#it's so quiet here. clean air soft fabrics. i can see the stars.

[tiffanyachings]

started rereading the silm; met up with friends; saw a very faint aurora; foraged walnuts; went to my friend's gig; saw four deer; played several board games; took pictures of cool mushrooms; ate lots of good food; played an old lotr game from 2004, helped plant strawberry runners in my mum's community garden; watched the birds migrate south

[moodymisty]

Sound Asleep

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3]

Author’s note: I’ve had this little snippet jumbled up in my phone's notes for longer than I’ve currently been on tumblr, so I decided to finally clean it up. I have so many little things like this scattered across my various devices... Help.

Relationships: BOBF!Boba Fett/Fem!Reader (I only say that because of one usage of the nickname 'princess' there's no pronouns or specific body parts mentioned.)

Warnings: A little bit of crying, Nightmares, Age gap if you squint so hard your eyes actually hurt, Cuddling, Fluffy fluff, Mean ol' Boba being a bit of a softie

Word count: 1220

You swore you hadn’t had a nightmare since your childhood years; But even then, you couldn’t remember one like this. It had all felt so real, almost touchable. You sit up awake in a daze still feeling as if it had just happened.

Jolted awake in the middle of a cold Tatooine night your hair is just starting to stick against dewy skin, heart pounding in your chest. With a few kicks of your feet you push the blanket off of your body, wanting the air to cool your flush skin, and to stop that almost strangling feeling.

You’d fallen asleep down here because of how tired you’d been, and the trek upstairs to Boba’s personal room had seemed like leagues away; Without any surety that he would even return there before you awoke the next morning. He was a busy man, sometimes rest wasn't a guarantee.

So you’d slept in your old personal room he’d given you after he brought you to Mos Espa, but now you're wishing you hadn’t. It feels so lonely in here, the room feels giant and the shadows an abyss but at the same time suffocating.

When you manage to get your heart to stop thumping on your chest so hard it feels like knocking, you slowly lay back again with your head hitting the pillow. The ceiling is cracked- your eyes following the black string down past your feet before you dare to close your eyes.

But when you open them again, the room is still dark with not a hint of light from the windows. It's as if your body was forcibly stopping you from sleeping, still spinning in whatever your mind had dreamt up. And even as your eyes feel tired and body heavy, there's no amount of quiet breathing and counting that is letting you fall asleep. The knot in your throat tightens, back of your neck aching with how tense it is.

Eventually, the constant tossing and turning proves too much to handle, and you lean up and turn to slip your legs off the side. They dangle for a moment, hands clutching the sheets as you decide if it's worth it.

Was it worth trekking what seemed like lightyears up to someone who might not even be there? Or should you stay here and lay back trying to see if you could get even a few moments of rest before the suns start rising?

Bare feet gently hit the slightly rough, sandy floor with a soft pat, the light in the room just bright enough to see around. It was a straight shot to the door, and you slowly slip off the bed before softly opening then closing it. The steps up to Boba’s private room were tall and winding, and each one felt progressively harder than the last. At least none of the droids are around, you wouldn't want even the the stars outside to see you in this sorry state.

Once you reach the top of the steps, it's easy to open the door and slip inside. The door opens to a pale glow of moonlight, and you can see Boba’s outline. He's already awake; Leaning upright.

There’s patterns deeply ingrained in him and sounds are a big part of them; The soft opening of a door or footsteps were always things that set him alert. When he sees it’s you, easy to tell by the silhouette he can just barely see through the flowing fabric of your nightclothes, it’s enough to lull those alarm bells in his head a small bit.

And with a gravely, sleep coated voice, Fett calls to you.

“Need something, princess?”

His tone is almost taunting, teasing, but you don't respond to it with any of the usual quips. When you step deeper into the room, Boba can more clearly see the ragged expression on your face. The way your body is turned into itself. He makes no noise; Instead pulling the thin blanket back revealing more of his bare stomach.

“Come here, little one.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Bare feet pattering across the floor you walk to him and place one knee onto the bed, before hefting yourself into it and slipping underneath the blanket. Within moments you feel his chest against your back, an arm wrapping around your waist. One of your hands grasps his while the other lays empty, and you feel his chin on the top of your head.

He doesn’t ask what happened to render you like this; He knows nothing he could say would help with it anyways.

What does seem to help is just him; As it’s not long of you curling up around his arm like it's your life line that you’re finally asleep. He can hear the soft sounds of you breathing, the way even in your sleep you're attempting to fruitlessly hold him tighter. You have his arm in a death grip, and any attempt to pull away would surely wake you.

Fett doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. That he’s let you come so close to him that you feel safe, reassured he isn’t dangerous enough that you can be lulled asleep like this. These aren't clean hands you're holding.

But if you want to be here, you'll be here. He'd never refuse you.

He's no stranger to nightmares and terrors either, though he's had longer to learn to deal with them than you. His mind is more armored, less feeling. It's how he's learned to be.

Fett, not long after he sees that you've for sure fallen completely asleep, decides to stop watching you with such soft eyes; And get some rest himself. He doesn't get too many chances to do so.

When you wake up you can still feel the ache of a headache now passed, but your body doesn’t feel as tense as the night before. It requires a bit of an odd angle to raise your head, rubbing your eyes blurry as Boba's torso moves upward so he can look down on you.

“Going to let me go?” Fett watches your hands tighten even more against his arm, where it had been locked most of the night. You'd been gripping it like a lifeline, the only thing holding you to the ground.

“No.” Fett lets out a chuckle, one deep from his chest and still raspy with sleep. You can feel it in your own chest, as he raises up on his other elbow.

"Can't stay here forever, princess." His arm flexes in your hold, just about to pull away from you. Quickly you tighten, making a noise from your throat before you can get out the right words.

“Wait! Boba, just- Just a few more minutes?” His hand halts, but his eyes still bore down at you. The soft skin of your fingertips brushes against a myriad of scars, as you fruitlessly attempt to hold him still. He's placating you, as you know well he could easily just pull away and leave you alone.

"Mos Espa can wait a little bit," You say, holding onto his larger hand. He relents, and lays down on his side again; Pressing his bare chest against your back again.

Maybe it can, maybe it can't; But either way he can deal with the outcome.

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[theonlyonesora]

Bound by Obligation - Chapter 4: Unspoken Cares

CH03 - CH05(SOON)

The morning light filtered softly through the drapes, casting muted, golden hues over the bedroom. The sun, still low, lent an almost magical quality to the air, filling the room with a warm glow that felt like an embrace from some unseen presence. Dust particles danced lazily in the shafts of light, as if held by some slow-moving current, hovering between slumber and waking. In the corner of the room by the wide-paned window, Suguru was seated on the couch, his eyes fixed on her as he watched she stir awake. His posture, though exhausted, was steady; a quiet strength emanated from him, as if he was just as much a sentinel of the night as the stars that had watched over both of them.

As your eyes met, his intense gaze softened slightly, and a subtle smirk played on his lips. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. It’s good to see you finally joining the waking world.”

His voice was warm, gentle even, breaking through the groggy veil of her sleep. A fleeting surge of surprise washed over her as she took in his disheveled yet resolute figure, seated there with the same clothes from the night before. ‘Did you sit there all night?’ kira asked, the incredulity clear in her voice.

He let out a soft chuckle, his gaze unwavering. “Yes, I was here all night. Taking care of you, making sure you were comfortable and safe.”

Surprise registered on her face, and his slight sigh of amusement did not go unnoticed. “What, you didn’t think I’d spend the whole night here, making sure you were resting safely?”

Her concern was genuine as she looked at him, her brows knitting together. ‘I really didn’t expect this. Did you even get any sleep?’

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t sleep at all. I wanted to ensure your safety and comfort, so I stayed up to take care of you. Don’t worry about me; I can handle a sleepless night.”

Kira frowned, determined not to let his apparent nonchalance gloss over the obvious toll it had taken on him. ‘This is not good for your health. You should go to sleep.’

A wry smile curved his lips, and there was a glint of something close to appreciation in his eyes as he observed her, head tilted. “Hmph, you’re worried about me, huh? I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. I don’t need to sleep. I can stay awake for a while longer.”

The quiet exchange continued, and as she insisted, a curious warmth lingered in the air, unspoken yet understood. His presence at night became a routine for the next two days, and kira sensed a peculiar shift. His visits no longer felt like obligations; instead, they carried an unexplainable softness, as though he was less on guard, as though he cared, not just for your wellbeing, but for her. Though he kept his distance physically, there was an undeniable connection that hummed between them, a fragile thread, barely visible yet unmistakably there.

On the third day, Suguru woke from a light nap to the sight of kira, unsteady but resolute, getting out of bed. His gaze shifted, and a sharp inhale betrayed his surprise.

“You’re bleeding,” he observed, his tone low but urgent, “through your clothes.”

His eyes were trained on the small bloodstain, brow furrowed in concern. Kira looked over her shoulder, disoriented. ‘What, where?’

With a barely disguised sigh, he rose, approaching her, pointing to the faint stain near the middle of her back. “Right there. You’re bleeding. Come here. Turn around. Let me check your back.”

Reluctantly, she complied, allowing him to lift the fabric with gentle care. As his fingers touched her back, a prickle of electricity shot through she, surprising her more than the wound itself. He examined it, his face growing serious.

“It doesn’t look too serious, but it’s still fresh. The bleeding has slowed down, but it needs to be cleaned and bandaged properly to avoid infection.”

‘I don’t really feel anything,’ kira murmured, half-convinced it was just a ghost of discomfort rather than actual pain.

His gaze flicked back up to her, searching for any sign of discomfort or wincing. “You’re sure?” he pressed, his tone skeptical, “Even when I touch the wound directly?”

Without warning, he pressed lightly, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips as a fresh wave of pain jolted her. ‘Okay, I felt that,’ you admitted, your voice edged with embarrassment.

His lips twitched in satisfaction, but he remained focused. “Good,” he murmured, half to himself. “Means your nerves aren’t damaged, at least.”

Kira hesitated, recalling something he’d mentioned earlier. ‘You said that day that you’d never seen a curse do this before. Should I be concerned about that information?’

Suguru’s face darkened momentarily, a slight frown settling between his brows as he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice grim. “The wound doesn’t follow any curse patterns I’ve seen before. It’s… unusual. We don’t know what caused it or how it’ll heal. We’ll need to find answers, but for now…” He trailed off, glancing toward the bathroom, where medical supplies sat in wait.

In a few moments, he was seated at the edge of your bed, dabbing antiseptic over her wound. His movements were meticulous, and despite his gruff exterior, he handled your injury with a gentleness that surprised both.

“You’re being pretty brave, you know?” he murmured, the hint of an approving smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Most people I know would be whining and complaining about the pain. But you’re handling it like a champ.”

Kira scoffed, deflecting the compliment but unable to fully mask the gratitude that rose within she. ‘I think it’s more because of you. You handle everything so calmly and gently that I feel safe. I knew you’d be able to help me.’

A flicker of something foreign crossed his face, a brief pause as her words lingered in the air between them. His hands stilled briefly before he composed himself, wrapping the bandage with renewed focus. “Hmph, well,” he replied, a little too quickly, “I’ve seen my fair share of injuries and curses.”

A comfortable silence settled as he finished. Kira dared a small jest, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. ‘You know, you’re not as bad as you want me to think.’

Suguru’s lips twisted into a smirk, his gaze meeting hers with an amused glint. “Oh, so I’m not as bad as you thought?” His voice softened, almost like a whisper shared between friends. “How sweet of you.” He allowed himself a pause before he looked away, straightening. “But don’t get too comfortable. I still have my reputation to uphold, you know?”

Kira grinned, rolling her eyes. ‘Of course you do.’

He shook his head, chuckling softly as he stood. “Alright, rest up. You’re going to need it if you plan to keep getting into trouble.” His face was lighthearted, yet a small undercurrent of protectiveness laced his words. She felt it linger, like an unseen hand at her shoulder, a reassurance that he’d be close by should she need him.

As kira settled back into bed, he stretched, looking toward the couch. He caught her curious glance and grinned. “Yes, I’m staying here,” he said pointedly. “Think of it as guarding my handiwork.”

Kira rolled her eyes, letting a chuckle escape as she turned back toward the bed, feeling the warmth of his presence settle over she like a blanket. There was no longer a sense of animosity, just the gentle ebb and flow of something unspoken, something that hovered between friendship and something far softer.

As sleep overtook kira, he watched in silence, a small smile tugging at his lips as he returned to the couch, prepared to stay through another dawn, keeping guard over she in his own, quiet way.

[disasterofastory]

The Wanderer (Ivar x Reader)

The Wanderer Ivar x Reader Warnings: nudity, Ivar is a stalker but we already know that

A/N: Dear Anon, I hope it’s close to what you wanted (I don’t remember Daenery’s entrance). Enjoy!

It's already late when you arrive at Kattegat. The stars glint in the dark sky among the black clouds. The heavy scent of the rain lingers in the air, mixing with the salty ocean. A goat cries out in the distance, making a few dogs bark in answer. Being on the road for long weeks can be rather lonely, so you really enjoy these small things. It reminds you of your own hometown. The view of the buildings is familiar and strange at the same time. The village has grown since the last time you have been there.

The loud noises of the feast and the burning torches help you on your way to the Great Hall. You slip inside the robust building without anyone paying attention to your cloak-covered figure. The heat of the fire slaps you across the face, warming you up in mere seconds. Your nostrils fill with the smell of ale and freshly made meals as you look over the hall through your lashes. Your gaze lands on the long table with Lagertha in the middle. The woman is still beautiful with her blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

You can still remember her deadly gaze on the battlefield. Blood splattered across her face. The heavy sword rose in her hand.

Making your way to the main table, you halt in front of the famous shieldmaiden. You watch her expression change as she tries to see through the shadow hiding your face. The soft lines of her face harden, and a scowl appears between her brows.

The Great Hall gets quiet behind you. A few of Lagertha's women reach down to their swords. Their eyes burn you.

A smirk pulls on your lips. "What do I have to do to get some ale here?"

You push the hood of your cloak back, letting the fabric fall from your head.

Lagertha's mood changes immediately. A smile spreads across her lips as she looks over your form.

"Y/N," she gasps, standing up from her seat. "I didn't know you would visit."

"I got thirsty."

Y/N, daughter of Y/F/N. The shieldmaiden. The Wanderer. The fearless woman who belongs to the dirt roads and stormy waves. Your name is well-known among the Vikings. Ivar heard stories about your battles even though you are barely a few years older than him. The warriors who were lucky enough to see you fighting say you are like a goddess among men. You are graceful and deadly. There is gossip about you taking the dead to Valhalla.

Ivar watches you sitting beside Lagertha. Ale sloshes on your hand as you grab the cup with too much enthusiasm. You laugh at your clumsiness, not caring about the liquid dripping down on the wooden table. Your eyes shine with warmth and a bit of ale as you look over the hall, smiling and nodding at the familiar faces.

"Who is she?" Hvitserk asks, looking your way too. Ivar doesn't react but listens closely to what Ubbe has to say about you.

"She is Y/N," Their older brother replies, and while Hvitserk stays in the dark, Ivar immediately knows who you are.

"I didn't hear about her," Hvitserk replies, and Ivar can't help but grunt in answer before Ubbe can open his mouth.

"Because you are an idiot."

Ubbe, instead of stopping their fighting, just smirks. His bright eyes are on his youngest brother, who still stares at you. There is an awe in his icy blue gaze, under the constant anger and defiance.

That's a no.

Ivar watches you drinking and laughing. He can hear your voice as you greet Bjorn with a mocking comment about his womanizer lifestyle. Their half-brother looks you up and down without shame, making Ivar's blood boil in his veins.

"Maybe you should introduce yourself," Ubbe says.

The brunette's frown deepens as he turns his attention to his brother.

You stay in Kattegat for a few more days, enjoying the delicious meals and the warm bed. Sometimes you even forget how comfortable it is to sleep in clean sheets and soft furs. You don't have to worry about wild animals or wilder people.

And there is something else too. Someone else.

Ivar became obsessed with you. The young man can't find the courage in himself to come to you, but he still doesn't waste a chance to watch you from afar. You can feel his eyes on you constantly, and you would be a liar if you said you weren't enjoying it. There is something flattering and exciting about being the center of the young Viking's attention.

You continue your way out of the cold water, not hiding behind your arms or the clean towel as you dry yourself. You let Ivar's eyes wander on your body, stopping at your breasts, lingering on your hard nipple, and continuing their way between your legs. Your skin is covered with long-healed wounds and scars. There is a history for each of them.

You are in the river, ready to get out when you feel it again. It burns your skin and bubbles in your chest with anticipation.

He is here somewhere.

You search your surroundings through your lashes, trying to hide the smirk that pulls on your lips when you notice his form behind the bushes.

After you get dressed in simple pants and a tunic, you grab your things and don't hesitate to make eye contact with the brunette. His eyes widen, but he doesn't back off as a frown appears between his brows. It seems like there is always a frown on his handsome but still boyish face. He doesn't avert his gaze as you get closer, even though the sway of your hips almost makes him surrender.

"You are Ivar, right?" You speak up when you stop in front of him. He sits on the ground, his useless legs tied together.

"I am," he answers. There is a defiant offense in his tone. He is angry at you even before you say anything. The young man is ready for it. He can already hear you mocking him and telling him to stay away from you. A creep. A cripple. A useless Viking. What may he want from a woman like you? A great warrior. A beautiful woman.

"Your brother told me about your… fondness for me."

Ivar opens his mouth to say something, but no words leave his plump lips. The soft skin of his cheeks changes into a lovely shade of pink as he looks away from you. He is embarrassed, and he hates the feeling. It makes him weak and humiliated.

"I'm disappointed you didn't come to talk to me," you continue, leaning down to cup his jaw.

His eyes snap back at you, lips apart. He doesn't want hope to take root in his chest, but your heavy gaze doesn't let him have any other option.

You are more beautiful up close. Your nose is a bit crooked from breaking a few times, and there is a pale line on your cheekbone. An old wound.

"You are?" He croaks out.

Your warm breath fans over his face as you speak. "I have to continue my journey tonight, but I have a feeling we will meet again."

Ivar's heart beats against his ribcage, and his blood drums in his ears when your lips ghost over his. The only thing that keeps him leaning closer is your hold on his jaw.

"Because you and me, Ivar the Boneless," you continue. "We are fated."

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three – Chrono

Warnings: grief, resentment, lactation, animal death

----

For all that Anakin had said he could handle the twins, Rex still takes one in the sling as they go into town. They don't have a hoverpram yet, and neither of them could figure out a way to fold the fabric to securely hold the babies' heads up. Anakin takes Luke, and Rex takes Leia, and they ignore the whispers that still follow them.

The General keeps just behind his shoulder when they get to the hardware shop that carries the closest paint they can find in such a small town. It's not meant for armor, really, but speeder paint will do the trick for now. Rex's hands shake as he picks out the shades he needs, and the young Rodian at the register almost asks about it.

The issue isn't pressed.

They make their way back to the cottage, and Leia starts fussing fifteen minutes past the town's edge. Anakin looks like he wants to offer to take her back, but Rex is fine. He can comfort her. He can--

Anakin takes the paint, floating it along in the air before them, freeing Rex's hands to focus on the infant strapped to his chest.

"I'll feed her as soon as we get back," Anakin says, low and calm. "She's a little hungry."

Pacifier, then. They're only a few minutes out, by now. She can wait for them to get back to where exchanging the twins won't involve juggling.

Rex feels eyes on him, looks up and sees the soft, quiet smile on his General's face, and ducks his head back to Leia.

She glares up at him as well as a newborn can, sucking angrily on the paci in her mouth. Rex has no idea if she's actually upset or if her face just naturally follows such an expression, but it's adorable nonetheless. He hums to her, nonsense without words.

He's never learned lullabies; they picked up drinking songs in the field and from local soldiers, from their Jedi, war songs from their trainers, pop songs from the radio. A few learned lullabies, those who loved children and wanted their own, one day, brothers like Waxer who would have adopted Numa in a heartbeat if it had been an option.

He wants to learn lullabies. He wants to be able to sing children's songs to these tiny, helpless lives he holds in his hands, day in and day out. He wants to learn Mandalorian songs, real ones, not just battle chants and mourning melodies. He wants to be able to raise them with the childhood he didn't have.

