#the pillow line. the way he's having the time of his life on the ship but everyone else hates it

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Second part to this (direct continuation)

NSFW, minors do not interact

Fem!reader x zandalari troll, fingering, squirting, size kink

“So tired just from that?” Daz’ai’s words were teasing but playful as he watched you wobble and lean on the door for support.

Between having your knees locked the whole time and the thorough job he had done eating you out you were wobbling as if the ship was in a storm instead of docked. You were also in no condition to protest as Daz’ai lifted you up and carried you to the bed where he then carefully laid you down among the pillows.

You watched as he undid his belt, unable to tear your eyes from him actually. It was mesmerizing watching his tattoos catch the sunlight, watching muscles move under taut skin. He moved slowly and with purpose, giving you a sly smile and watching your reaction when he finally stepped out of his pants.

Surprise was not quite the right word, you already had a good idea of what you would be dealing with, but still there must have been a look of shock on your face, which only seemed to make Daz’ai smile more.

“Don’t you worry, I have nothing but time to get you ready. It’s one of my favorite parts” his eyes never leaving your face.

He settled down onto the bed and pulled you close, your back flush against his chest, dwarfed by his size. His knee nudged your thighs apart and you felt him nestle his cock between your legs, rubbing against your still wet folds.

Automatically you angled your hips back, trying to give him a better angle to line up with you, which only made him laugh.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, trust me when I say that’s not going to work” the rumbles of his laugh and voice traveled pleasantly down your spine and straight between your legs. “Let me enjoy you like this while you find your legs again”.

Slowly he thrusted between your thighs, the remaining wetness of your cunt let him slide easily. His hand pressed down on to the top of your leg, nudging you squeeze him between them firmly and you happily complied.

Clearly he was in no hurry, lazily thrusting while the hand that was on your leg drifted up and under your shirt. Rough, calloused fingertips gently pinched and rolled one of your nipples and you let out a soft sigh in response.

“Not many humans making their way to Dazar’alor, even with the war over, so what brings you here?” he asked nonchalantly as if he was not currently grinding between your thighs.

Between soft sighs you managed to answer him, “Just needed a change. I went my whole life living in one city, figured it was time to get out in the world”.

Once more his low, rumbling laugh sent pleasant tingles down your spine and left a warmth between your legs, “Now that, that’s something I truly understand” he said.

Tentatively you reached down and ran your fingers along his tip as it poked out from between your plump thighs, feeling the beads of pre cum forming. You pressed his shaft up against your folds and clit more firmly, enjoying the friction as he continued to grind against you.

“And not shy, I like that” he said as he gave your nipple a particularly firm pinch that made you let out a loud moan, “I like people who know what they want”.

You closed your eyes, exhausted from both the long voyage to Dazar’alor and from Daz’ai, though more than happy to let Daz’ai continue with you how he pleased. With how tall he was, your head was only up to the middle of his chest laying like this, making you feel completely enveloped by him as he curled around you. He reached down with his free hand to tilt your face up to look at him, at this angle his tusks got in the way trying to kiss the top of your head, so he settled for just pressing his forehead to the top of your head instead.

It would be a lie to say that you were not at least a little confused by him, he was awfully gentle and affectionate for a hook up.

“So,” you began, “have you been with humans before?”

Another laugh from him pleasantly traveled down your spine from where you were pressed against him, “Many times, I’m actually quite fond of humans, the soft little things you are” he gave the fat of your hip a squeeze with the hand that had been resting on your thigh.

The smirks and giggles from his crew made more since now, an apparent pattern of behavior for him, not that it mattered to you. You had just been curious to see the warship up close, the fact that the captain was handsome and had a things for humans was just a bonus.

“So is this how you usually get someone in bed with you? Invite them to your ship and bring them back to your quarters?” you teased.

“I usually just head to the tavern, find someone interesting, then hope they have a partner who also wants to come along too” he smiled back.

You blushed at his words, figuring it was probably not a joke. He was confident, knew what he liked, and clearly was very experienced, and it was wildly attractive.

