a lot though…”

The two men chuckled a bit about their conversation, before Farkas sat back up with a sigh.

“We have to get going if we want to be there by the morning…”

“Right… Just a minute, please.”

Vilkas has his eyes closed… his brother could only imagine how exhausted he must be. While he was out here, just waiting for his return, the other had been exploring the supposed hideout… which ended up being a waste of time, since he didn’t find anyone, or anything. Not even food…

GrrrrRRRRRUUuuURUUgle….

Vilkas hiccupped audibly after the loud noise erupted from his belly, causing his brother to tilt his head to the side a bit. Was the hunger making him nauseous…?

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk, icebrain… I just- hulp… need a minute…”

Farkas’ sensitive ears caught every noise, every tiny glorp and squelch making its way past every layer that parted his brother’s stomach from the outside world… He knew him well enough at this point to know that he’d gone hungry for too long. Even though Vilkas was blessed with the quieter stomach out of them both, he was simultaneously cursed with the more sensitive one. It was near impossible for Farkas to be in pain or even nauseous from hunger, but he knew Vilkas always made sure to eat at least some bread with mead so this wouldn’t happen. He remembered he once told him he gets painful cramps, and it certainly sounded like that was the case right now.

“Damn it…”, the man grunted, and sat up as well, when a wave of vertigo hit him out of nowhere and he had to hold onto his brother’s shoulder for support, until the white dots in front of his eyes would vanish. How very embarrassing…

“Don’t force yourself, brother”, Farkas said, as softly as his rough voice would allow him to. Vilkas was clearly exhausted, and since he’d transformed as well, his body was just… done.

“I can carry you back if you need me to.”

“I don’t need you to carry me”, Vilkas hissed, maybe a bit too harshly.

“I’m fine.”

Despite claiming that, he stumbled a bit as he got up, and the other Companion once again offered him his support.

“Even if you won’t let me carry you, hold onto me at least.”

“… That’s humiliating…”

“It’s better than passing out.”

Vilkas wasn’t a fan of the scent of wet fur and sweat… but it was really easier to walk with one arm around his brother’s wide shoulders. Good thing Farkas was very strong. They always seemed to balance each other out somehow.

“I can hear your stomach from up here”, Vilkas mumbled, patting against his armor with his free hand.

“Howling like a wolf.”

“I’m hungry like a wolf too”, Farkas sighed.

“Do you think we’d be there faster if I transform and carry you-“

“No, Farkas.”

GRRRUUUOOORRRGH…

“But your tummy wants me to…”

“M-my tummy…?”, Vilkas chuckled a bit, finally feeling able to remove his arm from the man’s shoulders.

“Farkas, no grown man says tummy.”

“Who says I’m a grown man? Maybe I’m just a dumb pup”, he chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows. Now wasn’t the right time to mess around, but honestly, it was just what Vilkas needed to relax a bit.

“You know that pups need discipline, right? You want me to chase you with a stick?”, he joked, and Farkas suddenly tackled him, making him help as he pushed him down to the ground. The leaves absorbed the shock of his fall, but the rustling made Vilkas feel a bit paranoid for a moment.

“Discipline me then, brother. Come on.”

Farkas knew damn well that he was stronger than him, they’d fought many, many times, alongside and against each other. No matter how much Vilkas tried to push him off, there was just no chance… His brother had decided to pin him down now, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Do I have to remind you that we’re still not safe out here, oaf?! The Silver Hand could be-“

Vilkas was interrupted mid rant by a pervasive roar from Farkas’ middle, causing him to whimper audibly. Now his stomach had started cramping, and he couldn’t help but dig his nails into his brother’s shoulders a bit… he wasn’t used to genuine belly cramps. At all. He was usually the one with the huge appetite, the one who could take the bigger amount of pain, but when it came to stomach problems, he suffered much more… Vilkas let out a soft sigh, and placed both hands on his belly. Though the other gasped in surprise, he began to carefully knead his upper left with his thumbs, trying to make him feel it through the fur part of his armor at least… Farkas closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the sensation to settle in his gut. Even though his stomach was still rumbling noticeably against his twin’s fingers, it was only a result of the cramps being eased…

“That feels nice…”, he sighed softly, causing the corners of Vilkas’ mouth to rise for a moment.

“Oh yes? … Why don’t you return the favor then?”

Farkas knew that his brother was too proud to admit that the hunger felt really uncomfortable for him as well, so he didn’t mind helping if he could… just a little, before they had to get going. He was already fantasizing about the meat he’d dig his teeth into for breakfast… or lunch.

“O-ow!! Farkas, not so rough!! Be gentle!!!”

“Stop squirming! I can’t touch you if you keep moving so much!”

Somewhere in the distance, a lonely traveler heard the ruckus… how strange. You’d think the young people would find a more… comfortable place than this. Skyrim was a truly interesting place.

[ct7567329]

Defying Gravity: Fox x Reader

Based on the song Defying Gravity from Wicked

I hope you're happy right now

Being a senator was by no means a stress free task, but everytime you were on Coruscant, you found yourself in the safest place you could ever imagine. That place was Fox's arms. You met him during your arrival to Coruscant for a senate meeting about a year ago. Since you met him, your visits on Coruscant were always filled with stress free bliss. You found yourself focusing less on your job and more on Fox. But you were okay with that. Besides, who needs to pay attention to politics to be a politician when you're pretty? Fox's job was always stressful. Frequently, he found himself struggling to be happy. This seemed to be the case with most clones unfortunately. He only got a dose of serotonin once a month when you came to Coruscant for the monthly senate meeting. Tonight was the night you arrived for that meeting. The transport from your home planet to Coruscant seemed never ending.

Meanwhile on Coruscant, Fox was shaving the week old scruff off his face. He stared at himself in the mirror when he was finished and sighed. He hated looking at himself ever since an incident a few months ago. The only time he liked looking at himself is when you were there next to him. While using his finger to make his hair perfect, he comlink went off, notifying him that your shuttle had landed.

"I'm coming love," he whispered in the mirror, trying to conceal his newfound excitement.

When your shuttle finally landed, you tried your hardest to act natural. Love between you and Fox was forbidden. If you blew cover, the consequences for him would be detrimental.

You exited the ship and was greeted by a familiar sight; perfect red and white armor.

"Senator. Welcome back to Coruscant. Allow me to escort you to your quarters," Fox announced, grabbing your luggage.

Fox was finally happy again.  

You can have all you've ever wanted

Except when you're a solider in the Grand Army of the Republic. Freedom is a word not in a soldier's dictionary. Many senators fought to change this, trying to make the army more humane, but it was no success. No matter how many senators believed in loosening the restriction on the clones, the chancellor always had the final say. The answer was always no.

Fox seemed to have mixed feelings about this. He takes his job very seriously, but ultimately, he is affection starved, and you're the only cure.