"Rex? Door's open."

He looks up, and Anakin's standing on the porch, pulling the keys from the lock and gesturing in with his head. Rex hadn't even realized he'd stopped walking, subconsciously waiting for the blockage of the door to be handled. It's easier to focus on the children.

The paint gets sent to the backyard--trapped fumes wouldn’t be good for the children--and Rex lays Leia down in her crib. Anakin urges him to the backyard, says I’ll handle it about anything Rex uses to delay, and it’s only a few minutes later that Rex finds himself sitting on the grass, armor spread across a sheet of disposable flimsi, paints and brushes at the ready. He doesn’t quite remember setting it up, but he must have.

Anakin joins him, a twin in each arm and the Force laying out a picnic blanket. Leia’s nursing, swaddled up but content to suckle, and Luke seems happy to doze when Anakin sets him down on the cotton gingham. It’s a warm day, with a light breeze, and the babies are where the wind won’t carry the paint fumes.

“I’m here if you need me,” Anakin promises, though his attention drifts immediately to his daughter.

Rex begins to paint.

----

His remembrances are endless.

Every brother he’s ever known, every general he’s met, every small commander and random civilian, everyone he loved and knew. He lights a pyre, sings under his breath and tries not to break in a way that can’t be patched together. He mourns the tubies and cadets, the Jedi younglings, names he never learned and now never would.

Anakin gets Japor from somewhere, carves it whenever he’s too jittery to sleep and the twins are asleep. Rex recognizes a few symbols, like the open circle fleet, like Fives’ helmet eel, like Ahsoka’s markings. There are more, though, that are wholly unfamiliar, things he thinks are born of desert sands and binary suns, rough and painful and deeper in Anakin’s heart than even the Jedi.

He asks about the one for Fives, when he sees it.

He hides his anger.

Explanations, first.

“It’s an apology,” his General tells him, eyes distant. “I should have listened to him. I didn’t. The carvings are regrets, broken trust... that sort of thing. I’m part of why he died, and in that, part of why the rest is gone. He and his memory deserve a place of honor.”

Rex considers that, and accepts it.

Fives deserves an apology. The General recognizes that.

The General recognizes that he fucked up.

This is a good thing.

Rex lets go of his anger, still curled tight to his chest after months, as best he can.

He’s not very good at it, but he can try.

Luke starts crying, and Rex gets up to warm a bottle.

----

“I need to stay close to home until the twins are a little older,” Rex says. Teskarim, the woman at the childcare store, tilts her head to encourage him to continue. “I’m... I’ve never been anything but a soldier, and nobody here needs security services, but I can hunt. Do you know if there’s any kind of licenses required, or lists of which animals are legal hunt and which are endangered?”

“I... don’t,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. “But I think the butcher’s shop can probably point you in the right direction.”

Damn. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone new today.

“Thanks,” he sighs, and shells out some of the local currency for more formula.

----

The butcher has answers, and preferences. Rex isn’t much of a trapper, but he’s a hell of a shot, and decent enough scout and tracker. He listens to what there is to hear, and mentally takes all the notes he can. There aren’t any licenses needed in this hemisphere, but there are legally-defined hunting seasons for different creatures. The butcher knows when the optimal times of day are, which parts of the nearby forest and mountains are best to stake out, and so on.

Rex tells Anakin about his plan. He gets a slow blink in response, a cringe in what he thinks is guilt, and an offer to meditate for the best direction to take when he goes out. He accepts the offer in the spirit its meant, and sets out the next morning with the expectation that he may need to spend a few nights out under the leaves and stars.

The calm and quiet are their own kind of comfort. He’s loyal to Anakin, and he already loves the twins, but there’s a part of him that needs to be away from natborns right now. Anakin was a Jedi, a general, and fought in the metaphorical trenches with the rest of them, but he wasn’t a brother.

They grieve many of the same people, but they do not grieve the same way.

Rex needs the solitude. Not forever, not even for very long, but he needs it.

It takes two days, but he finds one of the in-season creatures, a creature shaped much like an Alderaan deer, but larger, and with longer fur. It’s darker in color, too, and he gives it a bit of time to wander about until he can be sure it’s a male, and he’s not about to leave some fawns without a mother. The shot is clean, and it doesn’t take him very long to tie it up and sling it over his shoulders to bring back to town.

The trek back takes hours, and the creature on his back is a pain to carry, but it’s almost worth the looks he gets from the civvies. Eyes bulge out the sockets at the sight of him, and he’s glad his helmet hides his smirk. He’s Kamino stock, hardened by over three years on the front lines, and there’s a pride in how easy the physical things are for him. It’s not impossible for a natborn to carry this kind of creature this far without help, but it’s uncommon.

He kind of likes the attention, now that it doesn’t come with the many prejudices that being a clone always had.

Anakin meets him at the butcher’s, one twin on his chest and the other on his back.

Seems he’s found a solution to that.

“Here to help me barter a fair payment?” Rex asks, and gets a too-charming grin in response.

“Well, I’ve been doing it most of my life,” Anakin says, cheery in a way that feels pasted on. “And I’ll have a trick to know if we’re being cheated.”

It’s a solid response, but Rex doesn’t like it. He takes note of the bags under Anakins eyes. “Have you been sleeping, sir?”

“Twins,” the man himself says. “And don’t call me ‘sir,’ Rex, we’ve been over this.”

“You need to sleep, General.”

Anakin pouts at him, probably because of the title. “I can handle two days alone, Captain.”

Rex rolls his eyes and sidles through the entrance of the butcher’s shop.

They’ve got this.

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summary: You travel to meet Tom who is away filming. Since he is sharing a house with Harrison who is expected back at any second you have to make a decision; be quick - or quiet?

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Word count: 2,3 k

Warnings: Extended warnings under read more - but this is smut and strictly +18. 

Notes: This is sort of set in the same universe as The Bet just a few months later - BUT you do not have to have read that story to read this one, since there is literally zero plot in this. PWP, like truly. There isn’t even a hint of plot. A liiittle bit corny/fluffy. Also, they are both idiots, like I cannot stress this enough, they are both so dumb. 

Also I am once again staying up too late to write smut while tipsy. It is what it is. 

Extended warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Little bit of stripping from Tom. Some teasing. Talk about bondage but no actual bondage in this. Spanking. Hand around throat; though no choking. Derogatory language.

You fall through the door and into each other’s arms and it would have been romantic if he had managed to catch you as you lounge at him and remain standing on his feet. As it is, you both tumble over and fall to the ground.

“Tom, for god’s sake!”

“Oh hush! At least you landed softly on my chest! I took the hard hit!”

“Babe, there’s nothing soft about your chest and we both know it”. 

But by this point his lips have been removed from yours for too long and so instead of arguing he pulls you in for a kiss, deep and raw and hungry, his hands in your hair pulling you closer towards himself; closer, closer and closer still. Your hair is loose and your lips are bitten and wet from his kisses and his jeans feel uncomfortable tight over the crotch. Your so fucking beautiful and for a moment he thinks about just fucking you right here and now; on the hard  wooden floor of the hallway, surrounded by a mess sneakers, umbrellas and Wellington boots. He’d fuck you quick and hard and fueled up on lust Or perhaps make it to the dining room table and bend you over that; your beautiful ass in the air and his fist in your hair. Or maybe up against the hall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks into you.

But the threat of Harrison returning any moment feels very real indeed, even as you’re on top of him, rubbing yourself against him like a cat in heat. Groaning at what he has to do he lays his hands on the sides of your hips, making you stop your grinding. Pushing you upward you soon take the hint and stand up, pulling you with him and honestly, he was going to lead you into the bedroom - honestly, he was. But you look at him and bite your swollen lip, still wet from kisses and suddenly you’re pushed up against the wall, your lips back where they should always be; on him. 

He’s hard as a rock; has been since he picked you up at the airport. On the drive back to the house the studio has rented for him and Haz while they’re filming your hand never left his lap, just kept stroking and stroking his dick. You had offered to give him a blowjob and honestly, he’d lie if he said he wasn’t considering it. But just the thought of your mouth around his dick after months spent apart has him seeing stars. He would never have been able to concentrate on the road if that happened. That and the fact that he had been able to think about nothing else than coming inside your warm cunt for weeks now.

“We gotta be quiet babe, Haz will be back soon” he says, in between urgent kisses, his hand over your breast; playing with your nipple through the fabric. “Think you can be quick?”

“Honey, I didn’t travel for eight hours to be quick.”

“Fine, then you’ll have to be quiet” and before  you have time to respond he takes hold of your thighs and he lifts you up in the air. You fall forward, bending over his shoulder, and he slaps your ass as he walks over to the bedroom. Somewhere on the way you drop your ballerina flats but he keeps walking. You half-laugh, half-protes the entire way there, kicking your legs and ordering him to put you down. When he reaches the bed he does and you fall down on it; landing with your back against the soft mattress. 

Your gorgeous legs are spread and so much skin visible in your short jeans shorts; his white dress shirt that you have burrowed tucked into the hem. You bite your lip again and look up at him through your lashes, knowing very well the effect it has on him. 

Well, two can play that game.

Looking you right in the eye he brings his hands to the hem of his shirt and slowly lifts it, revealing the muscles underneath. Pulling it over his head he throws it on the clean ground; having taken the time yesterday to clean up the mess of the house before your visit. He kicks off his shoes and then, smiling wickedly at your wide eyes, he places his hands on his belt, slowly unfastening it.

You reach out to touch him but he reprimands you. “Nah-ah, don’t think so darling. Take off your shirt.”

To his endless surprise; you do what you're told. Unbuttoning your shirt and discarding it on the floor you smile up at him. You aren’t wearing a bra. 

“You traveled all the way here like that?” He asks in disbelief; and now it is he who wants to reach out his hands and touch you. 

“I don’t like the thought of them seeing my bra in those scanner things at the airport” you shrug. 

“So…” and he rubs his forehead, not knowing what else to do with himself “so you decided it was better to just not wear anything?”

You shrug again, unfaced. “Look, I’m not saying my logic makes sense but-”

“Seems a stretch to call it logic then, doesn’t it?”

“Tom” you whine, “I love you, but just remove your fucking pants and shove your dick in me already!”

And so he moves his hands to the zipper of his jeans, where a bulge is clear to see. Still smiling he slowly drags it down before shoving his trousers over his hips, letting them fall to the ground. Stepping out of them he kicks them to the side; leaving him just in his boxers which he swiftly removes as well. 

Standing in front of you, completely naked, as you stare at his body with fervent hunger and blazing need makes him feel almost invincible. 

“Take off your shorts” he orders and it surprises him how low and lustful his voice sounds, even to his own ears.

Again you do as he says and he stares at you as you slowly reveal more of the beautiful skin of your body. He wonders if you feel as adored when he looks at you as he does when you look at him. He hopes you do. 

You remove your underwear as well, laying back against the bed to shimmy out of them. He takes a step forward, grabs hold of your ankles as you dangle them in the air. Placing himself in between them he takes one of your uplifted legs and he kisses the soft inside of your calf. 

“Gonna tie these up one day” he says and kisses your skin again. “Tie them up and tease you for hours. Really take my time and drag it out until you’re shaking and breathless and so desperate to come all you can say is ‘please, Tom’”.

He hears how your breath picks up, and can practically sense you growing wetter. Your eyes are glossy with want already. 

Reaching down to your core he slips a finger in you with ease. He snickers. “I’ve barerly even touched you and you’re already this wet?”

Since you can’t deny it you buck your hips up for more instead. He bends down and kisses the tender skin above your ribs with an open mouth. It’s soft and sweet and in sharp contrast from the finger moving inside you; that is all rough and quick movements. 

Moving up he places his wet mouth around one of your nipples and you writhe underneath him, your legs hugging onto his waist. Sucking on the sensitive flesh, gently nippling down on it, he then blows cold air on the wet spot and you moan, bucking up against his hand; that is still moving in and out of you. 

“More” you demand in another moan, and you lift your hips up, holding yourself up by your legs around his waist, pressing yourself against him 

“This is why you should be tied up,” he says, biting your nipple again. You moan and continue to push yourself against him. 

He leans back, grabs a hold of your hips, and twists you until you fall over on your stomach. He spanks your ass, hard; one time, two times, three times, four times. Two on each side. It only has you writhing all the more underneath him. 

He squeezes the soft flesh of your ass in his hands and groans. Moving his hands over your lower back, pressing his palms in almost as if massaging you. Your body is tense, but he knows your body well, knows its because of anticipation for what’s to come. Slowly he removes his big hands from your back, instead slowly dragging his short-nailed finger up over your spine. He watches in fascination as you shower beneath him. 

While he was away filming he had bought a guitar. Had practised the instrument for hours trying to make it play him the perfect sound. But as he drags his finger up your spine again and you whimper he knows that your body is the only instrument he wants to perfect.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Yes” you say, a little breathlessly. 

And again his palm connects with your skin, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the empty house. Again and again and again he does it. You squirm beneath him, gasping and moaning and clasping at the sheets; pushing back against his palm, eager for more. He spanks you until your skin feels warm, so he moves his hand in soothing circles over the tender place as you breathe out a sigh. 

“Come here” he says, and his voice is gruff and tender with need for you. Pulling you up towards him until you back is pressed against his chest, your legs widely spread so your thighs are outlining his and your glistening wet cunt is pressed against his dick. 

Playing with the tip of his cock, teasing it against your entrance he whispers rasperly in your ear, “think you can be quiet?”

You look over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, and nod eagerly. 

“You sure?” he asks, continuing to tease you. “You see, Haz could come back any second now and we wouldn’t want him to hear you, would we?”

You shake your head, and god, you really must want this because you waste no time arguing with him. So he decides to reward you and slips himself into you; pulls your body even closer to yours. 

You bite your lip to hold back the moan but it slips through your lips anyway. 

He moves a hand up to your throat, places his Rolex clad wrist around it, and the other hand around your waist; guiding you up and down over his cock, as if you were bouncing in his lap. Your breasts move up and down with the movement and honestly he wishes he had more arms so that he could touch you everywhere at once. 

When another moan falls from your lips he shushes you gently in your ear, “ now, now” he warns. 

He lifts you higher up and higher up by each movement, before pressing you down harder and deeper against him 

And then you both hear it. A car driving up the driveway. 

Haz is home. 

He slams you down against him again and the ecstatic sound that leaves you is positively animalistic. He reaches for your panties, discarded on the side of the bed. Balling them up he moves it to your mouth and obligingly you open it. He shoves them in before tenderly kissing the side of your lips. Your eyes are tight shut in concentration, trying with all your might not to make a sound as you hear footsteps walking by outside. 

“Remember, quiet now” he warns, mouth pressed against your ear. 

Yet you make a deep, wanton moan and he fuck up into you even harder, grinds your hips against his until your eyes roll back in pleasure. 

“Think you like this darling” he whispers again against your ear. “Think you like the thought of maybe getting caught. Think you like knowing that this is what I’ll think of for those months we spend apart and I gotta take care of myself.” 

He pushes you up and forward, until you’re on your hands and knees for him and with one swift movement he’s inside you agains; the angle so perfect it has him seeing stars. 

“Almost made me come before I was ready there” he says and spanks your ass, though not as hard as last time. 

You're slick and wet and he can see it running down your thigh and he wants to groan in pleasure but outside he’s pretty sure Harrison is talking to the neighbor, looking for his keys. 

He pulls you up closer to him and slams into you until you're clenching around him, your skin so hot against his thighs it feels like they are on fire. He knows you love this position and its clear in your tense, arched body.

He leans down and to out of breath now to whisper he says in a hushed voice, “he’ll be inside the house soon, you gonna be quiet? Or is Haz about to find out just how slutty you are?”

Your answer is yet another moan, muffled against your panties. 

So he fucks into you; hard and fast and deep and it’s like the pleasure is everywhere; clouding his eyes from seeing clearly and stopping his lungs from breathing freely. Your toes are curled and your back is arched and it all feels so overwhelmingly and blissfully intense; so fragile and vivid and frantic it’s like neither of your body quite knows what to do with all the pleasure. Like you are both about to combust from it. 

His arms and legs are shaking with the effort and he feels sweat running down his back. But then you shake as well and he feels you convulse around him and god - it’s heaven.

It takes a while before you both return to reality. He removes your underwear from your mouth and gently kisses your lips; pulling you in close against him.

“Love you” he says and kisses the tip of your nose. “Thank you for visiting.”

[purecantarella]

My Ball of Sunshine

my tags and posts are still blocked, but i hope that the people who see this still enjoy❣️also, BELATED TZUYU DAY! also, i live for clichés so leave me be HAHAHAHA highschool AU : nerdy!chou tzuyu x athletic!reader disclaimer : some hate speech and curses, just be wary and don't do this to other people.

Since you were a freshman, you were the school's golden student. Perfect grades, linebacker for the school team even a candidate for captain, running for team captain, healthy social life, and it helped that you were easy on the eyes for both men and women. Everyone wanted to either be you or be with you. There was no in between.

You were the sunshine of the entire school.

So it came to the surprise Chou Tzuyu, the resident quiet average student, when she caught your eye.

The both of you had gone to the same school since you were in elementary school. You'd always briefly passed one another while never actually acknowledging each other's existence. But even so, both your eyes were on each other when neither of your attention was on the other.

It had been one of those serendipitous moments. The rain had started coming down hard, cancelling your team's practice, when you'd formally met Tzuyu for the first time. You were driving home when you saw her fallen over, picking up her soaked textbooks, scratched up knee, dirtied uniform, and wiped away the tears that had had melded in with the rain the chilled her to the bone.

You pulled over hastily and got out the car to help your peer. You covered your head with your hand, squatting down to help her collect herself. Her eyes went wide seeing you of all people. You looked up at her surprised face, a laugh bubbling up through your chest as you picked up her books.

"Come on, let's get you out of the rain, yeah?" You offered, beckoning her to the car.

Once inside, safe from the rain. You reached into the back to grab one of the many hoodies that you had stashed there in case of emergencies. Carefully, you placed the jacked around her, brushing the wet hair from her face. A blush coated her usually pale features as you fussed over her.

When you were sure that she was at least relatively dry, you offered her your usual bright grin. Tzuyu's heart jumping at the sight of your warm smile. As for you, upon seeing her curious brown eyes, pink lips, and her soft and adorable aura, butterflies erupted in your stomach. You bit the inner layer of your cheek gently before saying, "Uh, hey, I'm Y/F/N."

A her lips quirked up into a fleeting but blush-educing smile. She shook her head. "Yeah, I know who you are." Tzuyu leaned back shyly, in attempts to hide the blossoming color that had begun to stain her cheeks. "I'm Chou Tzuyu."

From then on, it wasn't like you could ignore her any longer. The Taiwanese girl was in every one of your classes and even on some occasions you caught her eyeing you during lunch when before her friends giggled at her broken demeanour.

Not long after that, you gave into your desire and began courting her in secret. It was often that Tzuyu would find notes in her locker talking about how amazing she was or how you were happy to be there for her if ever you were needed. Of course the apex came when you were both partnered together for a project.

Like what was previously mentioned, it'd felt like serendipity.

"Chou!" You called, running down the busy school hall. The tall girl had looked back to you, the flutters in her stomach appearing at the sight of your familiar smile. "How about I drive you home again today? So we can work on the project today." You offered, the sparkle in your eye mirroring that of a pup seeing their favorite chew toy.

She tilted her head to the side curiously. "Don't you have practice today?" Tzuyu asked softly

Again, you chuckled softly. The aura around you remaining the warm and welcoming one that brought the other girl so much comfort. "As important as football is to me, I want to give time to other things that are valuable to me." Your teeth snagged your lower lip softly. Thinking for a moment. "That is, of course, if you'd want me to."

Tzuyu controlled the urge to coo at your adorable blushing face, the way your head tilted down in a way it never did usually. You were confident and it took a lot to faze you. So seeing the way you played with your fingers, shifted from side to side, the warmth from your aura had seeped so far into her chest. She could only nod, making your eyes light up like stars.

"Great! Here let me..." You trailed off, taking her books in your hand before leading her to your car in the lot. Catching the eye of almost all the by standing students. You walking some random girl out, holding her books, and most especially, driving away with her was a huge deal.