Carefully he rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him, setting you to straddle his hips, and seeing him under you was quite a sight.

Regal would be a good word to describe him. From the little bit you knew of Zandalari culture you knew he was not just handsome to you as a human, but definitely drew attention everywhere he went. He was tall, well muscled with a broad chest and back, and very impressive tusks. You remembered hearing people on the voyage to Dazar’alor giggle over tusk sizes and possible correlations, and well, maybe there was some merit.

A few stands of long white hair had slipped free from where he kept his hair tied up. His tattoos were mesmerizing, the ink shined like gold in the light and you traced your fingers along the lines on his chest. As you touched him he watched you, though you could not meet his gaze, there was something about the glow of his solid colored eyes was just too intense.

“So,” you began, “you have a thing for humans?”

“I do. Is that a problem?” he asked back, his hands on your hips encouraging you to grind against him.

“No, I’m just surprised, I always heard that the Zandalari were pretty insular”.

He snorted, and though it was hard to tell for sure, you were fairly certain he rolled his eyes, “Not insular” he corrected firmly, “We are explorers and keepers of knowledge, we just have our way of life and very few are willing to leave and give it up”.

“Oh” you said softly. His tone was firm, but not annoyed or angry, though it left you feeling like you were a kid back in school being scolded by a teacher for asking a dumb question.

“One of the most important things to us is collecting and preserving knowledge. You cannot build the libraries we have if you refuse to travel and learn about others, and I quite like learning about others, especially hands on”. He moved a large hand up to your breast to gently give you a squeeze and seemingly to make his point.

“And what have you learned about humans?” you asked.

He let out a low hum before speaking, “Humans are cocky, you see a Zandalari and want to start a fight. I’m no fighter, but I’ve sent many cocky humans home with wounded pride.

“And humans come in so many shapes and sizes, unlike Zandalari. My people value strength almost above all else, does not leave a lot of room for different looks, it’s boring. But a human like you? Soft and round, how much better it feels to have soft thighs around my cock, how good those wide hips look bent over, being able to grab on and get a good handful of someone?” his other hand grabbed onto the fat of your hip, “So beautifully different than what I was used to”.

Your face was red hot from the way he spoke, from the way he looked at you with such desire.

“So, my pretty little human, think you’re steady enough now for me to really tire you out?” he asked.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, still worn out from earlier and now overstimulated from his shaft rubbing your clit the whole time, “All yours” you smiled still.

It was surprising how quickly he could move. Before you knew it he had flipped you onto your back on the bed and was seated between your legs. His hands started at your knees and he took his time gently squeezing and playing with your thighs as he worked his way up, occasionally stopping to kiss the tops of your legs. You marveled at his hands, only two thick fingers and a thumb per hand like all trolls, and you were eager to experience what he could do with them.

Daz’ai slowly dragged one of those thick fingers between your folds and tentatively pressed against your entrance. “You’ll tell me if anything is too much, ok?” it was not a question as much as it was a command.

“Ok” you answered back, already panting in anticipation.

The stretch from his finger was incredible and you squirmed under his careful touch as he began to enter you. He paused periodically, anticipating when it was getting to be too much even before you needed to say anything. Occasionally stopping to rub his finger along your wet heat while he patiently waited for you to adjust.

“By the light you really know what you’re doing” you gasped as he slid his finger in a bit farther.

“I’ve had plenty of practice” he gave you a sly smile.

Expertly and thoroughly he worked you over, sliding his finger almost entirely out before gently working in back in and softly rubbing against your cervix once you were able to handle it. Many time he paused just a few inches in to stroke your most sensitive spots, making you see stars. None of his movements were fast nor particularly intense, instead he was precise, listening to your moans and constantly adjusting what he was doing.

As he settled into a steady pattern and rhythm with you, his free hand moved to your clit. His pressure was light as he started, tentatively varying it until he found what really made you moan. Never once did he falter in his rhythm, nor did he look away from your face.

“Just relax, pretty little thing. You’re still so tense, and haven’t I been so gentle with you?” he cooed.

You closed you eyes, just focusing on how incredible everything felt.