"We don't have a meeting until tomorrow, you should stay," you suggested while Fox walked you to your private quarters. He took a quick glance at his surroundings before nodding in agreement and followed you in, comming one of his brothers to cover him for the night. That was the one nice thing. A few of his brothers were aware of the romantic relationship between you and him, and they would do anything to make it last.

As soon as the door shut, he picked you up bridal style, "Hope the armor isn't hurting too much," he laughed. You took off his helmet to see his perfect face and hear his handsome voice.

"You could never hurt me," you whispered, giving him a soft kiss that lingered on his lips a little long than he expected.

A smile beamed across his face as he laid you down on your bed. As you laid there, he took a moment to just stand up and admire you. You were all he ever wanted. He finally had all he could ever want.

I can't want it anymore

Fox shut his eyes and sighed, plopping his body down next to you. His smile was wiped off his face.

"Hun?" you asked, worried about him. You propped yourself up on your side and looked at his expressionless face. Though he stayed silent, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

"It's okay sweetheart," you softly smiled, taking his top armor off.

He moved around to help you with taking his armor off, "It's not fair."

"I know love," you exhaled, finishing taking his chestplate and blacks off exposing his chest. You slowly ran your fingers down his sternum, putting light pressure on his well toned body. He loved this.

"I want you every second of everyday. I can't, (Y/N). I just can't," he rolled over to face as he spoke. This conversation always came up when you visit Coruscant.

Fox was a strong man who rarely showed emotion, but around you, he seemed to open up with how he was feeling. He put his hand on the back of your head and pulled you into his check, then slid his arms to your upper back, pressing you into his body.

"I'm holding the only thing I want but I have to learn to not want."

The angst in his voice always hurt like a dagger to the chest. It hurt you to know he had to go through a constant internal struggle of whether love is right or wrong.

I'm through of playing by the rules of someone else's game

"I can't take it anymore," he groaned, rolling you onto him so you laid flat on top of his body, "I can't let them decide how I think."

"This is what we've been asking for," you reminded him, "the chancellor is ruthless. I know you're at the top of the Couruscant Guard and you respect the chancellor, but you do know he's the one shutting down the idea of clone freedom, right?"

Fox hated when you said that. He knew you wouldn't lie to him, he just hated hearing the truth. At first, he didn't seem to believe you. This was until he was ordered to kill an outstanding member of the 501st. Everyone in the 501st dispised Fox. You knew he didn't want to pull that trigger, but if he didn't, the trigger would have been pulled on both of them. Since that incident, he became angry with the army's rules, but there was nothing he could do about it. If anything, all it did was make him fall in love with you even more.

"I don't want to follow these rules anymore. I'm not just another monitored science experiment," he grunted, squeezing you just a little too tight, causing you to let out a soft whimper. "Sorry cyare, it's  just I love you, a lot."

You smiled, "and the day you first said those three words was the day you decided to stop playing by the Republic's rules of the game they call a galactic war.

"You're right," he smirked, taking a piece of your hair in his fingers and twisting it around, "and I think that may have been the greatest thing I've done in my life."

His smile was uncontrollable. For those who knew Fox, they would all say it would be impossible for someone to change his way of seeing the war and the reality of his life. They must not have known how capable Fox was of being struck by love.

I think I'll try defying gravity

"I want to be with you forever," he smiled. In that moment, the months of stress seemed to leave his eyes and be replaced with intoxicating love.

You pushed yourself off your chest slightly to allow yourself to run your hands through his hair, "that would make me one happy senator."

"The laws of the Republic Army are always there. They will never be taken away, but I want to defy them. For happiness."

It was hard for you to realize that this was the reality of what a trooper must think, but you've never seen Fox so happy and relaxed.  He wasn't going to let a stupid list tell him what he could and couldn't do.

"Hun," he winked, stretching out his arms.

"Yes lov-" you were cut off by his lips aggressively crashing into yours as he threw you onto you back on the bed. He straddled over you without breaking the kiss, allowing his tongue to explore every inch of your mouth. Fox began nipping at your lower lip, hard but not hard enough to draw blood. His left hand was on your waist and the other with behind your head, allowing the kiss to get deeper, even though that didn't even seem possible. As the kiss continued and intensified, you took off his lower armor with your spare hand and foot. This was someone you learned to do last time you were with him. Once he was left in just his lower blacks, his hips began grinding into yours. He broke the kiss for a moment and looked at you. His eyes spoke everything that remained unspoken. Fox smiled as you nodded. Your nod was all he needed in that moment. Defying the Republic code isn't such a bad thing after all.

Well if that's love, it comes at much to high a cost

It's been a month since you were on Coruscant, meaning you haven't seen Fox in a month. About two weeks after you left, you woke up earlier than normal, slammed with the feeling of nausea. This wouldn't stop and all you wanted was Fox there to comfort you. He wanted to be there too. Every night he holocalled you, making sure you were okay.

"It's still not better love," you moaned, throwing your head in your hands.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, "Well, you're coming to Coruscant tomorrow, right? I'll have one of my medics take a look at you. You'll be okay, I promise. I'll do anything," he paused for a moment and saw you wince in pain,"oh (y/n), I wish I could be there holding your hands."

The next day you landed on Coruscant and as always, you handsome commander was there to escort you to your quarters. Although this time when you entered, there was a medic sitting on a chair next to you bed.

"Trek here is going to take a look at you. He's one of my closest brothers. He knows about us. I trust him with my life," Fox informed you, helping you lay down on the bed.

"Senator (Y/LN), I will do everything I can to make you feel better," he nodded, taking a quick portable scan. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

"What is it?!" Fox quickly asked, kneeling down by your bedside and holding your hands in his.

Trek glanced at you then back at Fox, then back at you, "There appears to be not three, but four humans in this room at the moment."

As Fox's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, yours felt as if they rose all the way to your hairline.

"I'm pregnant?"

"Congratulations, you two!" Trek exclaimed, "As far as the pain and sickness goes, this is by no means my area of expertise, but you should probably see a doctor who is. Congrats again!"

As soon as Trek left the room, Fox gave you a terrified glare, "what are we going to do?" he anxiously asked, resting his hand on your stomach.

"I can have the baby and we can just wait until the war ends?" you suggested.

"My child is in there right now, (Y/N). I need to help you through the pregnancy. I love you."

You gave him a worried look, "I'll be okay. You have a job to do."

He nodded "I totally agree! My job is to care for you. I love you. And caring for the beautiful mother of my child is what I have to do. It won't be an easy task, but that's love cyare."

And you can't hold me down

You just finished packing up your travel back for your journey back home. Unfortunately, Fox told you he had something to attend to in the morning so he wouldn't be there to escort you to the ship. It sucked, but you knew you would be back soon, especially since you were carrying his child. Guards from your planet met you at your quarters and escorted you to the ship. Though Fox wasn't the one escorting you, you still felt as if he was there; in spirit at least. The guards followed you on the ship, and it took off immediately. You noticed a migraine coming on. Figuring this was just a pregnancy side effect, you decided to find a bed on the ship where you could nap.