In a matter of hours, people were texting both of you non-stop, which did trouble Tzuyu a little but she couldn't dwell too much on that with you being a mere table away. Your eyes were dedicatedly trained on the laptop in front of you. Typing away, researching everything you needed for the project. A smile graced her lips, you really were the golden student everyone praised. As you craned your neck, seeking some relief from the tension, your eyes landed on the tall girl startled and her gaze shooting back down to the references before her.

You made an attempt to conceal your smile as you stood up to sit beside her. Wordlessly continuing your work. After a while, both of you gradually scooted each of your seats closer to the other until both your hands were flushed against one another. Tentatively, you moved your hand slowly to intertwine your fingers with hers.

Tzuyu honestly had no complaints, she sat there, reading the same page over and over again. Her focus long gone from the books in front of her. Then again, the soft tapping from your side had ceased a little bit ago as well.

The two of you just sat there, feeling the warmth of each other's hands. Letting the memory mark in your minds. Not long after that your mom had called, prompting you to come home. Tzuyu didn't hesitate to walk you to your car.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" You asked, opening the car door slightly, your bag lazily slung over your shoulder. She nodded, a wide smile gracing her lips. You mirrored the smile and fully swung the door open. She stood there, silently waiting for you to say something more while you hesitantly entered the vehicle. The tall girl disappointedly and slowly made her way to their house door.

Your vision lingered on your classmate before you thought, 'fuck it.' Your fingers thumped the wheel briefly before you rolled down your window. "Hey Tzuyu?" You called as she whipped back to face you hastily. You bit back the smile that had wanted to erupt onto your lips. "Would you, uh, maybe be okay for me to pick you up before school tomorrow? We get some coffee and get to know each other?" You asked, your head sticking out the window.

The smile on her face returned, eyes turning to crescents before she nodded enthusiastically. "I would love to, Y/n." Your blood rushed at the sound of her voice saying your name. You bit your lower lip before nodding and driving away, leaving the tall girl to place a hand on her forehead. Her cheeks hurting from the growing smile on her face. Meanwhile you your gaze flicked from her form in the rear view to the street, your lip caught under your teeth.

"Oh sweet Lord." You whispered to yourself, running a hand through your hair.

The next morning you stood there nervously tapping at your bag quietly. The cold morning air blew against you and made you shudder despite the thick varsity jacket that you had draped over your shoulders. You were spacing out, listing out the potential things that could go wrong.

A door quickly opening and closing snapped you out of your daze. You looked up and saw the Taiwanese beauty in all her glory. You could tell that there was a little more effort in the light make-up she usually had on but you didn't mind. You pushed yourself off of your car to help her once again with her books.

"Good morning, miss Chou!" You greeted her with a small yet still gleaming smile. She responded with a soft, "Hello." To which the grin on your face grew into a toothy one. You moved to open the car door for her before placing her belongings carefully in the back.

She quirked a curious brow upon seeing your clean backseat. "No piles of hoodies this time?" You laughed softly eyeing the now free space. "That day was an exception. Had I known I would pick you up that day, it would have been clean." You said making her giggle softly.

"Sure," She said rolling her eyes and leaning into the seat.

You looked at her ensemble. It was the school's standard uniform but you noted that she had no way to cover herself from the draft that circled the South Korean air. You slipped off the jacket that you wore and offered it to her. Her brown eyes went wide as she stared at it.

"It's not a big deal, I promise. It's just that it's extra chilly today and I don't want you to get cold." You explained quickly, hand still out waiting for her to take the school jacket. Tzuyu took it quietly before pulling it around herself, savouring your earthy scent that lingered on the fabric.

"Let's go?" You asked before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway.

After you'd gotten some coffee, you'd realized there was little to no time for you two to sit and chat. So you decided to get to school and hang out during lunch. You pulled up and helped her out of the car. Both of you could feel eyes on you both the moment you walked out. Not only did you both exit the same car together, but she was clad in the jacket with your last name embroidered on the back.

She shied away from the glances of the other students. Seeing her unease, you took her free hand in yours. "You're fine...Okay? I've got you." You assured her quietly before she offered you a shy smile.

Once her books were in hand you both made your way into the school, hands still tightly intertwined together. Her locker was already swarmed with jealous girls and cocky looking jocks that you didn't particularly like too much off of the field.

"Y/n!" One of the jocks called, a dumb smile on his face as he eyed Tzuyu. You maintained your composure and gave him a warm smile. "Hey, what's up?" You greeted meekly in attempts to keep the interaction short.

"Just didn't know you were with Chou Tzuyu." He paused to whisper in your ear. "Fine piece of ass don't you think." Your jaw immediately clenched at his crude words. You felt the shorter girl beside you flinch only doubling your anger yet your expression still stayed the bright and cheery one.

There was no need to get involved with any drama.

"We aren't together, man. I invited her to coffee 'cause I wanted to get to know her better." You tightened your smile. "No fuss in that right?" Tzuyu looked up at you, seeking some form of safety from the jocks and mean girls who surrounded her locker. You glanced down at her, trying to bring her some comfort.

"You could do better if you'd ask me, Y/n..." A snarky girl said, checking her nails. With her words, Tzuyu shrunk under everyone's gaze. Even yours. That's when your gaze shot to the girl who'd spoken. The aura around you immediately changed. The hallway went quiet as they saw your expression darken. Once warm and welcoming eyes turned hard and bore holes into the shocked girl's.

You pondered for a moment, releasing Tzuyu's hand briefly to shove your hand in your pocket. Your stance adjusting so you towered over all of the student's. "But I didn't ask you did I?" You sneered at her.

"What I do or who I hang out with is none of your business. In all honesty, I don't even know any of you all that well." You looked around. "But you have no right to speak to anyone, much more her, that way and if you think that I'll take all of this lying down, you've got another thing coming. You've got me coming for you." You said lowly but it resonated in their ears.

"Do I make myself clear?" You asked, your expression cold and unnerving.

Everyone nodded and dispersed at the loud ring of the bell. Once everyone had left, your shoulders fell as well as a held breath released. You turned back to a stunned Tzuyu. Your expression softened as you saw her still petrified.

"I'm sorry about them...and about that whole scene." You said softly, almost remorsefully. The silence hung over you both. While she was surprised you had that side to you, she couldn't help but feel giddy that it was because of her that that side came out at all.

Tzuyu offered you a small smile before leaning up to peck your cheek quickly. "Thank you for trying to defend me." A heat rushed up to your cheeks before you cleared your throat awkwardly. "Uh, can I walk you to class?"

She wordlessly took your hand and leaned into your touch. Your ears pricked up at the action and you both made your way to her first class.

'This is going to be different than I thought...' She thought to herself as she looked up at the little ball of sunshine that was you.

okay this was kinda messy but bare with me HAHAHAHAHA in any case though, i hope you all enjoyed this! again, this wasn't my best but after every revision this went though this was one of the best. i'm working through some stuff HAHAAHH anyway, requests are open and criticism and opinions on my work are completely accepted. i think some of my functions are working as early as when i post this but my tags i believe are still broken. uh anyway, keep safe everyone and i will see all of you very soon 💖 taglist: @labrachrosite

[tellerluna-stories]

ii. rex lapis

The sands of time shifted once more, and now Rex Lapis ruled over Liyue. His land overflowed with wealth, and all who passed through Liyue saw their businesses prosper. The people who now walked the paved streets of Liyue had happily never known the tragedies of war, and they lived out their lives in blissful ignorance.

Within the Golden House, Rex Lapis paced around restlessly. His horns and claws were nowhere to be seen, as Liyue had no need for such instruments of war. The simple white robes he had donned for battle had been replaced with layers of multicoloured ceremonial robes and intricate headdresses that only the finest artisans could craft.

With these robes came great honour and responsibility, a reminder that the fate of Liyue rested solely upon the shoulders of Rex Lapis. Though they were made of mere fabric, at times Rex Lapis felt that they weighed heavier than chains of pure gold.

He sighed and fiddled with his sleeves— though he was, in fact, the reason mora existed in the very first place, he had to admit he was tired of seeing the same golden shimmer that surrounded him everywhere he looked.

“My lord.”

Without even turning around, he replied, “I told you not to be so formal with me.”

“Alright, alright.” You smiled and spread your hands disarmingly. “Thousands of years, but you’re still as legalistic as ever.”

Unlike Rex Lapis, you had not chosen to change too much about yourself in the years following the Archon War, whether in appearance or personality. It somewhat brought him comfort knowing that in a world that was constantly changing too fast for him to keep up, there was still one person who could keep him anchored; no matter what era you were in, you could always quickly adjust to the practices and customs around you without forcing yourself to mold to them.

“Thousands of years, and I still need to remind you that titles are unnecessary, my friend.”

“Ah, but the question is: am I genuinely forgetting to drop them, or do I keep using them just to irk you?”

He turned around, face carefully devoid of any emotion. “My friend, do you happen to fear the wrath of the Rock?”

He watched in satisfaction as the smug look on your face quickly morphed into one of fearful respect. “As a matter of fact I do, so let’s change the topic. Your robes are simply majestic, my— I mean, Rex Lapis!”

“Do you not have one just like this?” Rex Lapis looked down at his embellished sleeves— the people of Liyue had gifted both of you with ceremonial robes, but he had yet to see you wear them. “If I recall, yours had the phoenix embroidered on the front.”

“Oh yes, I still have it with me.” You bent over and inspected the nearest pile of mora, brushing the golden coins with your fingertips. “I don’t wear it much since it restricts my movements, but maybe I will if there’s a special occasion.”

“I would like to see you wear it someday, if you choose to. You’d look absolutely stunning.”

He waited for some witty comeback, the usual jokes you’d make in response to his compliments— but you remained oddly silent, hunched over the little pile of mora like a bird guarding its nest.

“My friend...?”

Gently, he placed a hand on your shoulder, unknowingly sending an electric current running through your veins.

“Ah, yes, yes! I was just, uh—“ Hurriedly, you jumped to your feet and dusted your hands off on your clothes. “I was just trying to remember where my robe was, that’s all. I stored it away but I don’t exactly remember where— you know how it is, right?”

Yes, you had just forgotten where you had last put that phoenix robe, as though you still didn’t clean it and carefully air it out at least once a month. That robe was one of the few things you treasured dearly, as it was a gift from the people you watched over... and perhaps also because it was a gift that matched with his.

The heat rushing to your face and the quickening of your heartbeat upon hearing him say you’d look stunning— that was out of pure embarrassment, nothing more. He only meant it out of kindness, now, don’t misinterpret his words.

Clearing your throat hastily, you tried to change the subject. “Did you know that there’s a full moon tonight?”

“Is there, now?” He tilted his head to the side; a somewhat endearing habit of his, left over from when he had horns. “I have not left this place in quite some time; the people of Liyue are a little too concerned for my safety to let me venture outside often.”

“They haven’t....?”

But Rex Lapis merely smiled in reply, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “It’s only natural for young people to be overprotective of the ones who take care of them. I’m sure they would do the same for you if you just let them, my friend.”

“You sounded very old when you said that, my lord.”

“Pardon?”

“I said your words shone like gold when you said that, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes skeptically, but you only returned his gaze with a look of pure, angelic innocence. There was no way he could say anything against you, especially not with that look on your face.

“My lord,” You said, with that innocent look still plastered on your face. “Given that you haven’t gone outside in a while, what say you to accompanying one such as myself on an outing this fine evening?”

“An outing, you say?” He put a hand to his chin and pretended to contemplate the idea, silently observing as your eyes lit up with poorly-hidden anticipation. “Where would one go at this hour? It would cause quite a stir if Rex Lapis were to suddenly disappear from his position, with no reasonable explanation.”

To that you raised a finger upwards in reply, pointing to the cavernous roof of the Golden House.

“Technically, you wouldn’t be leaving.” Holding out your hand to him, you smiled and said, “Shall we watch the stars together, then?”

———

“This is incredibly reckless.”

“It’s also incredibly exciting, don’t you think?”

Barely-suppressed laughter bubbled up into your throat as you looked at the great Rex Lapis, who had awkwardly bunched up his robes around his knees. There was no way he could climb to the top of the roof without either damaging his (very costly, one-of-a-kind) robe, or getting him tangled into a mummy wrapping of fine silk.

“Your laughter does not go unnoticed, by the way.” He said, glowing amber eyes trained on the vast ascent of roof tiles before him. “Since this was your idea, how about you think of a solution to this problem?”

The cool night breeze whistled in your ears like a distant flute, and he shivered slightly; it was best to think of a solution quickly, lest Liyue be in uproar over the dignified Rex Lapis catching a mere cold.

You squinted at the rooftop, trying to analyse the best way to scale it with as little collateral damage to your superior as possible. It was certainly possible, especially with your talents as an adeptus (and also because your position did not require such cumbersome clothing), but there would have to be some rather... unusual measures taken.

“Do you trust me?”

He blinked in confusion. “What strange sort of question is—“

Before he could finish, you lifted him off the ground as though you were carrying a princess.

“Hold on tight, my lord.” You whispered, your lips only a few breaths away from his ear. “It may be a little bit unstable.”

He barely had time to wrap his arms around your neck as you leapt into the air, nimbly bounding off the golden tiles like a deer.

What exactly was this situation he was in? Moreover, what was this odd sensation swelling in his heart?

“Mind your sleeves, Rex- I mean, my lord!” You huffed. “I can’t see where I’m stepping if you decide to obscure my sight, which isn’t exactly the best choice for you right now.”

With one final jump, you landed safely on the topmost roof of the Golden House. He could only stare at you blankly as he tried to process what had just happened in the past few minutes— however, you caught onto his stare too easily.

“What, are you surprised that I was able to pull that off?” Shaking your head vigorously to remove the flyaway hair from your eyes, you frowned at him in a jesting manner. “Don’t tell me you’ve been underestimating my abilities this whole time, my lord.”

“No.” He replied immediately. “I would never.”

“That’s what I thought.” With a nod of satisfaction, you gently set him down onto the roof. “Here is the moon and stars for you, as promised.”

Rex Lapis raised his eyes to the sky that he had not seen in some time, and the heavens did not disappoint.

Overhead, the galaxy stretched out in a rich tapestry of hues, stars interwoven in between the threads like beads of precious stones. A full moon hung in the sky, a pearl of great price that took all the beauty that surrounded it and unified it into a beautiful symphony of colours.

For the first time in a while, he felt free— up here with you by his side, there were no such things as duty and responsibility. There were only the two of you in this quiet, peaceful place, with the heavens above as your only witness.

“A lovely night, don’t you think?” You grinned and put your hands on your hips, the wind toying with your hair ever so slightly. “The minute I saw this, I knew you simply couldn’t miss it; not in a thousand years.”

His gaze lingered on the picture of you bathed in a soft halo of moonlight, smiling dreamily at the stars above. “...Very lovely, indeed.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Jolting suddenly, you fumbled as you brought out a brass bottle and a pair of teacups from seemingly thin air. “I figured it would be cold out, so I prepared something, just in case.” You gestured for him to sit. “Have a seat while you’re waiting— can’t have the ruler of Liyue standing around waiting for me to serve him, can I?”

“Your judgement is as impeccable as ever, my friend. Whatever would I do without you?”

You rolled your eyes as you began to unscrew the cap of the bottle. “Such flattery is unnecessary. We both know that you could manage Liyue just as well if you were on your own.”

“That doesn’t mean I would want to.” He hesitated, unsure if what he would say next would make you uneasy. “You have done more for me and for Liyue than you could possibly imagine, and I... I sincerely wish for you to know that. You have just as an important role in Liyue as I do, and this place would not be what it is today without you.”

Pausing in what you were doing, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his— there was nothing but pure sincerity in his eyes and words. He truly meant what he was saying, and the way he worded it made your heart- no, no, this wasn’t the time for that.

“...Thank you, Rex Lapis. Those words mean a lot to me, especially coming from you.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” He put a hand to his mouth in mock disbelief. “Say that once more, my friend, I do not think I heard you well the first time.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” You glared at him. “It seems that your age is showing, my lord. Perhaps I should carry you back inside, if your age has really advanced so rapidly.“

“You called me Rex Lapis, for once. This is a day that this aged man shall remember for the rest of his life, and shall be inscribed into the history of Liyue as a momentous occasion—“

“The tea will grow cold long before your long-winded speech finishes, my lord. How about you drink first and talk later?”

Rex Lapis gave you an unimpressed stare. “Perhaps if you cease calling me ‘my lord’, I will think the matter over. When did you learn to brew tea, by the way?”

You returned his stare with one equally matched in unimpressed energy. “Over the years, I’ve found that the art of tea-brewing helped greatly in calming myself, and so I’ve been practicing ever since. Your cup, please— my lord.”

He rolled his eyes at your smug face and held out his cup.

A faint wisp of steam curled from the bottle as the dark liquid trickled into his teacup, along with some unknown plant matter. His thoughts must’ve shown clearly upon his face, for you burst out laughing upon seeing it. “It’s not poison, for Celestia’s sake! If I were planning to assassinate you, I would’ve done it eons ago.”

“And how is that meant to bring me any reassurance?”

“Oh, it wasn’t intended to.” You poured a cup for yourself and downed a sip of your concoction. “But no assassin would be fool enough to drink the poison intended for their target... except for me, possibly. Drink up!”

Rex Lapis still eyed the teacup in his hands suspiciously— but then again, you had never given any reason for him to doubt you, so why should he start now?

“So, is it good?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the unique flavours on his tongue. “If I could, I would drink the tea you make everyday for the rest of eternity.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words; you choked, nearly sending the bottle of tea tumbling off of the roof. “Ah- er, well—“

“What, is that too humble of praise for it? I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

“No, it’s just- well, it sounds like a phrase I’ve heard among the merchants of Inazuma— oh, never mind. I’m glad you like it.”

“What did you put in it to make it taste so exquisite?”

Leaning closer to him, you whispered, “Petals of peach blossom and glaze lily flowers. Along with some other choice ingredients, but what truly gives it that taste and aroma is the flowers.”

Your face was close, closer than he ever even dreamed to approach in a million years; in the pale moonlight, your eyes glittered brighter than any jewel the earth could give. Any dragon would covet such a treasure and guard it with their very life.

How had he not noticed how mesmerizing your eyes were till tonight?

“Absolutely fascinating,” He murmured, before belatedly realizing he said it aloud.

“Isn’t it?” You hummed in agreement. “It’s my special brew. I experimented on it until I could perfectly balance the flavours to my liking.” Your gaze swiveled to the elaborate water gardens sprawled in front of the Golden House. “Do you want me to plant a peach tree and some glaze lilies by the front of the gate? I could do that, if you really do enjoy my tea that much.”

A mix of relief and disappointment washed over him; you hadn’t realised he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

He mused over the idea— it didn’t seem so bad, after all, but...

“I’d like to plant them somewhere more.... permanent. Somewhere we can watch them grow together.”

“Say the word, and your wish is my command.” You beamed at him. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll have them in full bloom for you in no time, no matter the season.”

A warm, fluttering feeling filled his chest, and Rex Lapis suddenly found it harder to breathe than before. His face felt oddly warm, while his hands were cold— was it a result of the night air? He wasn’t that old yet.

Anxious to change the topic before you cracked another joke about his age, he quickly asked, “How are the affairs of Liyue doing, my friend?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “The trade routes are thriving splendidly. Many merchants from the other regions come to seek permission to transport goods to and from their lands, so I’ve been handling most of their affairs. Even picked up some of their languages while at it.” A mischievous smile spread across your face as you said, “Tu ne me comprends pas, non? Je t’aimerai pour toujours et à jamais, mon amour.”

“Impressive.” He hadn’t understood a word of what you had said, but he was almost dead certain that you were poking fun at him. “It is good to see that Liyue is in such capable hands. What about the—“

“—the adepti? Oh, they’re all doing quite well, I believe. They don’t really leave their abodes anymore, save for Madame Ping and young Ganyu.”

“How about—“

“Xiao? I visit him every now and then, to make sure he eats well and is doing alright. And yes, I bring him the painkillers you have specially made for him.” You paused. “He sends his greetings, and it is very obvious that that boy misses you, even if he won’t admit it himself.”

Rex Lapis breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “You really do know what I’m going to say, even before I say it.”