It was hard to tell how old Daz’ai was exactly, all you knew was he was older than you, wildly more experienced than you, and that you were more than happy to let him lead.

You could feel how hard you were clenching around his finger as you got closer. The tension in your core building endlessly from his steady pace, enough to leave you panting but not enough to tip you over the edge.

“Please” you begged him for the second time that day.

“Hmmmm? ‘Please’ what?” he asked back, a teasing tone in his voice.

“More. Please”.

“I was going to drag this out as long as I could, but if you’re going to ask so nicely” he trailed off, pressing another kiss to the top of your leg before making sure you felt every bit of him, his steady pace increasing and making your toes curl.

All you could manage was incoherent babbling, strings of “yes” or “oh fuck” as you felt like every nerve in your body was on fire in the most incredible way. The first waves of your release hit hard, your brain locking up and not being able to make a sound for the first few moments, then came a new feeling. A spray of fluids from you that coated Da’zai chest and the sheets under you.

“I’m so sorry! That’s never happened before” you exclaimed in your embarrassment. “I don’t know what- I didn’t mean to”

Swiftly he cut you off, looking highly amused as you babbled on in a panic, “I have that effect on people. And whatever you think just happened? No”.

“No?”

“No” he repeated, a cocky smile now on his face, “Though, now I know I’m the best you’ve ever had”.

Even without seeing yourself, you knew your face was beet red. He was right. He was the best you have ever had and by a wide margin. You had had plenty of good sex in your life, even great sex at times, but Daz’ai’s idea of foreplay was an entirely different thing.

He dragged himself over to lay on his side next to you, pausing only for a moment to use the corner of the sheet to wipe himself off, “Don’t look so embarrassed, it felt good, right?” he asked.

“Yeah” was all you could manage, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest from your orgasm and your embarrassment.

“It’s normal, not something everyone can do, but my ego does like that I must be the first to get you to squirt” slowly he ran his fingers along your hips and leg, “And that was just a finger, imagine how good it’ll feel riding my cock while I play with your clit and nipples”.

You squirmed as you felt your cunt flutter in response to his words, already feeling more wetness forming at the thought.

“I’m going to have so much fun playing with this pretty, soft body” he cooed at you as he tossed an arm over you and happily kneaded his hand into the fat of your hips.

The way he looked at you made you blush more than his words, the intense desire mixed with a gentleness.

“You look so good like this, feeling so good, so pliable and ready for me. Rest for moment, close your eyes and doze if you need, and then when you’re ready I’m going to make sure you come looking for my ship any time you’re in the city”.

[claire-starsword]

Max’s Diary - Chapter 5

(15) Month of the Black Horse, Day 25

Ahh, a ship voyage. How many times did I cry into my pillow because the boat at Rindo got burned... Everyone else is also staring quietly at the sea. Some guys worry about not knowing how to swim, plenty also hate the salty sea breeze as well. Only Domingo keeps talking with his big ego as usual.

As we floated by without a care, Runefaust's army caught up to us. A flying squad of Pegasus Knights and some nasty Conchs dragging themselves toward us. It seems they're here more to destroy the ship than to attack people. If we don't stop them we're gonna become food for the fishes. We didn't even get used to traveling by ship at this point, they could have let us enjoy it a bit more. Kinda petty of them.

___

(16) Month of the Black Horse, Day 32

I decided to follow a Skeleton, and arrived at some mysterious place. There stood a Master Mage facing the wall and screaming something. I leaned forward to try to hear it better. I heard some mysterious words, "Isal, Kasal, Hosal". New magic words? What do they do? Mysteries and mysteries leading to more mysteries. Led on by my endless curiosity I got closer, and Runefaust noticed, thus a battle started. But, no one wanted to get closer out of fear of those magic words. We're gonna lose like this. As I thought that I sent Diane who just got promoted to Bowmaster. Shoot! Diane! The Robin Arrow flew with a thunderous boom. The Master Mage went to heaven in one shot! And the magic words?