You woke up to the ship landing at your private residence.

"Senator, we're ready for your escort to your home," one of the guards announced.

You slowly arose from the bed and followed the guard out of the ship. Typically one guard escorts you to your residence door while the ship takes off for the capital. The guard that follows you ends up being your exterior patrol.

"Thank you," you smiled at the guard and began to shut the door.

The guard put his hand on the door, preventing you from closing it, allowing himself to step in and shut the door behind him.

"Sir?" you asked. Terrified, you went to grab the pistol that sat on your hips. Right before you grabbed it, the guard took off his helmet.

"Babe?!" you jumped, lunging yourself into his arms, "what are you doing here?!"

"You think the GAR can stop me from sneaking away to help the love of my life? Absolutely not! They will never hold me down from you."

Together, we're unlimited. Together we'll be the greatest team there's ever been

Fox spent a great amount of time explaining to you why him running away from the GAR was a good idea. You didn't necessarily agree with everything he said, but ultimately it was his choice what he wanted to do.  He wasn’t even with you for a day and you could already tell that he would be the greatest caregiver for you. You were just a month pregnant, yet he was treating you like you were days away from labor. One thing he struggled with was cooking. The man has never cooked a single item in his life.

"What the kriff is paprika?!" he groaned, digging through your refrigerator.

You laughed and opened the spice cabinet, "It's a spice, hun."

He reached for the spice that was in your hand and he looked at it, "what does it do?"

"Uh," you stuttered, "makes things taste like paprika?"

Fox rolled his eyes like the sassy guy he is, "well I could guess that! What else do we need?"

You helped him gather the rest of the ingredients and began to show him how to chop vegetables.

"Can we do this every night?" he asked, giving you puppy eyes.

He knew exactly how to make you melt.

"Of course Fox! You having fun?"

A smile beamed across his face, "I really am. We make a great team in the kitchen. I think. We need to see how this tastes. I may ruin this."

"This is my easiest recipe hun! I'm sure you won't ruin it. Plus, I'm here to help you," you reassured him.

"You're perfect," he whispered, continuing to chop the vegetables.

You stopped chopping and looked up at him. He remained focused on the chopping. You admired his strong arms and chest in the tank top that hugged his body.

"You're perfect," you retaliated, standing up on your tip toes to kiss his cheek.

"We're perfect," he corrected you, his lips meeting yours.

Just you and I defying gravity

Fox has been at your residence for a few months now. The GAR has officially listed him as missing in action. This worried you, but he didn't seem to care much about it. His only concern was making sure you were constantly being cared for. This became difficult when you had meetings on Coruscant. Fox always stayed behind so he didn't risk getting caught. As soon as you would get back, he would pamper you like a queen. You've noticed that since he's been here, he seems happier and less stressed. At this point, it was obvious that you were expecting. When asked who the father was you would always say he left. Force forbid someone found out you were pregnant with the child of the missing commander.

You and Fox were laying outside on your balcony looking at the beautiful night sky. Every now and then, he would rest his head very carefully on your stomach and whispered to your child.

"I'm thinking Bri for a girl," you suggested as he kissed your growing stomach.

"Pretty, and if it's a boy?" he replied, still kissing your stomach.

You shrugged, "Not sure yet."

"Well, boy or girl, I already love our child so much (Y/N). So, so much," he smiled, "and cyare?"

"Mhm?"

"Thank you so much for giving me this life. I'm defying the horrid rules, but there is no one else I'd rather do it with," he reached into his sweatpants pocket and pulled out a ring, "I know it's not much of a ring, not nearly as much as you deserve, but, will you make me the happiest man in the galaxy and marry me?"

Your jaw dropped as you looked at the man of your dreams on one knee next to you. In this moment, everything came together. You were now a family, and nothing could change that.

And nobody is gonna bring me down

It wasn’t long before your family of two became a family of three. Fox leaned against the door frame, watching you rock back and forth holding your newborn son. A soft grin formed on his face as he sat down next to the rocking chair where you were sitting.

“He has your eyes,” you murmured, admiring the child you and Fox have created.

He nodded in agreement, then rested his head against the side of the chair. For the past few weeks, he’s found himself thinking about whether or not he made the right decision. Though the search for him has ended a while ago, he still fears one day he will be dragged out of his perfect home, and prosecuted for his actions. But, everytime he looks at you and his son, all those fears disappear. Life is perfect, and no one will ever take that away from him.

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[sepublic]

Gushing about the Overlord Dragon

           I’m really enjoying the Overlord Dragon set we’ve gotten from Lego; We’ve waited eight years for this (and still have yet to get a Mega Weapon, we almost got that in the Legacy Destiny’s Bounty before it was inexplicably and disappointingly removed!), but I think the wait has honestly been worth it!

           It just… captures the original look of the show’s depiction of the Overlord, while still translating it into a feasible Lego set; A very well-done reverse-engineering, where instead of translating a Lego creature into a CGI, organically-shaped model into the show, it was done the other way around… And yet, I could also believe it as having happened the usual way, with the set coming first, THEN the show’s depiction!

           If there was an issue I had with the original Overlord from the show, it’s that his design felt a little too organic, not greebled and detailed enough to indicate his adapted origins as a Lego set; But the set manages to perfectly capture his likeness while keeping the unique molded pieces to a minimum! The Overlord Dragon’s head design is particularly brilliant; I love its snaggle-toothed, almost crocodilian snout, faithfully retained from the Season 2 finale. I can imagine that iconic shot of the Overlord’s maw brimming with violet flames before he engulfs Lloyd with them, but with the Lego depiction instead. Similarly, the parts usage is clever; Instead of designing two new separate molds, for the upper and lower head respectively…

           The designers only designed one jaw piece; But the teeth placement are asymmetrical, so that when you put them together, they interlock perfectly! It’s like a bear trap- Or to use a more Lego comparison, how the Shadow Trap in Bionicle consists of two identical pieces that when placed opposite one another, clamp into place. Still, the mold used for the Overlord manages to convey the illusion that the upper and lower head are different, and indeed I didn’t realize this until I had the actual pieces in my hand building the set; Adding the eyes on just the upper jaw, while additional barbs on the lower jaw, helps to pull off the look. And of course, the Overlord’s relatively simplistic design from the show –compared to other dragons- means the designers can get away with having the upper and lower jaws molded identically. The dual-molding for the teeth and head is also superb.

           But one of my favorite parts is the color scheme; It’s the gorgeous black, gold, and violet of the Overlord’s Golden Master form from Season 3, with an additional dark-blue layered over that I think goes along very nicely! Of course, this does make me wonder what an Overlord Dragon would look like without the blue, and instead just the traditional colors… But regardless. I love how the Overlord Dragon takes obvious designs cues from the Golden Master, which seems to be Legacy’s go-to, evergreen depiction for the Overlord across media now. You can tell with how the purple orb and golden armor on his chest reflect the actual Golden Armor from Season 3, forged from the smelted Golden Weapons of Spinjitzu. The magenta lightning bolt is reminiscent of the Overlord’s torso and its wispy appearance as well, enshrined within a rib-cage.