“What can I say? Even before you need to ask, you can consider it already done.” A chuckle escaped your lips as you scuffed the sole of your shoe against the roof tiles. “That’s why I’m here, after all. Who better than I to carry out the word of Rex Lapis?”

“You had best watch yourself there, my friend, lest your head grows too big for your shoulders.”

“Oh, but my lord, who was the one who gave me this position?” Propping your chin on your steepled fingers, you give him a smug look. “I seem to recall a certain someone appointing me as his right-hand, after all.”

“What has been given can just as swiftly be taken away.”

“You’re no fun.” You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away, pointedly staring at the moon.

“So, what is the real reason you brought me up here?”

In an instant your head whipped back to meet his gaze, eyes wide and mouth agape. “How did you—“

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, and now it was his turn to look smug. “You’re not the only one who can practically read minds, my friend. The facade you put up is better crafted than mine, but I can still see right through you.”

“Well...” You fell silent for a moment, fingers tracing along the sides of the brass bottle and etching invisible patterns into the metal with your fingernails. “I wanted to ask how you were doing.”

Rex Lapis tilted his head slightly, confusion and curiosity melding into one feeling. “How I was doing?”

“I struggle sometimes... with the memories of those who have passed on. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment I forget; I get distracted or actually feel happy, but then I suddenly think of them, and I wonder if I actually have the right to enjoy myself.”

Shifting slightly, your expression was unreadable in the pale moonlight. “But lately, their faces have become blurry, and I get scared when I can’t remember what they look like. It’s the least I can do for my comrades, since I’m the only one left.” You pursed your lips. “Do you have the same problem?”

The somber look on your face stirred up the remorse that still gnawed at his heart, even after all these centuries. You had been suffering alone because of his mistakes, and it pained Rex Lapis even more knowing that no contract he wrote could remedy the empty gap in your heart. All he could do was sit with you and be something you could anchor yourself to, just the way you had been a steadfast rock to him.

He shifted to sit closer to you, no longer caring whether his robes would be dirtied or not. “Not quite the same problem.”

“...Oh.”

“Like you, even after so many years I still cannot help but think of them. Every detail of their lives, their voices and faces— I remember it all.” Rex Lapis looked up to the stars, where perhaps the constellations of your friends lay, and laughed dryly. “Mortal men have been blessed with forgetfulness, but it seems that I have been cursed to remember.”

Tentatively, he raised a hand to gently pat you on the head, just the way his caregiver used to when he was feeling out of sorts or upset. “But worry not, my friend. If what you worry about is forgetting, then I will be the one to remember everything for you.”

“You needn’t worry about me forgetting you, by the way.” You said quietly. “Even if I forget everything else in this world, I know that I’ll always remember you, no matter what form you take.”

The strange, fluttering feeling in his chest returned, coursing through his veins and flowing through his fingertips— subconsciously he pulled his hand away, fearing that those feelings would somehow reach you.

It’s merely the chill of the night air, he told himself.

You said nothing as he pulled away, but Rex Lapis found himself wishing you would say something, anything; complain, or make a joke out of it, or perhaps even ask him to do it again— no, he couldn’t dare dream of that.

Not for your sake.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” You said suddenly, breaking the silence and the maze of thoughts his mind was trapped in.

Rex Lapis looked to the moon over Liyue Harbor, admiring the way it bathed the city in silver light. Though Liyue in the daytime was loud, filled with many colours and sounds that overwhelmed the senses, this version of Liyue was also beautiful to behold.

Perhaps... perhaps this is what she meant by living treasure, he thought to himself.

Caring for this city of people, nurturing them and building a better future for them and the future generations— that was certainly something close to his heart. It didn’t feel exactly like the living treasure he had expected, but as long as you were there to watch over Liyue with him, then perhaps... perhaps it would grow on him as time passed.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It truly is.”

But that evening, he failed to notice that you weren’t looking at the moon.

[drabbles-mc]

Like Father, Like Son

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x F!Reader

Request by Anon: Could you do a fic with someone (idc they could all be my baby daddy lol) being a boy dad. Like helping him fix his bike, temporary tattoos to look like their mini me and just being lovey and protective over their mom like their dad

Warnings: talk of pregnancy, a whole lot of family fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I would die for soft Creeper Vargas. Me and @garbinge had a mini idea-bouncing sesh about him as a family man and I have a feeling this will not be my last fic about Dad!Creeper lmao. Hope you enjoy!

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You heard the familiar rumble of his bike as he pulled into the driveway. Smiling to yourself, you slowly made your way towards the front door. You opened it as he walked up the steps to greet you with a hand on your ever-growing stomach and a light kiss on your lips.

“How are you two ladies today?” he asked as he gently ran his hand over your stomach.

You chuckled, “We’re alright. The rest of your pack, however, is up to no good.”

He smiled, “Oh so they’re my pack now?”

Trying to contain your smirk, you nodded, “Go out back and see what they’ve been up to. You’ll definitely agree that they’re yours today.”

You listened to the sound of his heavy, booted footsteps as he made his way through the house to get to the back yard. You followed a little ways behind, and sure enough moments after you heard the deck door slide shut, you heard the sound of your husband’s laughter filling the air. By the time you made it to the door, Creeper was already crouched down, taking stock of the entire scene in front of him.

“What’s goin’ on out here, lil man?” he asked as he sat down next to his son, who was very seriously looking over all the markers that were spread out in front of him.

“We’re gonna look like you!” your son had the proudest smile on his face as he waved his marker around in the air.

You watched as Creeper took in the sight of his three kids all actually sitting and getting along together. Your son was outnumbered by his little twin sisters, and the three of them bickered constantly the way that young siblings do. But the rare moments when they all really liked each other and got along made the rest of it worth it. You subconsciously rested your hand on your stomach—truthfully neither of you knew the sex of the baby, but Creeper was certain it was another girl. He was practically willing it into existence. You were both going to be thrilled no matter what, but as you stood back and watched Creeper picking out what color to use for his son’s next ‘tattoo’ you couldn’t help but to hope that you’d have another boy running around soon to even out the ranks.

“Who came up with this idea, huh?” Creeper asked the three of them as he carefully started doodling on the back of his son’s hand with a magic marker. The twins simultaneously pointed to their brother and Creeper couldn’t help but to laugh, “I should’ve known.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard them so quiet,” you spoke up as you watched the four of them, “I thought I might’ve lost them for a minute—that’s how quiet the house was.”

“You three? Quiet?” he looked back and forth amongst them, “I don’t believe it,” he put the cap back on the marker and motioned for the girls to come closer, “Lemme see your ink, lil mamas.”

Creeper smiled as he looked at all the designs and doodles that covered his children’s arms. All things being considered, it wasn’t the messiest thing the little crew had ever gotten into. He loved everything about being a father, but moments like this really made his entire heart swell. All three of them had their arms covered in stars and smiley faces, and his son had a very scribbly skull drawn on his knee.

“I like this one,” Creeper tapped his son’s knee lightly, “You do that?” He nodded proudly and Creeper pulled him against his side, “You’ll have to give me one later.”

“Girls?” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, “Now that Dad’s home we can take the dogs out. Still wanna go?”

They leapt up, cheering happily with all the energy that six-year-olds usually had, as they ran inside to grab their socks and shoes. You laughed as you listened to the clamor they caused. Looking back at Creeper and your son, you couldn’t help but to smile.

“You’re more than welcome to come with us,” you rested your arms on top of your new baby bump, “But I figured you two might like some boy time.”

Creeper looked up at you from the floor, “You shouldn’t be doing all that, baby. You should be resting. I’ll take are of it.”

You shook your head, “Walking is good for me, Neron. And for the baby. We’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded as you walked over and placed a kiss on the top of your husband’s head, “Positive. You two have fun. I love you both.”

“Love you,” they both called after you in unison as you walked away. You smiled to yourself as you made your way through the house to catch up with your daughters, who were already being half-dragged out of the house by the dogs they managed to clip the leashes onto.

“Well,” Creeper slowly rose to his feet, holding his hands out to help his son to do the same, “Now that your tattoos are all dry, wanna help me with the bike?”

“Really?” his eyes lit up as he set his hands into his father’s.

“Yea,” he pulled him up and instantly tucked the boy against his side, “C’mon, it’s been a while since we worked on it.”

The two of them walked through the house and made their way out the front door so thye could get to the garage. Creeper stood back, allowing his son to lift and push the garage door up as high as he could before his dad had to take over and open it the rest of the way. Running in, the boy went right over to the light switch and flipped it on. Creeper chuckled as he walked in, making his way over to the large sheet that was draped over his latest project that he’d been tackling little by little with his son.

With a flourish, he removed the fabric, and his son’s eyes instantly lit up. Creeper had always been a bit of a fixer—he liked having projects to plug away at to help him unwind. The bike had been brought to the scrapyard by someone who, “Clearly doesn’t know a fucking thing about motorcycles,” according to Creeper, because there was plenty of potential left for it. The bones were still decent, it just needed a lot of TLC. Creeper called dibs on it and no one was going to fight him on it. So bringing it back to life had been his latest task.

For as much as he enjoyed his solitude a lot of the time, having your son as a built-in assistant to help him with the bike had been a great experience for the both of them. For as young as he was, he was very interested in everything that his father could tell him about the bike, the parts, and the tools used to fix it all. The two of them made a good pair, your son sifting through the tool chest to get whatever his father needed, and Creeper showing him little tricks of taking things apart and putting them back together.

“Y’know,” he cranked the wrench as his son sat next to him, watching intently, “when we’re all done with this, you can choose the color for it if you want.”

His eyes were bright, eyebrows raised in excitement, “Yea?”

He nodded, “Yea. You’ve been doing a lot of work on this—it’s only fair,” he paused for a moment, “It can be your bike, when you’re old enough.”

“Mine?” his eyes were filled with wonder as he thought about what his father had just told him.

“Yea. Just,” he chuckled, “Don’t tell your mom that I said that. It’ll be our little surprise for her.”

“Don’t tell me what?” you were leaning against the garage doorframe, a soft smile on your face as you watched the two of them working together.

Creeper turned around quickly, clearly searching your face to see how much of the conversation you’d heard, “Nothin’, mama. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You chuckled, not convinced, “Mhm. I’m sure,” you absentmindedly ran your hands over your stomach, “Just came out to let you boys know to start wrapping up—dinner’ll be ready in ten.”

You made your way back to the house to finish getting dinner ready and you could hear your two favorite men in the world behind you as they started to clean up their project for the night. It brought a smile to your face and put a warmth in your chest as you walked inside and listened to the loud laughter of your two daughters getting into some kind of trouble in their bedroom.

When they finally made their way inside, you sent them both to wash their hands and get ready for dinner. You could see the disappointment on your son’s face at the thought of washing all of his tattoos away and you had to chuckled quietly to yourself.

“I love you,” Creeper said quietly with a soft smile as he pressed a kiss to your cheek in passing while he made his way to the kitchen sink to wash up.

“I love you too,” you smiled over at him for a second before getting plates and cups down out of the cupboard above your head.

You were getting ready to lift the stack of plates when your son came sliding into the kitchen, skidding skillfully on the hardwood floor in his socks. He lifted the plates instead, beating you to it. You tried to take them back from him, not wanting him to drop the entire stack of plates and have them break, but he insisted.

“I got it, Mom,” he reassured with a nod.

“Honey, I don’t want you to—”

“Dad said you need to rest,” he turned and started walking towards the dining room table, “I got it.”

You chuckled as you glanced over at your husband, “Between the two of you, I’m never going to get to do anything anymore, am I?”

He laughed and kissed you lightly on the lips, “Maybe not. But it’s because we love you.”

You gently cupped his cheek and ran your thumb along his cheekbone, “I love you too.”

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

My entry for Day 1: Music & Day 2: Deities of @patrochillesweek​ 2021! Where the Greeks in Troy celebrate Dionysus' festival, and Achilles and Patroclus spend some time alone (~4.5k words, rated E for smut, check Ao3 link for full list of tags)

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 1: With a Shuddering Gasp

The music from the lyres and cymbals drifted through the camp, mingling with the crackling of flames from the many bonfires that had been lit. The celebrations for Dionysus’ festival had been going on for most of the day and the night before, and the scent of incense and wine hung heavy in the air.

I had never before attended such a festival. It wasn’t celebrated this widely in Opus or Phthia, where I had grown up. The Dionysia was among the largest festivals in Athens, celebrated with days and nights filled with drink, dance and theatrical performances of all kinds. Here, in the Achaean’s camp, where people from the farthest reaches of Greece gathered, it had quickly become a tradition.

I had been in the healers’ tent for most of the day, and now the moon hung high over the dark sea. My fingers were red from scrubbing, my eyes were tired, and the pungent scent of astringent was thick in my nostrils. I was weary, but it was a pleasant sort of weariness. When I worked, my mind was free of thoughts, of worries. I focused only on the act of healing, on helping the wounded soldiers as best I could. A bloody skirmish earlier that day had filled the beds in the tent to bursting, yet no lives had been lost. Perhaps the Trojans had been as tired of bloodshed as the Greeks were on that chilly February afternoon.

“Your wound needs to be cleaned and dressed once a day,” I told the soldier I'd been tending to, securing the bandage around his arm. “And stay away from the thick of the fight, if you can help it. Sweat and dirt will only slow down the healing.”

He nodded and stood up, limping away. I brushed the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, letting out a soft sigh, just as Philomela, one of the healers’ assistants, approached me.

“It’s late, Patroclus,” she said. “You should join the celebrations, before they are over.”

I smiled at her. She was small in stature, with her wild curly hair bound in tight braids. She was one of Menelaus’ women, taken after an attack on one of the northern villages of Troy. She’d been brought to me one day with a cut on her thigh, her knees scraped, her eyes wide in panic and terror. I had been the first to treat her, and she had since regarded me with kindness and reserved affection. Menelaus was kind with his women, and he often let her join me while I worked, helping me, and I taught her what I knew.

“I don’t often join festivals like these,” I told her earnestly. “There's too much noise and commotion, and I am not a heavy drinker.”

“What about your prince?” she asked, her gaze darting away before settling on me again. “Achilles?”

The name was uttered quietly, almost apprehensively. It always stung, just a little, to know that the captives thought of Achilles with so much trepidation. His exploits had earned him something of a reputation, as I understood it: the Greeks revered him, while the Trojans feared the very mention of him. Philomela had visited our camp once or twice, and had seen that Achilles was quiet, almost gentle, when he wasn’t in his armour, yet a hint of disquiet was always there.

I shook my head, dipping my hands in the brass bowl that we used to clean ourselves. The water was cold and refreshing when I splashed it over my face and neck.

“Achilles does not much enjoy noisy gatherings like these either,” I said. “He... prefers being on his own these days.”

It had not always been so. Achilles relished the attention of others; he blossomed with it, and there was bound to be much of it if he joined in the celebration. His campaigns over the last couple of months had been met with overwhelming success, filling his men’s coffers with gold and riches and their camps with slaves. The leaders of the Achaeans would toast him and drink plenty of wine in his honour, the bards would sing of his achievements and his skill in battle until the early morning. Yet, boasting such as this was not always met with alacrity. There were many amongst the Danaans that envied Achilles the power of his station, and sneered at his reputation when they thought he was out of earshot.

Achilles was proud, and rarely paid attention to rumours and gossip. Yet, when he sometimes refused to grace Agamemnon’s lavish dinners with his presence, I could tell it was because the leader of the Greeks occasionally had trouble holding his tongue, especially after a few cups of wine. That was when the older man would gloat and boast, often blowing his own achievements out of proportion, in an effort to measure up to Achilles’ greatness, his promise of glory, the prophecy that had followed him since the moment of his birth, his reputation that only grew, day after day.

One does not need the blood of a goddess, he would say, his cheeks flushed from the drink, eyes gleaming, after recounting a story that was supposedly about a hero of old, if they have the favour of one. Would you not agree, Pelides?

Achilles pretended not to hear, not to know. He would smile at Agamemnon with all his teeth and toast him graciously, as Peleus had taught him, but he was still a man. He had learned to hide his true feelings from others, but I could still see how the whispers fuelled his frustration, how they turned him bitter, even when he insisted they did not.

Achilles was sharp and direct from nature; it troubled him when others were not. He wanted things to be simple and clear-cut, yet, here, they were anything but.

I sighed again, patting my hands dry on a linen towel. Philomela was by my side when we walked out of the tent, and into the festivities. The bonfires were burning high into the night, and from the lit braziers tendrils of incense smoke curled towards the stars. Soldiers and their women gathered around the heat, drinking and dancing to the rhythm of the music that the bands were tirelessly playing. Not a few were wearing animal furs, their faces darkened with soot, as was the custom.

No sooner had I walked out than someone grabbed me by the arm and thrust a cup of wine in my hands. I blinked up, startled, to see Diomedes grinning at me.

"Come," he said. "Drink. Celebrate with us."

I smiled politely and shook my head. "I really should be going back."

"What for?" Odysseus was quick to appear beside him, his usual easy smile ready on his lips. "You've been working all day. Everyone deserves a break, from time to time."

"That's right." Diomedes' wolfish grin got wider, his dark eyes sparkling. "All work and no play makes people dull, haven't you heard?"

Odysseus smiled encouragingly at me behind the rim of his own cup. "Have a drink with us. Just because he doesn't join us anymore doesn't mean you can't."

Of course he was referring to Achilles. It had not gone unnoticed that he had been avoiding gatherings such as these of late. I swallowed as I accepted the cup and reluctantly brought it to my lips. If my presence there could smooth those ruffled feathers, then a drink or two couldn't be that bad, could it?

The wine hit my tongue in a rush of heat, honey and spices. It warmed me as it glided down my throat, pushing the edges of my weariness away. I took another draught, letting its acidic sweetness jolt me awake.

My mild surprise must have been plain on my features, for Diomedes clapped me on the shoulder, chuckling knowingly. "That's it," he said, "that's a good lad. Now, drink up."

I didn't need further encouragement. The wine was unlike any I've ever tried; before long, I had drained my cup, and a servant had filled it to the brim again. The wild cadence of the drums and the flutes matched the beats of my heart, and I wasn't even thinking about my tired and aching limbs when Menelaus' arm wound around my shoulders, pulling me towards the writhing, undulating crowd.

In the smoke of the fires, in the heat of so many bodies moving close together, I forgot about my troubles, my worries. The edges of consciousness blurred, a mist that curled around me, rendering me indefinable. I closed my eyes and simply moved to the rhythm, blending into the crowd like a single petal amongst countless falling cherry blossoms, swirling with the wind.

In the depth of that mist, in the midst of that insubstantial territory, I saw him.

Achilles.

I saw him as he was once, years before, far away from the fires and blood of the war, from the intrigue, the whispers, the jealousy. I saw him running down the beach in Phthia, the pink undersides of his feet flickering. I saw the rich honey brown strands that hid in the depths of his golden hair, the wind that combed through them and brought them before his eyes when he turned to look at me. I saw him swimming in the stream in Pelion, the water running down his limbs in laze swirls.

I could see him clearly in my mind's eye, as if he were there. I could see him laughing, singing, playing his lyre in the pale light of morning, golden and vibrant and carefree. And in him, I saw myself.

I opened my eyes as the beat of the music reached a wild crescendo, as the people cheered and sang at the top of their lungs. Cups were raised high up in the air, wine swirling, overflowing, spilling from its confines and mixing with the brown dirt underfoot. Menelaus was dancing with one of his women — Aristea, his favourite, the fabric of her colourful dress tangling at her ankles as he swirled her about. Her laughter was drowned out by the noise, fading away.

I took a deep breath to center my focus, and stepped back, away from the crowd. My heart was still beating fast, and the music was hypnotic, but I knew I had to return to my own camp before it got too late.

Odysseus and Diomedes were caught in the festivities as well, so no one noticed me slipping away. Only Philomela's eyes caught mine amidst the sea of bobbing heads, and pushed her way towards me. She was holding a bowl filled with the sweets that the slaves had made earlier that day for the festival, dried fruits stuffed with nuts and drenched with syrup.

"For you," she said, smiling warmly at me, "and your prince."