           I love this kind of retroactive, retcon of continuity; It creates more visual cohesion across the Overlord’s designs now that Legacy is arguably providing more modern, definitive takes on old sets, possibly to reflect the changes to the timeline done by the Iron Doom at the end of Season 7. From a meta perspective, the Overlord Dragon is designed after the Golden Master; But from an in-universe, retconned look, it seems the Golden Master was derived from Overlord’s original, natural draconic form! It gives the impression that when he rebuilds and clumps together his essence in Rebooted so he can wear the Golden Armor, the Overlord has essentially downsized and compressed himself into a smaller, humanoid knock-off look of his former self. It’s wonderful, and just like the sets themselves, looks much more color and visually appealing than the in-show dragons (in my opinion).

           The usage of purple is great, the golden teeth are a wonderful accent to the Overlord’s face and maw- Having an Overlord minifigure included with the dragon helps to compare and sell the visual similarities and cohesion, how this dragon in the revised canon has been translated into a smaller, vaguely humanoid being. It really does feel like you’re looking at Maleficent, next to her dragon form; And the set is itself is decently sturdy and posable, with the tail swinging back and forth smoothly! I do wish that the arms were revamped to have more posability, as well as the Overlord’s head tendrils and whiskers. I imagine it’d be a pretty simple mod, but still. Overall, the Overlord Dragon set is a wonderfully gnarly, yet at the same time majestic and regal, adaptation of the show design, eight years in hiatus! It’s genuinely gorgeous and enjoyable to both look at and play with, and the building technique for his heels was incredibly clever and fun once my mind put it together both in realization of what was to come, and literally as well.

           The set really does feel like something that would’ve been released back in 2013, albeit with a few more modern pieces of course. Right down to some major color and detailing discrepancies, it fits just well with the classic, if somewhat minimal, 2013 “The Final Battle” line… And of course, the inclusion of an entirely new set in the Legacy line, adapting what was never built before, gives hope to old-time fans as well; Perhaps sets will be made of vehicles, structures, and/or beings, that have never received classic Lego depictions themselves! In particular, I’m hoping for the Preeminent having a proper set after all these years; That’s another similarity her and the Overlord had, before the latter got his set… And seeing the Preeminent briefly return in Season 11, even if for a single episode with little bearing on the overall plot, gives me hope! 

          I’d love to see the Preeminent redone but with 2015’s gorgeous colors and ghostly aesthetic, with the lime-green, dark-blue, gnarly black, and purple highlights! And if the Overlord Dragon set looks better than the actual show depiction, then here’s hoping we get a gorgeous Lego reimagining for the Preeminent- The Ghost Warriors are among my favorite villains in Ninjago, for their beautiful aesthetic, design, and concepts; With the Preeminent being particularly unique as a living dimension who never speaks but clearly thinks, akin to the Mind Flayer from Stranger Things (Or the other way around, as the Preeminent came first).

[fromkaermorhentolettenhove]

Frozen In Time

Summary: Jaskier helps Geralt during a job and ends up in a predicament of sorts

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Stun Spore Made Them Do It, Outside Sex, Bottom!Geralt

Words: 1960

-

AO3

or

Geralt no longer tells Jaskier to stay behind. 

With enough pestering, making sure Jaskier has the proper gear, Geralt now heads off on a contract, knowing quite well that Jaskier is a few steps behind. 

Today’s job is as standard as any – kill the monster terrorizing the village, collect the coin and stay in the local inn for a night or two. A small camp has been set up in a clearing in the woods, not too far from the last known sighting of the monster. Once Geralt is armored up, he marches to where his senses lead him, into the thickest part of the forest. 

Jaskier keeps his words few and far between and Geralt almost forgets Jaskier is with him until he lets a branch go and hears a thwack followed by upset sputtering. 

“Really, Geralt,” Jaskier scolds under his breath. “I thought we were well past this.”

Geralt only shrugs, gives Jaskier a pat on the cheek before focusing back on his target. There is a distant growl and both men freez as Geralt searches the trees and foliage for any sudden movements. 

His ears catch a distant rustling and Geralt races off, sword already drawn. Crashing through the brush, Geralt finds himself face to face with a large beast with vines and mushrooms sprouting from its back. Its black beady eyes glare at Geralt and it stomps a heavy hoof on the ground. 

Vines shoot out and Geralt dodges them with ease, slicing a few in the process. The monster howls before it charges at Geralt with its hardened head. The monster is fueled by pure rage and Geralt’s logic should make this an easy battle. That is, until a vine grabs him by the ankle while he is distracted. Geralt is slammed to the ground and when he tries to slice at the monster, his sword is knocked from his hand. 

Geralt’s mind scrambles and then a yell echoes in his ears. Jaskier is charging at the monster, his sword slicing through the air with heated precision. Jaskier’s aim is true and the monster recoils with a grating howl, blood gushing from the slash across its eye.  The vines pull away from Geralt, the focus now on Jaskier before yellow dust sprays Jaskier in the face. Not leaving any time for hesitation, Geralt slices the monster until it is twitching on the ground and he gives it a final stab for good measure. 

Catching his breath, Geralt finds the forest too quiet. His heart begins to race again, his head whipping around to find Jaskier. When he sees Jaskier’s form, unmoving and facedown in the dirt, Geralt scrambles over, panic rising in his chest.

“Jaskier? Jaskier!” Geralt turns him over, grabbing hold of his arms.

Jaskier coughs, spits out the dirt in his mouth and stares up at Geralt. Before he can say anything, Geralt lets out a sigh of relief, shifting Jaskier up into a seated position.

“Thank you. That was foolish, but thank you.”

“Sweetheart,” Jaskier edges in, his expression shifting between a grimace and a grin. “I mean, you’re welcome, but, Geralt, I can’t seem to move.”

Without meaning to, Geralt lets go of Jaskier, who falls back with a very hard thud. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier winces. “I felt that.”

“Try moving your fingers,” Geralt searches Jaskier for any wounds, but then he sees the remaining yellow dust that clings to Jaskier’s face. “Did you breathe that in?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Didn’t really have a choice, darling. It sprayed me directly in the face.”

“This isn’t permanent,” Geralt reassures as he wipes away the dust, careful to keep it away from his own face. “Just a few hours of paralysis unless…”

“Unless what?” Jaskier furrows his brows. 

Geralt coughs, unable to think of any other way to say this. “Unless we get your heart rate up. Might make the toxins leave your body faster.”

“You mean sex?” Jaskier helpfully supplies, a small grin forming on his face. 

Rolling his eyes, Geralt collects their weapons and picks Jaskier up, draping him over his shoulder. There are a few noises of complaints from Jaskier, but with his body unable to do anything, Jaskier hangs like a rag doll.

“Careful of my face,” Jaskier warns. “I can’t push myself away from you if we get too close.” 

“That’s never been an issue before,” Geralt jokes and he can feel the punch Jaskier would’ve given him. 

Instead, Jaskier tsks and continues chatting on, occasionally scolding Geralt when his nose smashes into Geralt’s armor. At last they reach their camp and Geralt lays Jaskier down, shooing Roach away as she checks on Jaskier. 

“At least someone cares about me,” Jaskier bemoans and Geralt snorts. 

“We’re about to have sex, Jaskier,” Geralt says as he strips himself of his armor and then his clothing. “That’s not caring about you?”

Jaskier laughs a little, his eyes darting around to catch some sight of Geralt. “Stop prancing about. I can’t stare at you.”

Geralt settles himself on top of Jaskier, sitting so that his cock rubs up against Jaskier’s clothed erection. 

“Too bad your mouth wasn’t stunned,” Geralt leans down, hovering so their lips are barely touching. 

“Oh, you’d miss hearing me talk,” Jaskier breathes. 

Geralt crashes their mouths together, relishes in the moan that leaves Jaskier. As their tongues tangle, Geralt starts making quick work of Jaskier’s shirt and chemise. He’s careful with twisting Jaskier’s arms, making sure he’s not bent in unnatural ways as his upper layers are thrown to the side. 

“Not being able to touch you is torture,” Jaskier sighs while Geralt makes his way lower. 

“You’ve been tied up before. Just imagine it’s like that.” Geralt unties the laces on Jaskiers trousers, pulls them swiftly down with his smallclothes. 

Jaskier’s cock springs free and he groans as Geralt moves back up, stroking his hand lazily up the length. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, “This isn’t fair.”

Geralt flashes one of his rare grins and captures Jaskier’s mouth with his own again, pumping Jaskier’s cock with slow, even strokes. He can feel the rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest underneath his other hand and that’s when a thought strikes him. 

He pulls away from the kiss, tugging a little on Jaskier’s bottom lip with his teeth before sitting up and grabbing Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier watches with curious eyes, his gaze melting when Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand over his heart. Geralt moves Jaskier’s hand in small circles, imitating the gentle touches they so often share when they need a tender moment.

Jaskier’s lips part, a small sigh leaving him with his gaze never straying from Geralt’s face. Geralt can feel Jaskier’s muscles tense, his need to curl his fingers and Geralt shivers as he imagines what the situation would be like if their roles were reversed. Perhaps another time. 

Geralt pulls Jaskier’s hand up to his mouth, brushes his lips across his knuckles as he tugs on Jaskier’s cock. It’s beautiful, really, watching Jaskier’s eyes roll up, listening to the gasp that leaves him. Geralt tends to each finger, sucking on them diligently as if they were Jaskier’s cock. The groans and pleads from Jaskier fill Geralt’s ears and he fades into the sound for just a moment. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice is just above a whisper, but it’s enough of a warning. 

“Patience, love,” Geralt teases. 

He slides away from Jaskier, quick to find the vial in their packs before he’s crawling back up to Jaskier, slicking his fingers as he kneels above him. Jaskier’s eyes are filled with lust and frustration, igniting a fire within Geralt. He presses his forehead against Jaskier’s as he pushes a finger inside, a short breath leaving him and mixing with Jaskier’s own shallow breathing. 

“When you can move again, I want you to stretch me properly,” Geralt grunts as he steadies himself.

“Oh, darling, I’ll make you fall to pieces,” Jaskier promises. 

Geralt keens, adding a second finger as he imagines Jaskier taking his time, soothing and gentle as he prepares Geralt. Geralt enjoys roughness, sex that is needy, but when Jaskier is caring, it sends Geralt to a whole other place. 

He tries to copy what Jaskier would do, but his fingers are larger, rougher and Geralt is pulled out from the fantasy more than once. 

“Can you add another finger for me, Geralt?” Jaskier coaxes. “You’re doing so well. You look beautiful.”

The encouragement is all Geralt needs and he is soon stuffed with three fingers, the tips curling and searching for that spot inside of him. 

“Deeper,” Jaskier commands and Geralt does what is asked of him. 

It’s enough, a jolt of pleasure shooting up Geralt’s spine. He lets out a heavy moan and Jaskier hums with appreciation. 

“A few more times, then you can ride me.”

Geralt wants nothing more and he thrusts his fingers inside himself in rapid succession before dragging them out. With a shaky hand, he pours oil over Jaskier’s erection, slicking it up before positioning the tip at his hole. 

“Oh, Geralt, yes, please,” Jaskier breathes, staring at Geralt with all the love in the world. 

As Geralt sinks down on Jaskier’s length, both men moan and Geralt braces a hand on Jaskier’s chest. He can see the impatience in Jaskier’s eyes, feels the tensing muscles, and he grabs Jaskier’s hands, wrapping the fingers around his own erection. When Geralt is fully seated, he strokes himself with Jaskier’s hand and a small whine leaves Jaskier. 

“You feel so good,” Jaskier sighs. “I will never get enough of you.”

Geralt smiles a little as he moves his hips, begins to slide up and down Jaskier’s length. The fullness is intoxicating and Geralt throws his head back as he embraces the thick cock inside of him, the calloused fingers that run along his length. 

“Geralt, Geralt,” Jaskier begins repeating as Geralt speeds up. 

Each hit on his prostate takes Geralt’s breath away and he stares down at Jaskier, fading into those blue eyes. Geralt is consumed by love and lust in a tangled web as he grabs hold of Jaskier’s other hand and positions it at his hip. He imagines the bruises Jaskier would etch into his skin and his moans grow louder with every thrust. 

“I’m–I’m close,” Jaskier gasps, eyebrows furrowing, bottom lip red and abused with how hard Jaskier bites down on it.

Geralt has no intention of slowing down and he rides Jaskier as if their lives depend on it. His prostate is bruised at this point, but it feels too good. If Jaskier asked him, Geralt would push himself to his limits and beyond. Squeezing Jaskier’s fingers around his cock is all it takes and Geralt spills across Jaskier’s stomach. His thighs ache, but Geralt doesn’t stop, not until he hears Jaskier’s shout, feels the warm cum fill up his hole. 

The two are breathless and Geralt sets Jaskier’s hands back down at his sides. He holds Jaskier’s face, kisses him deeply as he wishes this to never end. Until Jaskier makes a noise. 

Pulling back, Geralt’s mind jumps to concern but then he sees the smile on Jaskier’s face. 

“I can move my thumb!” Jaskier’s eyes sparkle. “It’s working!”

Geralt could watch Jaskier smile all day and he can’t help but match the expression as he brushes some hair away from Jaskier’s sweat-slicked forehead. 