~

The music and noisy chatter from the festival had dulled to a hazy, distant thrum by the time I made my way back to our camp. I was still feeling lightheaded from the drink, breathless from dancing and weaving through the endless rows of tents and throngs of inebriated, laughing soldiers. My brow was damp with sweat despite the chilly night, and my pulse still thumped in my throat in a strange sort of anticipation, a restless hunger. I clutched the bowl close to my chest, and hurried on.

The soft, plaintive sounds of Achilles’ lyre reached me as soon as I caught sight of the Phthian banners, fluttering in the breeze at the edges of our encampment.

Achilles was sitting on a bench, my mother’s golden lyre nestled in his lap. His fingers ran over the strings languidly, plucking notes that were brighter than water from a babbling stream, sweeter than honey. In the fire’s trembling halo, he seemed ethereal, very nearly transparent, yet at the same time more vibrant than I had ever seen him, dispelling the darkness of the night beyond. His hair caught the amber light on the flames and reflected it in aureate strands, his skin shimmered like polished gold, the muscles of his arms rose and fell underneath it like waves with every movement.

Beautiful, my mind supplied, as it always did when I looked at him. I had been gazing upon him since I was a child; it still was not enough for me to get used to him, to the effortless grace of his presence, the perfect symmetry of his eyes, his lips. The festivities that had been raging for a day and a night may have well been for Dionysus, yet it was Achilles, right there before me, who looked like a god, one for whom people gathered on wintry nights like this, to drink and dance and fornicate in his honour.

Would people remember him with kindness, I wondered, many years from now?

His jade green eyes snapped up to mine, and the familiar heat rushed through me, brushing away my swirling, distracted thoughts.

He set the lyre beside him and stood up. “You stayed with the healers until late tonight,” he said.

“I did,” I replied simply, standing at the edge of the fire. The bowl with the sweets was still cradled in my chest. Achilles glanced at it curiously, then at me.

“Is there something amiss?” he asked.

Of course he could tell I was different, just by looking at me, without me having to say anything. He always understood so much more about me than he let on.

“I just like looking at you.”

Achilles tilted his head ever so slightly to the side in question, a tiny fox’s smile curling the edges of his lips. He stood up and paced towards me unhurriedly, his footsteps barely audible on the soft earth.

My pulse raced ever so slightly when his finger brushed carefully under my eye. “You’re flushed,” he said.

“I had some wine. At the festival.”

“Ah.” His finger travelled higher, tracing my cheekbone. “Your pupils are larger than usual. What did you do?”

“Nothing.” I smiled. “It’s so I can see you better.”

Achilles huffed a quiet laugh at that, his features softened by pleasure. He always liked it when I gazed at him, praised him. The sound of his laughter slithered down my spine like warmed honey.

I do not know what possessed me then. Perhaps it was the drink, or the moon that hung high above us like a silver coin, or the way the firelight danced in his eyes and caressed the side of his face, but I had to be alone with him.

I took his hand in mine, walking backwards towards our tent. I could not look away, nor did I want to.

“One of Menelaus’ women gave me these sweets,” I told him. “They’re for you.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, amused. He caught on the game I was playing instantly, by reflex. “Then I’ll be sure to try them.”

We stepped in the tent together, the leather flap closing soundlessly behind us. I set the bowl on the low table that stood in the center of the place that we had come to call home, ever since we’d come to Troy.

We stood opposite each other across the table, facing each other, our breaths the only sounds. I swallowed; I did not know why I was feeling so restless all of a sudden, like it was the first time we had found ourselves alone.

“Take your pick,” I said, gesturing at the bowl.

Achilles quirked a fair brow as he glanced down at them, like a lord perusing a lowly merchant’s stall. “I will not choose at random,” he replied in an artfully haughty tone. “You must choose for me. You are my therapon; I know you will choose well.” He was in a playful mood, smiling at me like a mischievous boy; I loved it when he got like this. I didn’t often get to see him like that anymore.

I picked up one of the sweets and brought it to my lips. My teeth sank in the supple flesh of a dried fig, the walnuts within it softened from the syrup. I chewed slowly, my eyes never leaving him.

“How is it?” he asked. “Is it good?”

I shook my head. “Not good enough for you, my prince.”

Achilles bit back a grin, eyes shining. “Go on, then. Try another.”

And so I did. I picked up the syrupy fruits slowly, one after another, watching him. Every time Achilles asked me how it was, I answered in the same fashion: “Not good enough for you, my prince.”

I tried one of every sweet in the bowl, until my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth with the sweetness. When I had finished my thorough examination, Achilles crossed his arms leisurely before his chest.

“So, what is your verdict?” he asked, smirking. “Which one amongst them is the sweetest for me?”

I licked my lips, sticky with honey and spices, as my heartbeat soared. I reached into the bowl and dipped two fingers in the syrup, then slowly, holding Achilles’ gaze, I lifted them to my neck, dragging them across my skin.

“I am, my prince.”

Achilles’ eyes flashed in the half dark. There was something feral about the way his gaze honed in on me; a hunter’s gleam. He circled the table, closing the distance between us in two well-measured strides. I could smell the sweet scent of his sweat as he leaned in close, and a deeper, muskier one; the smell of his arousal. I bit the inside of my lip as his arm wound around my waist, pulling me until I was flush against him.

“Then I shall have you,” he whispered in my ear.

I shivered when his tongue brushed the side of my neck, warm and slick, velvet smooth. My head tipped backwards and I clung to him, holding him tight against me. His skin was hot to the touch underneath the fabric of his chiton, hotter than my own. Achilles’ mouth traced the hollow of my throat, the line of my jaw, the curve of my chin, before brushing over my own.

“I believe,” he hummed, his tongue flicking over my bottom lip, “this, here, is the sweetest yet.” His hands were on the base of my spine, drawing me in, and I was helpless in his hold. “You chose well.”

A soft moan escaped me, my fingers sinking into Achilles’ fragrant strands while he kissed me until my breath was all but gone from me. I followed the line of his neck, his shoulder, undoing the golden clasps that held his chiton in place. I could feel the weight of his waking interest pressing up against my thigh, and I suddenly couldn’t bear the feeling of clothes between us, or anything else; it had to be just us.

I pushed the fabric down, caressing and kissing every inch of skin I uncovered. I looked up at him when I had sunk down on my knees before him, bare as he was, his form illuminated by the shifting light of the brazier. My pulse hummed in my ears as I let my gaze follow the muscled planes of his chest and stomach, the definition in his arms, the strength of his powerful legs. He was watching me, too, through eyelashes that gleamed like threads of gold.

“My sweet Patroclus,” he whispered, thumb brushing over my lips, and in his gaze that familiar fondness lingered, unchanged through the many years I’d known him.

This. This was how I liked him best. When he was naked before me, body and heart, looking at me like this, touching me like this. This was when I knew he was mine, and mine alone; the world could not take this from me. From us.

I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around him, taking him in my mouth. Achilles shivered underneath me, his lips falling open on a quiet moan. His emerald eyes were dark with wanting, bottomless, when he reached down and threaded his long fingers through my hair. I was caught, pinned under that gaze, magnetised.

“Achilles,” I breathed, kissing the smooth skin of his navel as I stroked him, breathing in the musk of his sweat, the scent that rose from him: sandalwood, pomegranate, almonds and earth.

His hold on the back of my head tightened. He pulled me up gently and nudged me towards our bed, and I followed, half stumbling over my own toes.  

My back sank into the furs as Achilles climbed over me, hovering above me. His smile was half-obscured by the trembling shadows, framed by the curtain of golden hair that fell around his face. The scent of the oil he used wafted in the air when he opened the vial that lay beside our bed.

“There’s more I haven’t tried,” he said.

“Is there?” I whispered. I spread my thighs wider apart, sighing when I felt the pressure of his fingers between my legs.

“Yes.” He kissed and nipped his way down, glancing up at me mischievously every time his fingers and tongue drew more shivers from me. His breath was hot over me when he said, “I have saved the best for last.”

I laughed, but the edges of my laughter broke on a strained sob of pleasure. I could feel him everywhere, his hands wandering all over me, the heat of his mouth swallowing me whole. I closed my eyes and surrendered to him, to this blissful, blessed torture. I was helplessly drawn to him, in his hands a mere plaything. Like the lyre he played, I was but an instrument, his touches drawing sounds from me that were meant for his ears alone.

When my heart had been filled to bursting, just when I thought that I would unravel in his hands, he pulled back, climbing back up the length of me again. His cheeks were flushed and so were his lips, his length hard against my skin where it touched me.

I reached up and cupped the back of his neck, heart beating wildly in my chest. “Is there more you’d like to try?” I asked in a teasing whisper. “Or have you had enough?”

“Enough?” His laughter was husky, a tad breathless. He kissed me deeply, reaching for the oil once more. “I’ll never have enough, philtatos.”

I gasped softly when he pressed against me, opening me up. My arms and legs wound around him, as if by rote, clutching him hard, pulling him to me. We were flush against each other, our bodies locking perfectly like two pieces of a whole. There was no one else but him in the world; there was no room for anything else. Just my skin touching his skin, the smell of his hair and the sweetness of his mouth, his quiet sighs in the half dark, and this hunger: these endless wells of aching want that existed between us, this fire that burned eternal.

We moved and breathed in unison, the edges between us blurring once more, our bodies melting into one. I closed my eyes and lost myself in that heat, that pressure, the pleasure that built and built, yet it was still him that I saw behind my eyelids. Even when my gaze turned inward and I drifted, swimming in the deepest recesses of my mind, I could always find him there, waiting for me, his image crisp as if he were right before me. He was a part of me, as I was of him; there was no me without him.

Achilles buried his face in the crook of my neck as he thrust deeper, harder, more urgently. His brow was damp with sweat now, his fingers digging into the flesh of my thigh where he held me fast. I was pinned underneath him, legs spread open at either side of his powerful hips, my hands roaming over the taut muscles of his back. Muscles that I knew better than my own, lines and angles that I could trace in the dark, with my eyes closed.

“Patroclus,” Achilles said in a shuddering gasp against my throat as his thrusts got faster, more erratic. “Patroclus—”

Achilles often got impatient, chasing his finish like a lion locked on to a deer, yet I didn’t want this to end just yet. I didn’t want to lose this warm, melding feeling. I hugged him tightly and pushed him to the side, flipping us both around.

I pinned his wrists above his head and held his gaze as I rolled my hips slowly, sinking down on him.

Achilles looked up at me, flushed and panting, his skin glistening, his hair spread in lazy golden swirls about his head. I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his.

“The fastest of the Greeks,” I hummed, “in all things, it seems.”

Achilles laughed, the sound vibrating through me where we were connected. “A champion in all things, you mean.” He grinned wickedly, yet it wasn’t long before his laughter turned into breathless, shaky moans again, his length stiffening within me. My name poured forth from his mouth with every breath, over and over, kissing it onto my lips, whispering it over my flushed and warmed up skin.

Achilles had never told me that he loved me, and I had never told him. It was always understood between us, a truth as natural as breathing, buried deep beneath our skin and woven in our bones. Yet when he said my name like this — Patroclus, Pa-tro-clus — repeated it like a chant, like it was holy, I knew well what he meant.

And so did he.

“Achilles,” I whispered into his hair, threading my fingers through his. “Achilles,” I gasped when he bucked, arching underneath me. “Achilles,” I breathed, when I felt the warmth of his pleasure blossoming inside me, when he melted in my arms, when his eyelids fell over his eyes like the petals of a nightflower at dusk.

We lay like this for a long while, arms and legs tangled atop the furs. I held him tight, long after our breaths had eased and our heartbeats had found their natural rhythm. The music and voices from the festival drifted through the leather walls of our tent, mingled with the trill of the crickets, the hoot of distant night birds hidden in the trees. Though I knew where we were, what lay beyond the safe haven of our small home; though the weight of a long day of healing death was quick to return to my limbs, it did not quite stir the peace between us. I had him, like this, soft and pure and unblemished like the first time I’d seen him, the first time I’d kissed him, the first time I’d laid with him. No one could take this from me. From us.  

“Patroclus,” Achilles sighed sleepily, nuzzling into the hollow of my throat, arms coming around me to hold me close.

Yes, I thought. I knew well what he meant, when he said my name like this.

“Achilles,” I whispered in return, and closed my eyes.

~

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) If you enjoyed this one-shot, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Have a great day! <3

[ibelongtowrath]

Hot Springs - Lucifer x Reader

Warnings // 18+/NSFW, praise in the form of “good girl,�� oral sex, female reader Word count: 2.6k

Happy hot springs theme day 💦 Here’s another Lucifer piece about getting eaten out at the hot springs because horny writing brain go brrrr. I hope you enjoy. I am also terrible at coming up with titles

I can’t sleep.

You groan inwardly and sigh, turning your body to stare at the ceiling, your eyes practically glazing over. To your left, Mammon snores loudly; a sound akin to a chainsaw, and something you didn’t even think he was capable of.

“Ya gotta sleep next to me, MC! If any of my brothers even try to touch a hair on your head, I’ll kill ‘em.”

“Fine, fine,” you agreed hurriedly, already pulling the blanket over your head, gripped with exhaustion. “Goodnight, Mammon.”

I should have brought fucking ear plugs.

You roll over to your right side, where Levi sleeps peacefully, clutching his Ruri-chan body pillow close to his chest. You’re pretty sure you can hear him mumbling her name every so often, and your eyes squeeze shut in frustration, knowing that the likelihood of actually achieving a deep, restful sleep is growing lower by the second as you inhale deeply.

With a groan, you rise, feet padding softly across the smooth, wooden floor. Perhaps a soak in the onsen would make you drowsy and relaxed enough to actually be able to sleep through all the surrounding noise. Grabbing a towel and pausing briefly before leaving the room, you look down at yourself. A minuscule, though beautifully ornate silk robe barely covers your naked body; although it was customary to enter the hot spring completely nude, you couldn’t help but feel extremely self-conscious. Thankfully, Diavolo had rented out the entire place for the night, so no other beings were there, save for the demon brothers.

And, thankfully, everyone else was still asleep. As much as you love the demon brothers, sometimes it felt amazing to have a few waking moments to yourself, and the idea of spending that alone time in a steamy, relaxing hot spring? Bliss.

Carefully opening the sliding doors leading to the spring, careful to not wake anyone, you step out into the onsen. Steam rises steadily from the hot water, caressing your face as a slight breeze carries wisps of it towards you. The tension already begins to loosen from your neck and shoulders, taking in the sights of the artfully-placed rocks and trees around you. Slowly, you walk towards the stone steps leading into the water and dip your feet in, testing the temperature. Perfect.

You look back over your shoulder for a brief moment before you begin to untie your robe and open the front. Despite the warmth radiating from the water, a shiver passes through your body at the sudden exposure to the still slightly cool night air. You shrug the robe the rest of the way off, folding it carefully and setting it on a nearby bench, along with the towel.

Knowing it is customary to be clean before entering the spring, you wash off at the bathing station situated near the sliding doors, careful to remove any traces of soap before finally stepping into the hot spring. A deep, satisfied sigh escapes you as your body submerges beneath the warm, tranquil waters. Steam rises up towards you and your eyes close as you sit, tipping your head back to rest against the side of the spring. Your face turns up to the perpetually night sky of the Devildom, the light of the moon illuminating everything around you in an almost ethereal glow; stars, scattered across the sky, glitter like moon dust, looking almost as if they’re sparkling.

“Are my brothers causing mischief, my dear MC?”

The voice rings out, disturbing your fleeting serenity as you startle with a gasp. Your eyes open quickly and you look around in a panic for the source of the mysterious voice before your gaze settles on the demon standing at the edge of the spring, wrapped in a short, blue robe.

“L-Lucifer?” you manage to gasp in surprise. “I thought you were asleep. What are you-”

“I should be asking you the same question, my dear. Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?” Lucifer retorts. He can sense your shock, and he smirks inwardly, keeping his expression neutral.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you mumble. “Mammon snores like a chainsaw, Levi was having dreams about doing who knows what to his body pillow, and I just...wanted to relax…”

“An excellent place you’ve chosen to come to do so, then. Although we are in the Devildom, Lord Diavolo had to have an onsen of our own developed after experiencing a traditional one in your world, in Japan. The waters here are not geothermal as they naturally are in Japanese onsens; however, magic can replace virtually anything we are unable to replicate. The effects are still much the same, as evidenced by your relaxed state before I, unfortunately, disturbed you.”

The smirk tugs Lucifer’s lips upwards, though he quickly replaces it with a chuckle and a cordial smile, his eyes closing briefly before they open again, setting his intense crimson gaze upon you. Realizing you are fully naked beneath the steaming water, the blood rushing to your face and making the temperature of the water seem almost chilly in comparison to the heat in your cheeks. Thankfully, the water is opaque, masking your nudity, though you can’t help but squeeze your legs together and crossing your arms over your chest in a feeble attempt to mask the fact.

Lucifer chuckles softly once more, moving to loosen the strings of his robe.

“Would you mind if I join you, MC? It seems I am in need of some relaxation as well,” he asks, his voice a low timbre, as though teasing in its slight lilt. “Though it is not customary for men and women to bathe together in Japanese hot springs, we do not typically adhere to that rule here. Of course, I will respect your wishes if you decline and wish to bathe privately.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” you stutter in response. “Feel free.”

“As you wish, then.”

Your eyes widen, gaze transfixed as Lucifer finally loosens the knot holding his robe together in the front. The silken, azure fabric hangs loosely on either side, and the prideful demon smirks once more, noting your enraptured attention. Teasingly, he slides the robe off his well-defined shoulders, pausing to tilt his head and flash you a knowing smile.

“Enjoying the view?” he purrs.

With a loud cough and a swallow, you turn your head to gaze directly in front of you, studying the intricate shrubbery and not dignify his remark with a response. 

Don’t look, don’t you dare look. 

The heat rushes back to your cheeks and you force yourself to tilt your head back, only relaxing when you hear Lucifer step into the spring. Bringing your head back forward, you see him seated across from you in the steaming waters, a wolfish grin on your face.

“I should come here more often,” Lucifer remarks casually. “It is absolutely lovely not to have someone getting into trouble and disturbing my peace and quiet.”

He’s naked under the water. Naked. I wonder what he- 

You feel your body tense at the intrusive thought and are unable to stop yourself from groaning softly, clapping a hand over your mouth as you realize you’ve completely given yourself away. Lucifer’s grin deepens, and he leans forward as those beautiful, deep garnet eyes bore into yours.

“You look a bit tense there, my dear,” he coos. “I can offer a shoulder massage if you’d like.”

“Oh, u-um… that would be nice,” you admit.

“Come a bit closer then, my dear. I may be a strong demon, but even I cannot stretch my body that far,” he teases.

Nodding slowly, you rise ever so slightly, keeping your arms tightly crossed in front of your chest and careful not to expose any more of your body from beneath the opaque water. Up close, you realize Lucifer is even more handsome, and you can feel your heart pounding beneath your rib cage, thump, thump, thump. You turn around, back facing him, grateful for the sounds of the small stream of water flowing steadily in a fountain by the spring masking the sound of your heartbeat, loud enough that surely he would be able to hear.

He brings his hands to your shoulders, moving closer. At the touch of his hands and the feel of his proximity, you start. Chuckling, Lucifer begins to knead the tense muscles with careful motions, using his thumbs to work out the tight knots he can feel beneath your skin.

“Uncross your arms for me, my dear,” he instructs. “You are carrying so much tension, and I cannot help you properly when you are not relaxed.”

With a sigh, you drop your arms to your sides, resting them in your lap. Lucifer’s touch is relaxing, satisfying, and you can feel the tension begin to melt from your shoulders as he continues to work the tender muscles. Blissfully, your head drops back, hair fanning out in the water as a soft groan, almost like a moan falls from your lips. The demon smirks as he continues his ministrations, moving even closer to you, though you barely notice the heat of his body nearly right against yours, your eyes closed in peaceful relaxation.

“That’s a good girl, stay just like that…,” he instructs.

Lucifer’s praise causes your heart to race even faster, your eyes opening as you feel your thighs pressing together. He notes your reaction, leaning forward to press a soft kiss into the delicate skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder. You shudder in pleasure, letting out a definite moan this time, finding yourself leaning back against him, your back nearly pressed to his chest. Grinning against your skin, he nibbles gently at first before biting down a bit firmer, his hands continuing their work on your shoulders.