“Perhaps we should go again?” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows. 

With the roll of his eyes, Geralt grabs a discarded piece of clothing and wipes them off. Even with his years on Jaskier, he’s sure he’ll never have the libido Jaskier does and in a way, it’s very endearing. 

“How would you like me this time?” Geralt asks and the grin on Jaskier’s face is absolutely sinful.

[gemssum]

oh, to be alone with you

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Isabelle Flores / Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x OC / Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Reader

Rating: General Audiences — Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort

Isabelle and Dimitri finally have a calm moment alone within the chaos of the war.

Note: Though this is set up as a Canon x OC fic, there are no physical descriptions, so this could also pass as a Canon x Reader fic. Feel free to use a Chrome/Firefox extension like InteractiveFics to change “Isabelle” and the she/her pronouns to those of your choosing.

ao3 link

Isabelle hummed quietly as she rifled through her collection of tinctures, trying to find the exact ones she needed. Almost two weeks ago, Dimitri had been injured in a skirmish against Imperial troops. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but still required cautious care and numerous stitches. Today, Dimitri asked her to remove them—though really any of the healers at the monastery could complete the task just as well.

Isabelle, of course, accepted. She enjoyed the calm routine that medical work brought and, in this case, the quiet intimacy it offered with Dimitri.

The importance of their war duties meant that they could hardly have a spare moment for themselves, let alone each other. The war had spread them both thin, the ever-present strategy meetings and wounded soldiers in need of care caused them to seek one another out in the small pockets of time they could manage. For the past moon they had just enough time for short conversations during mealtimes and fleeting kisses in empty monastery corridors. It was tiring, and they were both thankful for this moment of reprieve.

While she continued her search, Dimitri was patiently waiting on the edge of Isabelle’s bed, taking in the scenery of her small room. He had visited her quarters a handful of times prior to this, but none of the encounters had ever lasted for very long. As a result, he still wasn’t used to how much of her was present in the small space.

Dimitri’s eye wandered to the various herbs growing on the windowsill and drying on the walls, their presence making a pleasant floral scent flow throughout the room. The fragrance always stuck to Isabelle’s clothing and never failed to calm Dimitri whenever he came across it.

Slightly smiling to himself at the thought, his attention shifted to the plethora of medical and magical equipment she kept. Her mildly disorganized shelves were full of various potions and balms meant to cure almost any ailment imaginable. The sheer number of them was almost puzzling.

Does she really have the time to use all of them?

“Ah! Found it,” Isabelle’s soft exclamation broke Dimitri out of his roaming thoughts. His gaze followed her as she made her way over to him, arms full of supplies.

She set her collection on the nightstand and moved to stand between Dimitri’s legs, “Alright, let's take these off.”

Her hands reached for his shoulders and made quick work of removing Dimitri’s large cloak, letting it fall in a pool behind him. He followed her lead, his fingers working to undo the clasps attached to his gauntlets.

Despite his attempts to conceal the movement, his hands were slightly shaky as he attempted to loosen the buckles. He wasn’t yet accustomed to having someone so close and regarding him so gently, least of all Isabelle. Even after the time they’d shared since confessing, he was still a mess when it came to her.

He figured he always would be.

The pair continued to move in tandem to finish removing Dimitri’s armor. The small clinks of metal-on-metal as each piece hit the floor were the only sounds that filled the otherwise quiet room.

When the final piece of armor was shed, Isabelle broke the silence between them with slight hesitation in her voice, “Now... your sweater.” Before Dimitri could respond, she quickly busied herself with organizing and sanitizing her tools, trying to give him a semblance of privacy.

Isabelle’s suddenly apprehensive state was nonexistent in her usual procedures. Her method of care had always been straightforward, and she had seen far worse on other soldiers than a simple bare, unbloodied torso.

Excessive modesty was not a problem when it came to her medical work. However, this was completely new territory for the pair. She’d hardly seen Dimitri out of his armor, let alone without portions of clothing.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t his state of undress that her mind was preoccupied with.

Really, Isabelle was worried about the vulnerable position Dimitri placed himself in when he asked her to remove his stitches. Past encounters meant she was already privy to his hesitation in revealing his scars to her. She clearly recalled the time she’d offered to examine his eye a few moons prior. He hastily declined—something that seemed out of place at the time.

Eventually Dimitri confessed his, admittedly unfounded, fear of her being judgemental of the copious battle scars he possessed—the permanent reminders of his darkened past.

Despite Isabelle’s own collection of scars and most sincere reassurances, he had yet to reveal them to her. Until today.

In a different time, the situation would simply be a mildly embarrassing encounter, quickly brushed off after a few awkward moments and shy glances. Though of course, their shared experiences over the past six years had tarnished that lighthearted possibility.

As Isabelle busied herself with cleaning a small pair of surgical scissors, Dimitri timidly removed the thick black sweater he wore under his armor. He shivered as his skin was revealed to the cold air of the room, almost tempted to pull his cloak around himself while Isabelle worked. However, she pulled over her wooden desk chair and placed herself in front of him before he could decide.

Though they were directly facing one another, neither person dared to glance at their partner—unspoken words tense in the air between them.

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds, Isabelle was the first to look up. Her eyes finally took in the myriad number of scars littering Dimitri’s upper body.

Some were more substantial than others, with the largest one being a jagged white streak across the left side of his ribs. Others, like the few crossing the backs of his hands, were extremely small, almost to the point of invisibility.

Dimitri sat still, expression neutral under Isabelle’s scrutinizing gaze. She gently grasped his scarred hand in her own, causing him to lock eyes with her.

Slowly reaching up with her free hand, she lightly held his cheek, her thumb running just under the cloth of his eyepatch. Dimitri relaxed into her touch as his visible eye closed. He let out a small, contented sigh as she continued to caress his cheek.

She almost didn’t ask, but a short wave of boldness prompted her to murmur, “You don’t have to show me, but can I see this too?”

A beat passed, and Dimitri removed his hand from hers. Isabelle’s skin prickled and she retracted her hand, fearing she’d overstepped.

Her panic immediately dissipated at the sight of Dimitri reaching up to untie the small piece of fabric. He slowly pulled the black patch away, finally revealing to her the damage beneath it.

The scar was an uneven red, running diagonally from just under Dimitri’s brow bone to below the outer corner of his eye. The eye itself was still intact, the only visible damage a hint of cloudiness across his iris.

Isabelle inched closer, hand still raised, almost as if asking permission. He reassured her, “It’s alright if you wish to touch it. It’s no longer painful.”

Again, she rested her hand against his cheek. His eyes slowly closed, letting her have an unobstructed view.

Using her thumb, she lightly grazed his eyelid. The scar was rough, and looked much larger now that she could see it in its entirety.

“How did you get this?” she probed, wary of breaking the moment between them. Dimitri sighed, his voice wavering, “It happened shortly after my escape from imprisonment. A small group of Imperial soldiers overtook me, and one of their lances caught my eye before I was able to dodge it.”

Isabelle moved to grasp both of his hands in her own, trying her best to soothe him. This was the most he’d ever discussed his past injuries with her, and while she wanted to hear more, his feelings were her current priority.

“Thank you,” she said warmly, lacing their fingers together.

Dimitri’s eyes opened in mild confusion, “You’re... thanking me?”

Isabelle smiled, “I am. I remember how uneasy you were before. So, thank you for trusting me.”

“I’ll always trust you,” He confessed, expression softening.

Her smile widened and she leaned forward, kissing Dimitri just under his right eye, “I’ll always trust you too.”

She hoped her action reflected what she couldn’t find the words to say. I love you. Even through the moments you regret.

“Now, are you ready for me to work on this?” she asked, referring to the bandage still covering his shoulder. Dimitri’s expression widened in mild surprise, taken out of the moment, “Ah, right,” he chuckled at his reaction, “Yes. I am.” Her hands untangled from his, and she slowly began removing the tape holding his bandage in place.

Isabelle worked calmly, the mood between her and Dimitri immediately soothed from their earlier apprehension. She fell easily into the well-practiced routine of sterilizing her hands and the wound, then smoothly cutting the small pieces of thread holding it together.

Using her tweezers, she slowly began to pull each thin stitch from Dimitri’s skin. His face pulled into a slight grimace at the foreign feeling.

“Sorry,” Isabelle murmured.

“It’s alright. It’s just… strange.”

“Do you think you’d ever want to learn how to do something like this?” she asked, trying to distract him. Dimitri chuckled, eyes still focused on Isabelle’s steady hands. “While I’ve gotten a bit better, I still do not think I’m suited for such delicate work,” he paused, “and besides... I like this.”

Under different circumstances his comment would seem strange, but she understood his underlying meaning: “I like seeing the focused look in your eye, the methodical movement of your hands,” and most importantly, “I like that I’ve changed.”

At the start of the war, when he was plagued by survivor’s guilt more than ever, Dimitri would continuously refuse treatment for even the most dire of battle wounds. He would neglect his health until he was on the brink of collapse, forced to begrudgingly seek healing. Over time he became more comfortable with asking for help, something she was definitely thankful for.

Isabelle smiled as she pulled out the final stitches, “I like this too.”

She continued to work in silence, gently cleaning the now unsutured wound with a small cloth. Dimitri intently watched her deft fingers as they placed small adhesive strips to ensure the gash’s closure.

“You’ll need to be careful during training for a little while longer. I still don’t want you to risk it reopening,” she reminded him as she placed a fresh bandage.

“I’ll do my best,” he teased, accustomed to her excessive worry for him.  

She gave him an amused look of mock disapproval and handed him a set of bandages, “And change your dressings at least once a day. Come to me or one of the other healers if it reopens or begins to look infected.”

She stood, ready to put away her supplies, but a pair of arms stopped her. Dimitri’s grasp was lightly wrapped around her waist, loose enough to allow her to pull away if she wished. His face was hidden against her abdomen.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her dress.

She softened, her surprise quickly dissipated. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she hugged him more fully, kissing the crown of his head.

“I‘ve missed you too. But I’m here now, Dimitri.”

Dimitri tightened his hold, her earlier gesture making him bashful. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you tonight?” he asked. ”I wish to stay with you a little while longer.”

Isabelle reached down, gently turning his head to face her. She gazed softly down at him, amusement in her voice, “Is that even a question?”

He averted his eyes, “Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous and—“ She cut him off, “Of course you can stay. You always have a place here, you know”

He sighed, content, and rested his cheek against her again, “Thank you.”

It was then that Dimitri shivered, still affected by the chill of the room. Slightly releasing her hold, Isabelle reached for Dimitri’s cape and draped it over his bare shoulders, “Here.”

Without missing a beat, he reached to wrap her in the cloak as well, cocooning them together in its warmth. The pair remained in their close embrace, each of them soothed by the others proximity.

“As much as I want to stay like this, I still need to clean up,” Isabelle said, voice muffled by Dimitri’s hair. Dimitri nestled further into her collarbone, reluctant to let her go.

After a moment he finally pulled away, letting Isabelle move to gather her supplies.

While she organized her impromptu workspace, Dimitri began removing the armor covering his lower body. They moved quickly, both of them impatient to be back in the other’s space.

Dimitri completed his task first, and had just enough time to wrap himself back in his cloak before Isabelle followed suit.

Finally finished, she made her way from her crowded shelves back to Dimitri’s waiting form. He started uncrossing his arms, ready to be back in their previous embrace.

Instead of meeting his invitation, she paused at the head of the bed frame and unlaced her boots. Dimitri gave her a mildly puzzled look as he watched her move past him and crawl onto the small bed.

Laying down behind him, she held out her arms, “I know it’s not time for bed yet, but will you still rest with me for a bit?”

He immediately turned to meet her waiting grasp and parroted her earlier words, “Is that even a question?”

“Very funny,” she happily retorted, pulling him in.

Dimitri laid his cape across them as a makeshift blanket, the fur-lined collar lightly tickling their skin.

They quickly found each other, their limbs tangling together as a side effect of the limited bed space and their mutual want to be as close as possible.

“I know I said this before but, I’ve missed you, Belle. I’ve missed being with you. Uninterrupted, I mean.”

Isabelle pushed an untamed strand of hair from his face. “You know I feel the same, of course. At least...” she paused, choosing her words carefully. “When this is over we’ll have time.”

Neither of them wanted to think of the real implications of ending the war, or if they would even be successful in doing so. For that moment they ignored thoughts of opposing forces and the sorely needed reconstruction awaiting them after victory.

They simply thought of having more moments like this.

“I want that. More than you know.”

Isabelle grinned and lightly pressed her lips against his, “I think I have an idea.”

The pair settled against their pillows, noses almost touching and eyes becoming lidded. Before they were completely pulled down by drowsiness, Dimitri broke the silence between them.

“And about my scars...”

Isabelle’s surprised gaze immediately met Dimitri’s calm one. She wasn’t expecting him to return to that subject so quickly.

“Not all of them are shameful,” he continued. Isabelle watched his face with rapt attention, waiting to hear more.

Dimitri smiled wistfully, “There’s one on my back that I received during the tragedy.” He skimmed his hand along her spine, grounding himself. “Even though that was one of the most awful times of my life, one good thing came from it.”

Isabelle reached up and ran her fingers through the hair at Dimitri’s nape, attempting to soothe him. He relaxed under her touch.

“That scar is the reminder of when I saved one of my dearest friends. It causes me to believe that maybe there’s a reason I’m here, whatever that reason may be.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Isabelle said softly, sincerely.

Dimitri inched forward, gently kissing her, “After everything...I’m glad I’m here too.”