“Such a good girl…”

Lucifer’s hands move from your shoulders to trace a path down the generous curve of your waist, his mouth finding purchase on your now relaxed shoulder as he presses another kiss there. One hand reaches up to thread his fingers into your hair lightly, tugging your head to the side before crashing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss, much like the water and the skin of your bodies. The kiss is deep, intimate; it speaks a thousand words full of want, of need, of dark desire without a single utterance. Your tongues dance with one another as soft gasps of pleasant surprise and arousal escape you and him, your thighs squeezing together under the water, now wet in more ways than simply being submerged beneath it.

Biting your lip and pulling away from the kiss, Lucifer’s hand moves to your bare breast, groping it lightly before rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger, savoring your sweet moans. His cock twitches, already hard and pressing against your back. Grinning, he tugs at your hair again, tilting your head back until you look up at him; eyes half-lidded, nearly glazed over and blown-out with lust.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” Lucifer teases. “I offer you a relaxing massage, and you turn it into anything but. I suppose I’ll have to find another way to ease the tension in your body. Especially-”

He pauses, moving his hands to caress the soft, fleshy skin of your inner thighs, briefly teasing a few fingers between your legs before pulling them away, relishing your lewd gasps.

“-right here. Yes, it seems you are very much still tense. My, my, we certainly will have to remedy that, won’t we, my naughty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, pressing your back harder against him. 

Suddenly, you are teeming with need, nearly keening at the thought of having Lucifer between your legs. In one swift movement, he picks you up, quickly turning you around to lift you out of the water and set you on the side of the hot spring. Feeling the sudden difference in temperature, you shudder. Droplets of water glisten in the shining moonlight as they travel down your body. He grins at your shudder as he begins laying you back gently and spreading your legs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before biting down into the skin, pausing briefly to admire the indentation of his teeth that will surely welt and leave a mark behind later.

“Don’t worry, pet. I’ll be sure to warm you up,” Lucifer says, biting down once more. “Now, lay back and relax for me.”

Obeying his command, you lay your back flat against the cool stone, your heart continuing to thump like someone is revving an engine. Lucifer teases a few fingers between your legs, his thumb circling your swollen clit, eliciting a loud, lewd cry as he does so. Pressing a kiss to your pelvic bone, he gently sucks the skin into his mouth and biting into the skin there, intent on leaving more marks. He moves to the other side, repeating his actions before lowering himself down between your legs to your wet, dripping core, practically quivering in anticipation. He smiles before his tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your core until he reaches your clit, swirling it tantalizingly slow around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Lucifer’s lips close around it, sucking. Your back arches, reaching your hands forward to weave your fingers into his hair. Bucking your hips against his face, he smirks, moaning into your skin and continuing to suck on your clit, alternating between stimulating it with his tongue and lightly grazing his teeth across it.

“Good girl, so good for me,” Lucifer moans. “You taste so fucking sweet, pet.”

Sliding two fingers inside you, he curls and pumps them skillfully to press against your sweet spot. A louder, more high-pitched moan falls from your lips, taking his name with it as it echoes across the otherwise serene tranquility of the onsen.

“L-Lucifer- ah, it feels so good-”

Frantic with desire, you begin to roll your hips rhythmically towards his face, increasing the pressure of his tongue and fingers. Lucifer slides a third finger into you, desperately savoring the delicious sounds of your desperation as he, too, can’t stop himself from moaning into your skin. He laps at your sweet essence, eager to taste all of you, to wet his cock between your tight, warm walls and help ease his own tension between his hips, a fire stirring in his belly.

“Lucifer!” Crying out his name in a wanton gasp, you begin to feel yourself tighten around his fingers. “Lucifer, I-I’m going to cum-”

“Good girl,” Lucifer groans. “Cum hard for me, princess.”

His praise pushes you over the edge, immense pleasure washing over your body in waves as you writhe against the stone, arching your back. Your body jerks forward, slightly, and your lips part to scream in pleasure, his name falling from your lips over and over, growing in volume and pitch with every syllable. Grinning, Lucifer slowly slides his fingers out of you, pressing a kiss to your clit as he pulls back. You whimper at the loss of his fingers, aching for the sensation of him filling you once more. He reaches for your arm to slowly pull you up to a sitting position.

“Now…”

Standing from the water and moving his hands to your hips, he lifts you up to pull you close to him, hips perched on the edge of the spring against the rock. Your bare chests press together as he lifts your legs, resting them against his shoulders. He slides his cock into you with ease, and he groans, tipping his head back briefly at the feeling of your wet, warm heat gripping him so tightly. You moan, fingers curling against the wet stone beneath you as you finally gain the much-need stretch of his cock buried between your legs.

“I believe I have some tension of my own that needs to be worked out.”

[acourtofsnakes]

Gaa’tayl - Rogue Chapter 4| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: After making your decision, the race is on to try and save Mando’s life. But when things start to go south, a part of you breaks open that you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. How will it change you? And how will it shape whats to come?

Warnings: Injury detail/blood, first aid, little bit of swearing, hint of angst? some very faint fluff, pining thoughts because who wouldn’t, it’s Mando

Trigger warnings: beginnings of a panic attack, vicious thoughts, flashback to attempted suicide, personification of depression/negative thoughts using triggering - please be careful, my inbox is always open if you need to talk♥︎

Word count: 5394

AN: This chapters easter egg hint: Can you find the quote originally said by a purple grape with an affinity for shiny stones?👀

Also, gif isn’t necessarily relevant to the main plot of this chapter but... you’ll see why we have hands as a gif. 

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo 

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl 

Mando’a Translation: Gaa'tayl  - Help

Blood.

There was blood everywhere. 

In your hair, over your clothes.

It was coating your neck and your face. You could taste it. Coppery, hot. 

~Screaming was still echoing around the street, heart-wrenching cries of those who had just seen their loved ones forced into the air and torn apart by the explosion. The smell of metal and smoke mixed with the stench of blood and burning flesh. 

Blood. 

You could taste it. 

Your parent’s blood, maybe your own. The taste of it was in your mouth.~

Your heart thundered in your chest as you stared down at the Mandalorian.

You’d been watching him, knowing you needed to decide and then he’d gasped. And just… went still. You felt his blood pulse out under your hands and then he was just quiet. 

You couldn’t hear his ragged breathing anymore. 

Was he…

~You pushed your hands against your mothers neck, desperate to feel for the pulse that you’d felt for the last 12 years of your life.

Nothing. There was nothing there. She was dead. Your mother. Your sweet, strong mother who sung you lullabies and taught you how to dance… was dead.~

He couldn’t be. 

You dared to risk lifting a hand from the jagged hole in his side and pressed your fingertips against his neck. You knew there was a small slither of skin here, you’d seen it yesterday as he leant forward to look at something. You pushed your fingers deeper into the rapidly cooling skin of his neck, waiting. Hoping. 

There was nothing. 

No, no, there had to be. There had to be something. 

You swallowed, calming yourself enough to concentrate. You ducked your head down, like it could help you focus on the skin beneath your fingers. 

There. 

Some kind of choked noise escaped your lips as you felt his pulse, weak and fluttering, but there. Undiluted fear ran through your veins. This was on you now. 

And so, the clock was reset.

You wasted no time, ripping off your cloak and using the length of it wrap around his waist. It was nowhere enough, not enough pressure for a tourniquet or anything even remotely close because of the armour lining his body. However, it would serve to try and soak up some of the blood. 

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling the Mandalorian to sit up. Then rose into a crouch and hauled him up so you were both standing. 

Only to immediately collapse as your knees buckled with the lightning bolts of agony that speared across your ribs. Fuck. Right. Broken ribs. Stars exploded across your vision but you sucked in a deep, painful breath. We’ve dealt with worse. This isn’t about you know. Get up.

You dragged your feet back under you, pulling the Mandalorian up again, holding his weight against your good side. 

Prey helping hunter. 

In, out. A shallow, slow breath that didn’t hurt quite so much, and then you began to walk, half dragging the Mandalorian along with you. You couldn’t manage any more than a slow walk, your own injuries and pull of his amour and dead weight threatening to drag you down again. 

No, no. Not dead. Unconscious. He’s unconscious. Get him to the ship, clean it, spray it with bacta-spray, cauterise it, bind it. That’s all you need to do. 

You repeated this like a mantra as you walked back through the street, through those puddles of light. 

Get him to the ship, clean it, spray it with bacta-spray, cauterise it, bind it.

You repeated it again and again, even when the skies opened and rain lashed down, loosening your grip on the shiny metal and dragging you both down. 

Get him to the ship. 

There it was, such a welcome sight you might have cried. You fumbled on the arm that you’d slung around your shoulder, pressing buttons on his vambrace until the ramp opened and soft light and warmth called you inside. 

Hunter and prey stumbled up the ramp, and you just got him inside, managed to lay him down in front of a big heavy crate. 

You took a moment, darkness threatening to overcome you and a ringing in your ears. You shook your head sharply, pushing it off and then dropped to your knees, looking over his body. The wound was on his side, in between where the front and back plates of his armour were attached. 

Thank the Maker. You didn’t know what you would have done if it was closer to his armour. You unsheathed your knife, frantically cleaning it on your damp tunic and then quickly cut away a patch of fabric that was over and around the wound, gritting your teeth when you had to coax the torn threads from the hole. 

Which had been acting like a dam. Scarlet blood immediately began to flood from the jagged flesh, soaking the floor below him, your hands. 

You blinked, unable to stop staring for a second. How did so much blood come out of someone?

Memories hounded at your shoulders, threatening to drag you under, toward a market square, a dusty floor. 

Clean it. 

You nodded to yourself, the order in your mind and then scrambled to your feet. A quick search revealed some clean rags and a half full canteen of water. You grabbed the cauteriser and the med-kit on your way back to him, resting it beside you like it was sacred and then you turned to the wound. You wiped your hands on your knees, then dipped the cloth in water, beginning to gently, but quickly dab away the blood. 

Bloody water pooled beneath the Mandalorian, so you hurriedly shoved your cloak under him to soak it up so he wouldn’t be lying in water. 

Spray it. 

Your hands shook as you turned to the little metal box beside you, so much so that it took you 3 attempts to open the latch. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help the exasperated sigh at the rubbish of scraps of bandage that were mere threads, empty wrappers, all littering the top. Really, Mando?

You pawed though the med-kit, turning out empty wrappers and.. nothing else. 

What? 

There was no bacta-spray. No bandages. Hell, there wasn’t even a needle and thread for you to stitch the damn skin together. All you had was a bunch of wadded up fabric from a rag and some water. Why didn’t this man have any medical supplies? He was a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake. He probably had an injury list to rival yours, yet he didn’t even have so much as a needle?

You groaned, lifting a shaking hand to your face for a moment, breathing shallowly through your nose as another wave of agony seared through your ribs and the old injury in your shoulder. 

Your shoulder.

The one that was clean. Bound. 

That’s where the last of the medical supplies had gone, used on your own injury when he brought you away from Sorgan. 

You looked up at his unconscious form, horror in your expression, in your heart. The wound was weeping still, deep, surely missing vital organs because he would have been dead instantly in that alleyway. 

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t risk getting a medic from the town, one because he didn’t have the time, and two because… well, they’d sell you out. Know who you were, the bounty. 

Your heart began to beat faster, it usual rhythmic thumps turning frantic, uneven. 

It was your fault that there was nothing to save him. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Just like it was your fault he had been hurt in the first place. 

You couldn’t save him. 

Darkness swirled inside you, recognising what was happening to your body. 

He was going to die… because of you. 

Just like your parents. And everyone else after. 

With no warning, you chest constricted, steel bands wrapping around your lungs, crushing them from the inside out with a pain deeper than your cracked ribs. A roaring surged through your ears and suddenly the ship was spinning in circles. 

The beast, that poisonous beast that slumbered within you lifted its head, scenting your anxiety and fear and it purred with sick delight. Your spiralling was like a siren call and it crawled up, up, up and that seductive velvety voice that hounded you, began to whisper to you inside your head, “Hello, darling. It’s been a while.”

No. No not again. Not another dead body, not another tally against your name. 

“Murderer. Murderer. You killed your parents. You killed your friends. You killed everything even remotely good that’s ever been in your life.”

A sob began to build in your throat, an extra pressure that had you gasping for air, hunching over the floor-

“Look at you, crying. So weak. So pitiful. You deserve every single person that’s ever come after you, deserve every ounce of pain that you’ve been dealt. You call yourself a wolf, but you are a monster.”

It was right. That chasm of fear and darkness that always stayed with you was right. Of course it was. It had been right all those years ago, and the words it was whispering into you like silken poison were true. 

“Exactly, my darling. I am born of that savage beast in you, remember? You created me, you formed me from the truth and knowledge that everyone you touch dies. You have tried to deny this part of yourself for so long, darling, so, so long. But you will never escape it. This is your destiny. To kill those that come near you. ” 

You shook your head, tears flooding down your cheeks now as you wrapped your arms around your middle. The movement jolted your ribs, but it’s lick of fiery pain barely made it through the agony in your chest. I can run from it. I can escape it, you’re wrong, you’re wrong!! That’s not my destiny. I can make up for it, I can be good, I AM good-

A silken laugh and then a soft sigh, like it almost felt sorry for you, “Dread it. Run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. And now it's here. You have let the Mandalorian get hurt for you, and now he will die.”

No… no. No, not him. He can’t. He saved me, he’s good, I can see it. He has a son. I deserve the death sentence, but not him. Please, someone, anyone. Save him, please save him-

“No one is coming to help you, darling. You have finally done it. You have killed a father whilst his son sleeps just down the hallway.” It purred, caressing the inside of your head with claws, “Give in, darling. It’s time to give in. You eluded my call once before, but that won’t happen this time. Your pretty power won’t save you now, not now you pushed it away. Come to me.. escape the pain, finish what you should have gone through with years ago…”

An irresistible darkness reached out a hand, dropping the memory down onto you before you could stop it.

~~A glass vial, a shimmering poison you stole from the market. 

Rain, pounding down around you as you looked up at the moon. 

Water, crashing below the rocky outcrop you stood on.

Burning, a feeling like liquid fire inside you as that sweet, shimmering poison slipped down your throat.

I’m sorry. 

A final look at the moon, so big and beautiful as you turned around, your heels hanging off the end.

Goodbye.

Wind, rushing past your ears.

The icy crush of water as it devoured your body, pulling you into it’s shadowy depths. 

The fire turning molten, slipping through your blood, devouring you as the water has, coaxing you to close your eyes as your body melts from the inside out.

Quiet, a heady quiet as you succumbed to the beast in your chest that was purring with glee.

Nothing.”~~

And then… something echoed within you. Caught the attention of the beast. 

“No. Not again.” It’s snarl was predatory, dangerous. 

The flashback came easier this time, 

~~A hum began to fill the cottony silence in your head, waking you. 

This wasn’t right You weren’t supposed to wake up, you were supposed to be free from the pain and the destruction you caused. 

Easy, it seemed to whisper, relax. It is not your time yet, you still have much to experience. 

Protest flooded your body as you started to feel your limbs again. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to come back. You didn’t deserve to. 

“Yes, you do.”, it whispered. “It will be tough, there will be more pain and running, I’m afraid, but it will start a fire within you, that will only grow to serve you. You will triumph over this fear, you will become the warrior that you have always been. There will come a time, when things will change. You will do something you wouldn’t normally do, you will save one that deserves to be saved. Rules will be broken, and something new will be forged. Two lives will be forever entwined. Awaken now, and begin again.”~~

Heat began to envelop you, coaxing your stiff limbs to relax, drawing focus in your mind and making you come back to yourself. The rain beating against the outside of the ship, the smell of blood, two pairs of floppy ears at your side as they looked up at you. 

You turned your head, blinking through your tears at the Mandalorian, who’s life was hanging by a single thread. 

Your body shuddered as you leant over his unconscious form. A tight feeling curled in your chest, whispering to you. 

Let me out. I can save him.

You shook your head, you couldn’t. You’d hidden it away for so long, such a long time. You didn’t even know what to do  

Let me out. Let me save him.

You sobbed, a soft noise of defeat, a noise of relief, and you moved your hands to on his side. You whispered out loud, “Save him.” and then… let go

A deep, primal surge took over your body, shaking it, making goosebumps rise to your skin, a feeling lance through your spine. It wasn’t a pain… more a like a release of tension as ever cell in your body thrummed.  

You shuddered from head to toe, feeling the cage that you had spent 20 years building shatter like nothing. Just like that. Not forcing its way out, no clawing to be let loose. 

It was gentle. It overrode the malignant beast of darkness and despair, smothering it in light. 

Powerful, of course, for being shut away for so long but… gentle. It was the energy that roamed through the galaxy, flowed in every single living thing, connected them all together. 

It slipped from the cage you had bound it in, humming in delight as it was allowed to join with you again. 

Free. 

It rolled out of you in waves, rattling the walls, the boxes on the floor. 

It made the lights flicker on and off as it bumped up against the walls and the floor. 

That power healed your ribs as it poured out of you, and then honed itself, as if knowing you didn’t possess the control that was needed. 

It swept down your arms, caressing you like a comforting sweep of a hand, soothing you. You felt it glide over your knuckles, slip along and over the Mandalorian’s body like silk and then…

His wound healed. The ragged flesh knitted back together and the blood seeped back into the Mandalorian’s body where it belonged. It replenished him, saved him, leaving only a red line behind, a scar. 

That power, now having done its job, slipped from your body and left you spent. Shattered. With its final act, it whispered a sweet song of sleep and safety to you. 

With a soft noise, your eyes fluttered shut and you collapsed forward over the Mandalorian’s now relaxed form.

~

A caress of your hair began to coax you from your slumber. 

Long fingers, pushing into your hair at the crown of your head, and trailing through slowly all the way over to the back of your neck. 

You hummed softly, shifting your head because the pillow beneath you was hard and cold. 

The hand stopped and the next drag of fingers through your hair was slower, hesitant in a way. When the fingers brushed over your neck, you melted, a sigh drawing from your lips. 

You didn’t want this to end, especially when those same fingers caressed your face, brushing the strands away and you felt them tug slightly, as if lifting a piece of your hair, memorising the colour and the softness of it. 

It was safe here. You could relax. It was warm and cosy, even if the pillow beneath you was hard. And smelt faintly of metal. Weird. Oh well. You nuzzled against the coolness, humming again. 

Somewhere above you, there was what sounded like a soft chuckle. A caress of your forehead that trailed down the bridge of your nose. It traced over the swoop of your lips and then along your jaw, like they were mapping your features. The touch was so tender, so sweet that it almost bought tears to your eyes. You had been alone for so long, so very long and almost every encounter you had was violent. 

People didn’t touch you to be kind. They touched you to kill you. 

A thudding impact of knuckles instead of a warm arm around your shoulders. 

The sting of a knife edge at your throat instead of soft lips trailing over your skin. 

Ropes and cuffs digging into your wrists instead of familiar fingers linking through your own. 

It wasn’t even a sexual or heated touch that you missed, it was anything. You craved it, the tender familiarity of someone using touch to tell you how much you meant to them, that they cared about you. 

And this… this phantom tracing of your features spoke of a touch that was almost a little unsure. A touch that was mapping something for the first time, drawing attention to the tiny little features you didn’t even know you had, but someone was admiring and drinking in. It was a little hesitant, a little shy but… achingly sweet.

Outside of this haze, something started to call to you, coaxing you to open your eyes. Your eyelids fluttered, your head clearing as you moved and the hand was then gone. 

No, you wanted to whisper. Don’t stop.

~

It might have been hours later, but you became aware of the noises of the Razor Crest. The familiar hum of engines and instruments.  You could distantly hear Grogu’s happy cooing as he played with Duru. Right beneath your head, you could hear steady breathing, muffled slightly by a helmet. 

By a helmet.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening as you stared down at the floor. 

Mando was breathing. Deep, even and steady intakes of air that lifted his chest, filtering through his lungs. 

You made a soft noise, looking down at his side. You picked up the blanket and peered at the ragged tear in his underclothes. 

Nothing. 

The stab wound in his side was gone. Healed. 

You’d done it… You saved him. 

You slumped back, rubbing your hands over your face with a soft sigh of relief. You were shaking all over though and you felt… unhinged in some way. Almost painfully exposed. You had broken something, something inside you that had taken years to build. 