It means I get more time with you.

[datenightfright]

First Strike

Yautja x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: The Yautja, known as Big Bad, met his ooman when they were mistakenly place on a hunting reserve. Since then, he’s been trying to court them. It’s a pity others deem it necessary to get involved. 

Had Big been courting any of the females of his species, he would’ve already sired several pups. He had brought back some of the hardest kills imaginable, including a Xenomorph Queen’s head, an emptied, completely safe ovomorph pod, and a very dead preserved Face Hugger. Sure, he needed Five’s help to take down the queen, and had to bribe his best friend Click for the Face Hugger, but it had been done. As it was, he was courting an ooman, one determined not to fall in love with him. He would’ve quit long ago if he didn’t feel that this ooman was his Life Mate.

           He was brought up on romanticized stories of Life Mates. His parents were Life Mates, his younger sibling, Five, had found a Life Mate. He was determined to find one too. The problem was, when you were genetically modified to be bigger than all the other yautja, your people tended to look at you in a strange manner. His ooman had been the only one, other than his brother Five, to even attempt to take him on in battle.

           He knew the reason other yautja avoided him had to do with some sort of science bullshit, something to do with his musk, but it didn’t matter. He wanted a mate as fearless as he, and his ooman showed their bravery in battle.

           He thinks about his ooman, pleased with his choice. He hadn’t really known if it was a female or not, it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that they were strong, fearless, and in their own alien way, beautiful. They were so small compared to him, and their eyes were so big. They had flaps of flesh on their face called ‘lips’. It helped with the intake of nutrients, with the formation of words. They had soft skin, sometimes they scented it. They wore many coverings in many colors and cuts. Sometimes they adorned themselves in jewelry.

           He clicks his mandibles together. From the very start he let his ooman know he was courting them. Nothing had worked. Not feats of tremendous strength, not a show of swiftness, not kills…perhaps he was going about it the wrong way? The pieces suddenly fell into place. This was a ooman he was courting, not a fellow yautja. It made sense that they had different mating rituals. He could kick himself for not thinking of it before. He didn’t feel too bad though, he wasn’t the smartest of the brood. Just the biggest...second biggest, next to baby brother Five.

           With renewed vigor Big aims his ship toward Earth. He’d been away for some time because of a particularly lucrative bounty hunt. They only called him in for the big issues, and this had been a big issue. He had a new plan; he was going to ask his ooman’s brother how ooman’s courted each other. He at least seemed sympathetic to Big’s efforts, despite trying to kill him the first time they met. In Big’s defense, he didn’t know the brother was the useless one in the dynamic.

           It’s dark when he gets to earth, but he knows it’s early enough in the night that Fierce One will be up. He’s memorized the path from his usual hiding place to their house. It takes him no time at all to get to the back door and give his customary knock. He learned long ago that just going to the front of the house wasn’t the best idea, his ooman freaked out every time.

           The door was thrown open. Big was shocked to see his ooman staring at him with wide eyes. “Get in here!” They hiss, taking hold of whatever, they could of him, despite his cloaking device being active, and dragged him inside. The ooman shuts the door quickly, peeking out the blinds. “You shouldn’t be here!” They tell him, starting to pace back and forth. Why not? They hadn’t been exactly warm towards him, but this was something else entirely. Had…had he been too late? Had they found another mate?

           He doesn’t get to dwell on it long as his ooman continues to rant. “One of the government people found out you come here often, and now they’re tracking us, hoping to reenact some sort of fucked up episode of X-files.” Most of this was lost on him, but he understood that he, and by extension his ooman and friend, was in danger.

           He looks around the house, noticing a disturbing absence of the presents he brought you. He clicks his mandibles in frustration, motioning around the house. “Yes, well,” His ooman huffs in irritation, “The agent men took it all.”

“Fierce One,” he begins, his translator working it’s magic as always. This time, he notes with pride that his ooman didn’t flinch when he called them that. “You need to leave,” they say, grabbing his hand. This was the first time the Fierce One had even attempted to touch him, they must care a little! “for your safety. I’m sure they’re already on their way, ready to capture you. Please.”

“Will not,” He says, “Keep you safe,” he drags a claw across their cheek. Fierce One does a motion with their lips he recognizes as a smile. They smiled at him! They must like him a little. “I appreciate that Big Guy, but-” they’re cut off by the sound of shattering glass and gun shots. In the confusion, Fierce One kicks the back of his knee, bringing him to the ground. For a moment, he thinks they’ve turned on him, but when they throw their body on him, he realizes they’re trying to shield him.

           He reacts quickly, rolling over to shield them instead. Ooman bullets can’t hurt him, but he knows they can hurt his ooman. When there’s a pause in the racket, Fierce One calls for their brother. Big gets up, ready to defend his oomans. Fierce One jumps up and presses against his back, covering his blind spot. He passes them a smaller gun, they take it without hesitation. He wishes he could give them armor.

           The doors are knocked down by oomans in black clothing, all with red dots pointing at them. Before the shootout can begin, Fierce One’s brother is dragged into the room at gunpoint, followed by a weaselly looking man who looks as though he has the upper hand. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Fierce One peeks out from behind him. “Bro, really?” They say, exhausted with the antics. “I’m sorry!” He says, hands up. “One moment I’m getting your stupid chocolate bar, the next thing I know, my ass is being dragged across the gas station.”

           The man with the sick smile on his face steps forward. “you’re much bigger than the other one we caught.” He says. “much friendlier it seems.” This male looks at his ooman, which sets Big off. He snarls, shocking everyone in the room. It only takes him seconds to act on the opportunity their shock creates. He charges the ooman holding Fierce One’s brother hostage, easily ripping it’s head from it’s body. He snatches the brother in one arm and begins to shoot with the other. Along with Fierce One, it doesn’t take any time at all for the ooman’s to retreat.

           “Ethan!” Fierce One rushes over to their brother as Big puts him down. “Are you ok?” They check over him. “I’m a little dizzy, but ok.” He says. He shoves them off, “They’re going to bring reinforcements, we need to leave.” Fierce One nods. “Where are we going to go? We’ll be hunted anywhere.”

“Ship,” Big says, motioning towards the door. Fierce One and Ethan look at each other. Big knows they’re having a sort of silent conversation that only siblings can understand. It happens with him and Five all the time. “Ship,” Ethan says, “Ship,” Fierce One agrees. They all file out the back door and run for his ship.

           Big is elated, Fierce One will see his ship! See how well he can provide for them, see that they’re meant to be, hopefully. Maybe he’ll even get to show them his home-world. He knows Ethan will be for it. The boy has done nothing but ask about the yautja home world since Big came to visit. He wondered if his ooman would want that?

           He doesn’t get to think on it long as they approach his ship. The three of them stop in their tracks. Big can’t help the roar that rips from his throat. This is outrageous, completely unbelievable! How the hell can something like this happen? His ship is gone!