The only way you were able to survive was by shutting away that part of you, that pure, natural power that you could still feel echoing in your bones. 

And the constant pain that you had was gone, no more tightly wound tension now that it had been freed. 

It had to go back in, had to be built into a cage that was stronger, more impenetrable. You didn’t know why it had taken a man who you don’t really know, bleeding out in front of you to rise from the ashes. 

A man who you killed for without second thought. You always through yourself into a fight with no hesitation, but last night, or earlier or whenever it was, you had fought differently.

That wasn’t a frantic dance of survival, where your life was the crescendo and Death was the orchestra. No, that had been precision. Cunning. 

You had shed the claws and snarl, grown fangs and poison. Wolf to Viper. 

The bounty had been your prey. You struck, and you killed. 

For a man you didn’t even really know. 

You swallowed, scratching at the itchiness of your face. Stop. Do not even go there. Don’t. At least not yet. 

Red flakes fell from your face, reminding you of the layer of grime and blood that was dried onto your skin. 

Right. You needed a shower. 

You checked back on Mando, satisfied that he was okay and then you went off for a shower and to potentially drown yourself. 

-

You returned a short while later, carrying a bowl of warm water, a small towel over your arm and a canteen of water tucked into the crook of your elbow. The dark creature in you was silent, oddly silent and you wondered if it would remain that way. 

Best not dwell on it and encourage it to wake back up. 

You picked your way across the floor around storage boxes and tubs of things to where you’d left Mando.

To find him sitting up, grunting a little at the apparent stiffness in his lips. His head snapped up when he heard you, his body relaxing, “You weren’t there when I woke up, I didn’t know if something had happened to you.” 

You couldn’t help the slight chuckle as you reached his side, sitting down next to him against the crate and setting out all the things you’d brought with you. “Easy… I had to have a shower, I couldn’t even recognise my own face with all the blood and dirt on it.” 

He leant back against the crate behind you, watching you, “I know.. I stirred a couple hours ago and nearly had a heart attack. I thought… You were passed out next to me and I couldn’t reach you to see if you were breathing, I was too stiff. I thought..” He seemed to swallow back his next words, his hands tightening into fists on the blanket now on his lap. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, that raw honesty in his rasp. He’d thought you had died. 

Just like you thought he had. 

A certain atmosphere settled around you, getting tighter and feeling… different. You could feel the heat rolling off of him through your chilled bones, even with the layer of beskar over his body. 

You cleared your throat and held out the canteen. “Here. I bought you some water.”

Mando reached out to take the water from you, gloved fingers brushing yours and you noticed the blood that had soaked into them was dry now. “I never pegged you for the healing type.”

Honey, you have no idea. 

You laughed, shrugging, “You live a life like mine, you end up getting battered more times than you can remember. I’ve had to fix myself up so many times, you were a walk in the park.” You grinned, teasing him but your expression was strained. You could still taste his blood. 

You cleared your throat again and reached beside you for the bowl of water before placing it between you “I found some gloves upstairs when I was looking for a towel… I didn’t know if you’d want to change them.” You bit your lip, eyes flicking over the helmet, that tension still there, lingering. Then you remembered. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” You turned around, facing your back to him to give him privacy. 

There was nothing for a few moments, and then you heard the bowl drag closer to him. There was a soft tug of friction, leather sliding over skin and dropping to the floor. 

Your spine tightened slightly, knowing that his bare skin wasn’t far off. You could never turn around though, you wouldn’t do that to him. It didn’t stop your breathing from turning shallow, and you just prayed he couldn’t hear it. 

Water splashed, and suddenly, an unbidden image burst in your head. Mando’s bare hands, dipping into the warm water, rubbing the washcloth over his palms and knuckles. Beads of water sliding down his fingers and the bare, smooth skin of his wrist. Was his skin tan? Smooth or scarred? You wondered if he had any freckles on his hands. Perhaps not, if they were in gloves all the time. Did he take them off when he was truly aloe? Let the golden light of the sun kiss over his knuckles…

What. 

The fuck. 

Was that.

Your eyes widened as you looked into the corner of the room, heat flushing your neck and chest. Why, in all the stars had that popped into your head? This man had been on death’s door, you had saved him, turned yourself inside out and now you were mooning over the sound of him cleaning his hands? Get a grip, girl.

“Done. You can turn around..” His voice floated over to you, soft and you waited a few moments before you turned back to face him, praying the dimness of the cargo hold was enough to hide your flush. “Thank you.” 

You shook your head, taking the dirty gloves now that the other clean ones were on his hands. “Oh, no, you don’t need to thank me. They were just gloves.” You couldn’t look at him, instead laying the gloves down, resting them both on top of each other so that the fingers and thumbs matched up. 

Mando shook his head, “No… not for the gloves. I mean – yes, for the gloves too but… For saving me. You didn’t need to, but you did. You could have walked right past, but you fought that asshole, you killed him, for me. And then you saved me..” His voice was still rough, and that atmosphere flickered again, encouraging you to raise your eyes to him. 

He titled his head, a hand drifting to his side, “Speaking of which… How?”

You blinked, fought to keep your expression even, “How what?”

Mando’s head remained tilted, “How did you save me? I looked earlier when I woke up but… there was only a scar there. Like it was weeks old, not hours.”

You’d already thought this moment in the refresher, “Oh, that. Uh, I had some bacta-spray left over in my bag. I kept it for emergencies…” You kept your voice casual, pausing now and then as if thinking it over. Expect this part, you didn’t need to feign the quieter tone, “My mother taught me which leaves and flowers could be used for healing, to speed up healing times. My… father worked a rough job and sometimes he would come home with deep cuts and bruises and mumma would always fix them…” You cleared your throat, “I had some left over too.” Your skin felt hot, uncomfortable. You hadn’t intended to share past the point of, “to speed up healing times,” but something about his silence had felt encouraging. 

He was still watching you, and you had no idea if he believed you or not. However, his voice was softer as he simply said, “Thank you. I didn’t deserve it, for what I’ve done. I’m forever.”

“Ooh.. You would have done the same for me, I’m sure...” You laughed a little but it was uneasy, unsure where this was going, that tone in his voice and the intensity of his words. You remained focused on your task of playing with the gloves, that courage that sung through your blood everyday had vanished, leaving you unable to look at him, even if you could feel the visor of the helmet boring into you. 

He leant forward and seconds later, freshly gloved fingers tilted your chin up so you had to look at him, “Exactly. I would have. I did, that’s why he hurt me… so...” He reached behind him, for one of those many pockets and pouches on his body, fumbling for something. 

You frowned, tilting your head, “What are you doing? You’ll pull at your wound-“

Mando pulled something out from his back, holding them out to you and presenting them like a fucking prize. 

Your bounty puck. And the tracking fob. 

What the fuck was he doing?

You jerked back out of his touch, the wolf snarling in you as your eyes flicked up to him, “Seriously? You’re bringing that up? We just went through all of that, and you’re coming back to a fucking bounty puck? I knew I was just a bounty, but you could have waited until you could walk at least.” Your voice was a snarl, but benath that… a hurt. 

He made a soft noise, shaking his head as he once again read what you were thinking, that you had misunderstood. “No, no, I don’t mean that…” He took a breath, and then he gently pulled your hand so it was palm up. And placed the tracking fob and the puck in them. He closed your fingers over them, his voice so soft that the modulator almost didn’t filter it through “Destroy them.”

You jerked in surprise, your breathing catching in shock, anger fizzling out of your body as quick as it had crashed into you, “What? Mando, this… the money it would get you... I can’t.” You tried to push it back to him, to get him to take it. It meant a lot to you, of course it did but he was being ridiculous. “I’m just your bounty.” You hadn’t meant to repeat it, it just slipped out. It wasn’t like it was a lie though. You were. Even though you doubted he had ever had his bounty save his life before. 

You were surprised to hear a soft growl rumble in his throat, “Stop it.” He kept his gloved hand wrapped around yours, heat leeching through the leather and into your skin. “You were, in the beginning. But as soon as I heard that asshole talking like that about you…” He shook his head, swallowing his words yet again though they reminded honest, “You saved my life. That means something to me, especially in my culture. A lot of people would have left me there to die. But you didn’t… And I apologise for everything I’ve done. If you’ll forgive me and let me, I’d like to help you.”

Well. Fuck. That was the last thing you expected. He… wanted to help you? What did that mean? What could he do for you? You bit your lip, toying with the idea, staring down at the devices in your hand. 

You’d been alone for so long. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe you could… let him. But the way everyone seemed to die around you… you only had to look at tonight as proof enough. 

He shouldn’t do this, it was a mistake.

You looked up, lips parting to form the words that would push him away, make him realise you were saving him from making a mistake.

Only for him to read you like a damn book again. He plucked the bounty puck and tracking fob from your hand, grasping them in his fist and then with a soft grunt, slammed them into the solid floor beneath you both. They instantly cracked, sputtering a little almost like shock and then completely shattered when he slammed his fist down on them again. 

Mando made sure they were destroyed, then looked back at you and you could have sworn you could almost see the cocky eyebrow raise under the bucket on his head. 

You surveyed him, looked down at the remains on the floor. 

The symbol of hunter and prey destroyed. 

You took in a deep breath, lifting your chin and meeting the beskar gaze of the man ahead of you, your threads of your lives somehow more entwined. “Okay. I accept your apology… and your help.”

Would he be the first person that didn’t succumb to your curse? 

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[spvce-cowboy]

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

**

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are. 

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.  

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

**

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

**

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

**

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me. 

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌 

[marvel-and-mischief]

White Carnation & Violets

Part of my Floriography Series

A/N: This is a two-parter, Part 1 (titled Tulips) will be a gender neutral reader and Part 2 (titled White Carnation & Violets) will be a female reader with smut.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader   Words: 1900 Warnings: SMUT, heterosexual sex, P in V sex, unprotected sex, virgin reader, inexperienced reader, oral sex (female receiving), just smut no plot Synopsis: You share an unforgettable night with the Prince of Dorne

White Carnation: purity Violets: modesty

💐

You had been told stories of this moment, not all bad, but there had always been a warning, an undertone of fear mongering that it wouldn’t all be good. You would be nervous they said, you would have to remember to relax and fight through the pain because there’s pleasure on the other side. Make sure he does this and that so it’s good for you too. A part of you dreaded it until these past couple of days.

You had been born in the North, where these matters were private, or whispered secretively in the ears of young maidens to give them a heads up of what to expect, what to prepare for. And there was always a sadness that this would change a young woman’s life forever, not necessarily for the better. 

But then your father had moved you both to Dorne, had settled you in Sunspear where pleasure was everywhere. People kissed each other in the middle of the marketplace, hands wandered underneath skirts in public places, moans of pleasure travelled through windows and onto the streets. It wasn’t all the time but it was there, in places you didn’t expect. And instead of turning your nose up at it, instead of begging your father to take you back up North, your eyes lingered and your ears perked up for the smallest taste of what they were experiencing. 

You felt as though you were always meant to be in Dorne. 

You felt safe within the walls of the capital, comfortable with the beliefs of the people. And now, in the arms of your first lover, you felt at home.

Oberyn was taking his time with you, but you didn’t feel that was because of you. He was a sensual man, who didn’t like to rush his pleasure. He appreciated the mundane parts of making love; slowly revealing each part of your skin, peeling off the fabric of your dress piece by piece until there was nothing left, learning the bumps and curves of your figure, the marks and scars of a hard worker. 

Oberyn lowered you down the steps into a warm bath set in the floor of his room, white and purple petals floated on the surface and the water was milky from some perfumed concoction he poured in. He joined you in the large square bath, sitting beside you and leaning his head back to rest against the curved edge. 

“You intrigue me,” Oberyn murmured, turning his head slightly to look over your body.

“Is that a good thing?” you asked, playing with a petal and sinking low enough in the bath so the water came up to your shoulders. It might look silly seeing as he had already seen you naked, but now you were just sitting together, his eyes never once leaving you, you felt shy under his gaze, no matter how appreciative it was. 

“It is,” Oberyn responded after a short pause, “I am to be your first lover?”

“I am from the North.” That was explanation enough.

Oberyn hummed in thought. The water rippled where he moved his hand to place it on top of your thigh. He rested it there, not moving, allowing you to become acquainted with his light touch. 

“Do you prefer it here?”

“I do,” you didn’t hesitate to reply, there was no need to think on your answer, “I am free here. I can move around without chaperone, I can enjoy the sun on my day off, I can read and garden and do all manner of things without being judged for it.”

Oberyn chuckled at the excitement in your voice and placed a soft kiss to the top of your head where you had lowered it to his shoulder whilst you spoke. 

He bathed you then, guiding you to sit between his legs as he ran his large hands over your supple body, massaging the muscles, wiping away the days sweat and dirt, leaving you truly relaxed and feeling boneless. No one had ever touched you with such care and love. Because he did love you, as he loved everyone he took to his bed. He loved more than anyone you’d come across. He often found parts to love about every one of his lovers. 

And with you he loved your quiet nature, but also your curiosity for life and love. He loved the sighs you made when he rubbed over a particular knot near the bottom of your back, and Oberyn imagined it was perhaps a strain from your gardening work. He loved your nails creating crescent moons into his thighs, a reaction to the series of kisses he placed from one shoulder to the other.

You wanted to see him so you turned in his arms and straddled him, hands trailing a path from his stomach up to his shoulders to hold onto him there. You didn’t dare look down but you could feel his cock half hard and pressed against your stomach under the water and Oberyn hissed at the contact. 

“Can I kiss you?” Was it a silly question to ask? He wanted to do much more than that with you but he was still a Prince and you couldn’t shake that from the back of your mind. 

“Have you kissed anyone before?”

You shook your head honestly and Oberyn tutted in despair.

“It is a crime that no one has kissed your lips,” he leaned closer until you could feel his breath as he spoke, “but it is an honor to be the first,” and then he was kissing you.

Oberyn was cautious at first, allowing you time to relax into the kiss before he encouraged more, licking into your mouth to taste the tangy strawberry juices he’d fed you earlier in the night. His hands moved over your skin, pressing you into his chest in an attempt to pull you closer.

You had to pull back for air but you did so with a grin. Your first kiss was wonderful and breathtaking, so much more than what you thought it would be. Oberyn thought you looked ethereal, a dazed look in your eyes that expressed your bliss, and when you bit your lip and looked at him questioningly he couldn’t wait any longer.

He carefully moved you off his lap, keeping a hand on you at all times as he manoeuvred you both out of the bath and towards the bed on the other side of the room. Oberyn grabbed a towel on the way, dabbing at your skin in a fruitless attempt to dry you off but it didn’t matter, the bed covers would get ruined this night anyway.

Oberyn slowly laid you down in the middle of the bed, spreading you out before him. He kissed every part of your skin, lighting you on fire as you writhed on the bed for something more. He took his time making you ready with his fingers and his mouth, opening you up with a tenderness you appreciated. 

Your mind briefly went to the stories the women in the North would tell you about this night and you thought, either you were very lucky with your choice of lover or they were just wrong. Because not once did you feel apprehension, you never even thought about changing your mind, all you could think was wanting more and wanting all of Oberyn and possibly never leaving his bed again.

After shouting his name in climax, Oberyn hovered over your body and whispered your name to bring you back to him. He kissed you, much like in the bath, passionate and all consuming. You found your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him forward until he was sliding his cock between your slick folds.

“You are eager,” Oberyn chuckled, pressing open mouthed kisses along your neck, sucking marks into your skin.

“I am eager,” you breathed, laughing into the limited space between you.

Oberyn nudged at your entrance, teasing your desperation. He held control, even when you used your crossed feet on his back to encourage him closer, but you didn’t feel powerless. He was amusing himself but not at your expense. And on recognising these things you think you could so easily fall in love with him and that perhaps many had before you.

He gave into you eventually, and his own need to feel you around him. He pushed forward, hips moving slowly whilst watching for any hint that you needed him to stop. Oberyn whispered words of comfort as he sheathed himself completely into you, praising you, complimenting you, anything to keep you from concentrating on the foreign feeling of him inside of you. 

You didn’t realise you’d closed your eyes until you were opening them to see Oberyn smiling down at you. You returned the smile to reassure him you were fine and you were ready to continue. 

He kissed you as he pulled out, leaving just the tip in, making you groan into his mouth and grip onto his shoulders. He set a rhythm, not too fast but quick enough to have you really feel him. He was big enough that you felt him deep inside, more so than his fingers had before. He kept hitting a spot that had you arching off the bed and chasing another climax.

Oberyn pressed his face into the crook of your shoulder, grounding himself to you. You felt incredible, the way you squeezed his cock in anticipation of reaching another high, the tightness making him see stars. He had to keep remembering this was your first time, to not be as rough as he could be with his other lovers, but he would get you there one day. He decided he would invite you to his bed again, introduce you to Ellaria, have you on his free arm if you wanted that. You were too good for just one night.

He deepened his thrusts, pushing you over the edge with a sob. He could tell you were becoming oversensitive and so he pulled out of you to finish off on your stomach, hot thick ropes of seed painting the perfect picture on your soft skin. 

You felt him leave the bed but you didn’t have the energy to open your eyes to see where he was going. Your body was tingling with pleasure and you were smiling blissfully as you came down, breathing eventually evening out to something close to normal. 

You jumped in surprise at the sensation of a cold cloth being dragged across your skin and you opened your eyes to see Oberyn cleaning you up. You hissed when he reached your sensitive lips and he sent you an apologetic smile. 

“Do you need to go back home to your father?” he asked, discarding the cloth to the floor.

“I don’t need to…” 

“Good,” Oberyn pulled the sheet out from underneath you, throwing it off the bed to be cleaned in the morning and produced a clean bed cover from a drawer, “you can stay right here.”

Oberyn joined you in bed and pulled the sheet over the both of you. He gathered you into his arms and the two of you fell asleep, exhausted from the nights events but eager to explore each other again once you were well rested. 

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @anu-simps​ @computeringturtle​ @bts17army​ 

[jeonsjiddies]

everything i wanted | ksj (m)

⏤  Pairing: Seokjin x reader ⏤  Genre: smut, fluff ⏤  Word Count: ~2k ⏤  Warnings: oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, breast play?

⏤  Summary: Your boyfriend, Seokjin, comforts you and reminds you that you are, and will always be, enough. 

Sitting on the couch in the center of your living room, a thick duvet wrapped around your body, mindless chatter on the TV, and tears slowly streaming down your cheeks, that was how Seokjin found you when he came home. You hadn’t even noticed the quiet click of the lock when he’d opened and shut the door or the rustle of his jacket as he removed it and hung it on the rack. You were too lost in your own little world, too consumed by your emotions to pay attention to your surroundings.

“Baby?” Seokjin had asked cautiously after you hadn’t greeted him.

You jumped slightly, turning to look at your boyfriend, attempting to swipe the tears from your face in an effort to hide the fact that you were crying, but he knew. Seokjin always knew. He could read you like an open book, and most days you were thankful for that, but today you wanted to hide in your blanket burrito and be invisible. 

“Oh, hey, is it that late already? Sorry I haven’t started dinner-” you began with a nervous chuckle but Seokjin shook his head, sitting beside you and rubbing your back soothingly.

“Don’t fret over that, my love. I can cook, or we can order, it doesn’t matter. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, I just think I need a nap,” you lied, kissing his cheek and disappearing into your bedroom.

Jin watched you go, wanting to give you your space and not smother you, but he knew how you were, how you shut yourself off and hid away when you needed someone the most. He sighed, standing up and tidying up a few things around the house, periodically looking towards your closed bedroom door, trying to ignore the way his heart tugged with the need to comfort you.

About a half an hour went by and Jin had cleaned up the apartment, making sure there wasn’t anything you had to do later so you could relax before he tentatively made his way to the bedroom, knocking quietly before letting himself in, silently slotting himself between you and the wall, gently running his fingertips up and down your arm.

“I know you came here to be alone, but I’m not going to let you feel alone. If you want space, that’s fine, I’ll respect that. But I don’t want you to think that I’m not here for you. I love you. If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

You sighed, gulping loudly in a futile attempt to swallow down the tears that were building with Seokjin’s soft gaze landing on you, his gentle touches on your back, his comforting scent. You turned to face him and Jin guided your body to lean into his chest and you melted into his embrace for a moment, your bottom lip trembling before you hid your face in his shirt, your entire body quaking as your tears sprung free once more.

“I’m just so tired, Jinnie…” you sighed, barely audible as you mumbled into the crumpled fabric of his shirt, “I hate my job so much, my boss is such a misogynistic asshole.”

“Why don’t you try to find something else?” 

“I have been, but I’m not getting anywhere. The job market is terrible right now, or maybe I really am just a dumb little girl,” you sighed, quoting one of the many things your boss had screamed in your face earlier in the day. 

“Oh baby, you know that’s not true,” Jin soothed.

“Then why won’t anyone else hire me? Why does my boss hate me so much?”

“Your boss is just a jerk, and like you said, the job market isn’t great right now,” Seokjin said softly, lifting you from his chest to look into your eyes, making sure his next words sunk in, “there is nothing wrong with you. You are just as smart and capable as any male in that office, probably more so.”

“It really feels like there’s something wrong with me when my boss and all his little brown nosers keep putting me down. It just hurts, Jinnie.”

“As long as I’m here no one can hurt you. If I could change the way that you see yourself, you wouldn’t wonder why dear they don’t deserve you.”

“Thank you, Jin. I love you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess lately,” you sighed into his chest.

“You’re not a mess, you’re a human. I love you too. How about we order something from that new pizza place you like?”

"Mmm.. I think I'll keep you," you grinned, snuggling closer to his comforting scent.

“I certainly hope so, ‘cause it’s going to be hard to get rid of me now,” he chuckled, ordering your usual on the app while stroking your hair out of your face with his free hand.

You chuckled, letting his soothing motions calm your frazzled nerves until the pizza came, and Jin went to go get it, bringing it back to your bed and the two of you sitting up, your head on his shoulder as you ate and joked around, smearing pizza sauce across his cheek then leaning in to lick it off, causing Seokjin to fake-gag.

After you’d both eaten and you’d calmed down, wrapped up in the blankets with Seokjin absentmindedly running his fingers up and down your arm, you glanced up at him, your heart expanding as you watched his slow, deep breaths, his eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks, and listened to the soft melody he was humming. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m glad you’re mine,” you whispered into the crook of his neck. 

“Oh baby girl, you deserve the world and more. I’m so glad you’re mine too.” 

You smiled shyly, biting your lip and Seokjin raised an eyebrow at you questioningly. You looked away quickly, sitting up and wiggling out of his grasp to climb on top of him, straddling his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. His brows quirked in interest as his hands instinctively found purchase on your hips. 

“How about I show you just how much I appreciate you?” you purred playfully, one hand reaching up to run your fingers through his hair and gently nudge his head back to give you more room to kiss on his thick, delicious neck. 

“Mmm.. I like the sound of that.”

You smirked against his neck, sliding your hands underneath his shirt and lifting yourself to fling it off of him, then continued to kiss down his golden chest, your tongue circling his sensitive nipples on your journey, causing a soft hiss to escape from his plump lips. Each new patch of skin you got your mouth on was decorated with your red and purple marks of appreciation, Seokjin making delicious, desperate noises below you the closer you got to his ever-hardening length. 

You unbuckled his belt, shooting a seductive glance up at your boyfriend who already looked fucked out. You smiled to yourself before flicking the belt open and ridding your boyfriend of any more fabric that would deny you access to pleasing him. 

You ran your tongue teasingly up the underside of his shaft before wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock, earning a pained groan when you sunk down, taking him as far as you could until his tip hit the back of your throat. 

“Fuck baby. I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he warned breathlessly. 

You hummed against his cock, the vibrations making his hips buck slightly, but that didn’t stop you, you kept bobbing your head up and down and using your hands to massage what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Ugh you look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock, you know that? Shit-“

You watched eagerly, drinking in the sight of Seokjin losing himself from your ministrations, head thrown back in pleasure, a sheen of sweat coating his golden skin, making him shine under the bedroom lights. He glanced down and met your eyes, his hand reaching down to hold yours, fingers interlocking. 

You squeezed his hand, gazing up into his eyes, and he watched you with love swimming in his, until his abdomen clenched and he croaked out a needy “close,” to which you hummed in response, sending Seokjin off the edge, his warm seed spilling down your throat. You drank it up and swallowed all of it, licking your lips seductively once you lifted your head, his member leaving your lips with an audible pop. 

Seokjin laid there, breathing ragged, and made a grabbing motion for you, pulling you into his chest and kissing all over your face affectionately. 

“You get better at that every time.”

You giggled, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and absentmindedly grinding your hips against his for a little bit of friction, having grown wet at the sound of your boyfriend falling apart for you. 

“Mmm.. is my baby feeling needy?” he teased, his long fingers dancing down your stomach. 

“Can you blame me? You look so fucking hot when you cum.”

“Mmmm.. so are you. I’d love to see it now,” he grinned deviously before climbing over you, slotting his body between your parted thighs, his already semi-hard cock pressing against your mound.

“Ready for round two already?” You raised an eyebrow with a smirk, to which Seokjin just shrugged. 

“I can’t seem to get enough of you.” 

He rolled his hips into yours, emphasizing his statement with proof of his steadily-hardening length against your skin before capturing your lips in a heated kiss, one hand snaking up your side to knead at your breast, gently twisting and pulling them before reaching for the hem of your shirt, tugging it off your body and you exposing your breasts to the cool air. Your nipples hardened even more and Seokjin wrapped his thick lips around them, sucking and rubbing his tongue over the sensitive nubs. 

“Mmm.. Jinnie just like that,” you encouraged breathlessly, “always so good with your mouth.”

“Oh baby what I wouldn’t give to show you what my mouth could do to you, but I really want to make love to you right now. Rain check?”

“Of course, we have forever baby.”

Jin smiled down at you like you hung the stars in the sky( leaving a gentle peck on your nose before tugging your bottoms off along with your panties, tossing them aside and slipping one long finger through your folds.

“You’re dropping. You think you’re ready?”

“Always ready for you, Mr. Kim.” 

Your boyfriend smirked at the name, one eyebrow raising in interest. You blew him a kiss and he rolled his eyes playfully before lining his member up with your pussy, slowly pushing in until he was buried to the hilt inside your right, wet heat. 

“How do you still feel so tight every time?”

“How do you still feel so damn big every time?”

He just smirked at you, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen lips as he began to move his hips, slowly thrusting in and out of you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging gently to ground yourself and Jin began to speed up the movement of his hips, his soft slow thrusts turning faster, harder, more desperate. He leaned down to nibble on your ear, allowing his hot breath to ghost across it as he whispered.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too, so so much.” 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your impending high, not with Seokjin knowing your body like the back of his hand, his expert thrusts and kisses and wandering hands bringing you to the edge of bliss in no time. 

“I’m gonna-“ you croaked out, but didn’t get the chance to finish.

One harsh thrust from Seokjin paired with the enthusiastic sucking of your nipple sent you over the edge, your orgasm nearly consuming you. Seokjin worked you through your high, and soon after came himself, his warm seed filling your bettered hole.

You both watched in fascination when he pulled out, the thick cum leaking out of your pussy and onto your thighs. Jin quickly grabbed a damp washcloth and cleaned you up, gently rubbing the cloth through your folds to wipe away the mess he’d made from your delicate skin before tossing it in the hamper and climbing into bed beside you.

Snuggled up to your boyfriends naked, slightly sweaty body, you felt more at peace than you had in ages. You were satiated in every way possible and you knew the only person who could fill you up in every sense of the word was Seokjin. 

“I love you, Jin. Thank you for always being there. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

“I love you too, baby.”

[wolveria]

Into the Twilight

Pairing: Link x Reader

Summary: It was one of the last full days of summer when you discovered your wolf… was not a wolf

Prompt: For the @bannedtogetherbingo2020​

Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word Count: 2.8k

AO3

It was one of the last full days of summer when you discovered your wolf… was not a wolf.

You were headed down to the springs; it was hot, muggy, and the insects hung about your head in clouds. Not expecting to find anyone at your secret bathing spot, you paused at the sight of large, familiar wolf tracks in the mud. Only one beast could make tracks that large so close to the edge of the village.

Sure enough, you peered through the trees to find a hunched figure at the water, but… it was too small to be your wolf. Too naked and too human, you realized, as he rose to his feet.

Mortified at stumbling across someone during their bath, you nearly gave in to flight, but you paused. He was a stranger, someone you didn’t recognize, and his ears were pointed instead of round. How odd to find a Hylian here, of all places.

And he was beautiful. Even from this distance where you hid in the shadows, his golden skin and lean muscles were glistening in the sunlight. It was like something out of one of those romance books at Sera’s Sundries—not that you’d ever read them—and it made you feel even more like a pervert to just sit there and stare.

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave, either. Who was this mysterious Hylian? Where had he come from? Where were his clothes? You tried to spot them, anything to take your eyes off the golden-haired man as he slipped into the water, but you couldn’t see any fabric along the shore.

Deciding to confront him when he emerged, you waited him out, wiping irritably at the sweat on your forehead. The whine of dragonflies zipping across the water filled your ears, and you were resentful to the stranger for stealing your moment for a bath, no matter how pretty he might be.

Finally, the Hylian swam back to the shore and emerged onto land. Your face heated again at the sight of all that skin, and you attempted to keep your eyes down as you watched what he would do next.

Never could you have predicted him dropping onto all fours, spine arching and his fingers splayed across the ground as dark grey fur rippled across his growing body. A bushy tail sprouted, his limbs contorted into animal legs, and his head formed into the large wolf features you’d come to know so well over the past several months.

Your wolf… was a man.

Bath forgotten, you ran from the stream as fast as you could, unable to quell your panic until you’d returned home.

***

You had first met the wolf months earlier in the dead of winter. The woodland deer had been agitated, fleeing something in the forest, and it had been simple to follow the bright crimson trail of blood in the snow. Before long, you found a massive beast, one leg trapped in a cruel, metal vice meant to capture bears.

Trembling, eyes wide with fear, the wolf had allowed you to approach, and pull the pin on the hinge to release it. The wolf had taken off after that, only to return a few days later, weak and barely alive. It—he was starving, unable to hunt with a leg that was clearly broken.

You’d treated his wounds, fed him from your own meager food supply, and from that day forth he was more like a friend than a pet. You’d always suspected there was more going on behind those intelligent blue eyes—but you’d had no idea it was this.

Life went on as usual after your earth-shattering discovery at the spring. You talked to him like you always did, paying more attention now that you suspected he could understand. You didn’t know much about shapeshifters, just that they were the stuff of myth and legends, but here he was, real and true. You probably should have suspected something; what kind of wolf had such ornate fur with jewelry on his ears?

If the wolf understood you, he played ignorant and acted the part of a beast, albeit a clever one. He kept the brown bears from encroaching onto your small farm and never bothered your chickens or cats. But he kept his true nature to himself, and your curiosity grew with each day, stifled in frustration the longer he continued the charade.

One particularly hot, muggy day as you were toiling in the garden, dirty and knee-deep in rice paddy water, your patience snapped.

“I know you’re not just a wolf!”

His head perked up from where he was resting, ears forward as he looked at you.

“And I know you can understand me!” you fumed. “Why won’t you show me what you really are!”

Those blue eyes stared right through you, far away and haunted in the way only a person’s could be. Then he looked away, rose to his paws and took off, across the field and into the forest faster than you could follow.

Defeated and mournful with the certainty he wouldn’t come back, you cleaned up and went inside to get ready for an early bed. The sun was nearly set and you wouldn’t get anything else done the rest of the day.

But sleep wouldn’t come easy. As your old rickety barn house grew dark and the stars and moon climbed beyond the window, you tossed and turned, thin sheets tangled in sweaty limbs. Sighing irritably, you gave up the battle for sleep and stared blankly at the peaked roof over your head. It wasn’t long before your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, warmth blooming in anticipation.

Sometimes, on sleepless nights like these, it was the only way to find solace. You’d been alone for most of your life, and while there were a few attractive people in the village, no one drew your eye. No one, that is, until a few days earlier.

As you began to rub yourself, slowly at first, you pictured him perfectly in your mind. Shaggy dark blond hair, pale golden skin, and those eyes. Even in the distance you recognized the shade of blue, identical whether he was a man or a beast.

Was it wrong to have these thoughts? Did it truly matter? No one had to know. It was your secret to imagine those strong limbs wrapping around you, pulling you close as his hot mouth traced over your skin. What would that feel like? Warm and wet, with teeth a little too sharp—

You groaned as quietly as you could, spreading your knees and pressing your fingers deeper inside yourself, pretending it was him. The man whose name you didn’t know, wearing wolf’s clothing.

You didn’t know why you opened your eyes; a shift in the air, a creaking floorboard, or perhaps the quiet huff of a breath. But when you did open them, there were glittering eyes staring back at you from the foot of the bed.

You jerked your hand out of your shorts with a yelp and scrambled back on your elbows. The wolf continued to stare at you, dark and silent, and the hairs on your nape stood upright. Now you understood what it felt like to be a rabbit caught in a predator’s gaze, limbs frozen in terror.

With graceful silence, the wolf jumped onto your low-frame bed. He was so large you had to draw up your legs, and you moved as far away from him as you could, pressing your back to the stone wall.

Moonlight streamed in from the window above your bed, highlighting the white of his fur until it almost glowed. And then it did glow, shifting and shrinking until it was dark blond hair that was faintly illuminated by the light.

You couldn’t breathe or move. His expression was much more intense at such a close distance. His hair was unkempt, lips pulled thin as he watched you intently with blue eyes that hadn’t changed.

He crept toward you on all fours, movements cautious as he sniffed at your bent knee. You twitched when he licked your skin, the touch sending a ticklish jolt down your leg, leaving warmth in its wake. It wasn’t the only area that grew warmer.

His expression shifted into something darker as he leaned forward. He grabbed your hand, his movements clumsy as if from disuse, and he brought your fingers to his lips. It wasn’t until his tongue darted out and he licked the tips that you realized it was the same hand you’d used to touch yourself.

Face on fire, you tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. His tongue was as warm and wet as you’d imagined, his pupils blown as he slipped one of your fingers into his mouth. He sat back on his haunches, a soft moan escaping his throat, and you were suddenly reminded of his lack of clothes. The moonlight illuminated the smooth muscles of his chest and abdomen, and the erect, flushed cock hanging heavy between his legs.

Simultaneously, you tried to pull back your hand and press your thighs together, a poor attempt to hide your uncomfortable arousal. His dazed expression was replaced by a sharp, hungry one. He released your hand, pushed open your legs, and lowered himself to nose at the seam of your crotch.

You let out a harsh noise and tried to back away again, but there was nowhere to retreat and his hands were iron on your hips. He nosed and licked through the threadbare fabric of your shorts, slow at first as if you were a meal he wanted to savor, then more desperate as if he were starved.

The overwhelming need to be touched made you helpless as you rolled your hips against his mouth, fisting the sheets as part of you wanted to pull away and the other part sought more friction. The fabric of your shorts and underwear were quickly soaked from both of your efforts, and when he growled and grabbed your waistband in his teeth, you didn’t stop him as he tore them off.

Burying his head back between your legs, he wasted no time in hungrily licking stripes along your sensitive skin, groaning deep in his throat as if you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. He took you into his mouth, sucking and licking with almost clumsy enthusiasm.

You arched your back and dug your fingers into his shaggy, soft hair, too overwhelmed to question the morality of it all. He felt so good, and you were so lonely. Judging by his desperation, he was the same.

The pleasure in your gut built unbelievably fast, and you didn’t have time to warn him as your muscles clenched and electrifying pleasure shot up your body. You cried out, gripping his hair tightly as you throbbed in waves, every inch of your skin tingling as he sucked and licked you through your orgasm.

You gasped, oversensitive, and gently pulled him off of you. He frowned and his brows creased in disappointment, but his expression quickly changed to surprise as you pulled him up, fully on top of you.

He inhaled sharply when you drew him forward, hand on either side of his face, and pressed your lips against his. Relaxing into your grip, he quickly got the idea, opening his mouth and returning the gesture hungrily. He didn’t seem to know how to kiss properly, licking into your mouth more than anything, but you weren’t about to complain.

You broke apart when you had to gasp for air, heart pounding as something hard and hot poked against your thigh. He buried his face in your neck as if suddenly shy, but that didn’t stop him from darting out his tongue and licking your neck.

The skin of his back was smooth under your hands, your need to feel every inch of him like a physical ache, and it wasn’t longer than half a minute before he was panting and shivering, a low whine in his throat.

Slipping down between your hips, you grasped him in hand, savoring the way he groaned and rolled his hips, frustrated and wet as copious amounts of pre-cum leaked from the head. You guided him down until he was rubbing his length against you, the strength of his muscles taut. He was holding back, but just barely.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, lips pressed against one pointed ear. “It’s okay.”

His grip was tight enough to bruise as he grabbed your hips and pulled you down the bed so you were flat against the thin mattress. The head of his cock prodded against your entrance as he lined himself up, and then he pushed in. You were already slick from his mouth against you earlier, but it was still more than you were prepared for. You threw your head back, mouth open as you choked for breath, and he took advantage to lay kisses and licks all along your throat.

He was halfway inside when he slowly pulled out, giving you a few seconds to breathe before he pushed back in, sheathing all the way inside until his hips struck yours.

Nails digging into his back, you tried, and failed, to not whimper at the sudden, overwhelming fullness. He distracted you with soft touches and warm licks, tender and affectionate in a way you’d never experienced from anyone. There was only you and him, and when he began to roll his hips in long, slow thrusts, the pleasure blotted everything else out until there was only him.

He gradually picked up his pace, his moans and whimpers beautiful, and you wrapped your thighs around his waist in an attempt to get closer. You drew his lips back to yours, kissing him sloppy and open-mouthed, and like day to night, the gentleness became hard and desperate. He gripped you tight, slamming against your hips as he sucked and nipped at your throat. The bed rattled and shook under you from the force of his thrusts, and some distant part of you wondered if the bed would break.

No longer able to remain quiet, you cried out sharply as he repeatedly hit the deep, sensitive place inside you could never reach, and with a hoarse yell you came without warning.

He growled, losing his rhythm, and he bit down into your shoulder hard enough to draw blood. The pleasure whited out most of your senses until you were nothing but a writhing, crying mess. With a choked cry of his own, he pushed in as far as he could go, a warm, throbbing pulse following as he spilled deep inside you. He lay limp for a moment, then made to get off of you, but you held him tightly.

He allowed you to pull him back down on you, and you ran your fingers through his surprisingly soft hair. His trembling eventually stopped. He relaxed, his uneven breaths finally slowing, and he tentatively licked at the bleeding mark on your shoulder.

You buried the side of your face in his hair and continued to pet him. He hummed deep in his chest. You both remained that way for a while, floating in contentment, though you couldn’t stay like that forever. His seed was leaking out of you, and that knowledge was far more appealing than was proper.

Perhaps this is the person you’d always been, and it had taken a romp with a shapeshifter for you to realize it.

Eventually, he pushed himself up; you reluctantly let him go, but he only rolled onto his side to face you. You felt empty without him, another thought that sent fire to your cheeks, but he didn’t seem to be planning on going far. His expression was gentle and warm as he watched you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to pet his chest.

His eyelids shut halfway, a small smile on his lips as he moved a little closer, sharing your warmth. The night had turned colder, and you could smell the faint hint of autumn in the chilled air. Come winter, the forest would be coated with snow and it would be difficult to forage for food. You feared for him, out there alone, able to recall all too well when he’d been injured and starved.

“Stay.”

You reached up your hand and stroked his warm cheek. He leaned into it, closing his eyes, long dark lashes lying against his skin.

“Like this. With me.”

He opened his eyes and gave you a questioning look. Did he know what you were really asking? To stay for more than just one night?

“Can you… talk?”

He blinked, sharp brows furrowed.

“…Yes.”

His voice was barely above a broken rasp, but it was there. Your expression softened and you asked, “What’s your name?”

His lips parted, large eyes vulnerable and searching yours for something. An answer? Reassurance? What was it he feared?

He curled his hand around yours and pulled it down until it was over his heart.

“Link,” he said. “My name is Link.”