___

(17) Month of the Brown Snake, Day 5

The ship was fixed, and we set sail from Waral. Because of what happened in the last voyage, no one is happy. You can see the exhaustion on their faces. All we can see is the horizon all the time, so it's gotten quite boring. It would suck to get attacked at a time like this. But that's exactly the kind of time when we get attacked...

On battles aboard a ship, guys who can fly are a big help. Nova said that, and Balbaroy too. If I don't use that kind of assertive guy, they might resent it later. With Balbaroy and Kokichi and the like, we took control of the skies. That's as good as it gets. Alright, go!

As we fought I got the feeling that the number of Conchs was increasing. It would be great if it had been just my mistake but, reality is harsh. Tch.

[cauliflowercounty]

Knives Dance (Part III)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: It was hard to have a prose summary so here are some bullets of what’s happening in part 3

Baron Feyd missing you + heartfelt reunion 

Feyd being totally infatuated with you

SCIENCE!!! and POLITICS!!!

Rabban being pitiful

Reader being a badass

Feyd vs Paul on Arrakis (what will happen? You’ll never knowww… [unless you read this chapter **wink, wink, wink**]

Warnings: Violence, blood, death (woohoo)

Word Count: 10.3k (whoops… I went typey-type)

A/N: I wanted to say a sincere thanks to everyone who's read Knives Dance up to this point. This series is some of the most fun I've had writing in a long, long time. Sending lots of love your way :)

Part I | Part II | Part III

--

Stirring gently in his bed, Feyd recoils slightly as the light from Giedi Prime’s black sun hits his eye line through the wall of windows that separate his bedroom from the private balcony that overlooks the cityscape.  He extends his arm to your side of the bed and runs his hand languidly across the surface, feeling the cool, silky sheets under his fingertips. His heart feels heavy in his chest, and he lets out a low growl of frustration into his pillow. It has been a long three weeks without you.  

You’ve been off-world on a visit to Youra to see your father and bring back equipment for the laboratory you’re constructing on Giedi Prime. He knows that he doesn’t have to worry about your safety because he insisted on a full Harkonnen security detail accompanying you, which should have put his mind at ease, but he’s laid awake each night since your departure, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of disasters befalling you during your travels. One night it’s asteroids colliding with your ship, tearing gaping holes in the walls, and sucking you into the vacuum of space. Another, it’s an ambush by an undiscovered society, hellbent on killing alien peoples for sport. Perhaps a novel virus wiping out the entire population of Youra and you with it in a matter of days?  No farfetched scenarios were off limits when Feyd allowed his mind to wander.

The foreign feeling of loss due to your absence has not only plagued him with anxiety, but allowed Feyd to slip into a state of abject melancholia. None of his old vices have come close to fulfilling him, let alone make him feel much of anything.  Watching his servants cower in fear or making foreign ambassadors quake in their seats wasn’t giving him the same gratification as it once had.  Even hearing the roar of the crowds in the arena didn't given him any satisfaction. Everything had felt unbearably pedestrian. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was the thought of having the other half of his bed full again and listening to your tranquil voice. With every passing moment, he’s yearned for the life you had built together on Giedi Prime to resume.

Your mornings together were simple and easy. They were a time when he could always experience a drop of serenity within the political quagmire he’d gotten himself into since assuming the title of Baron. He’d wake up with you already in his embrace, your head laid delicately on his chest. He'd listen to your soft breathing and savor the way your limbs would entangle with his. The image of you blinking your eyes open to look at him with the special glimmer of affection reserved just for him never failed to make his heart flutter. 

Overtime, Feyd noticed you had been taking very well to Harkonnen dresses, which you now wore more often than not. He had the best seamstresses on Giedi Prime make and tailor custom outfits for you, though he didn’t expect you to always wear them, knowing how important your heritage was for you.  Nevertheless, you continued to grab one of the black gowns from your shared closet for your daily tasks and tell him with a smile “I’m Baroness Harkonnen now.  Shouldn’t I dress the part?”

Before leaving your quarters each day, Feyd always took the opportunity to take your hand in his and bring you in front of the floor length mirror in your shared closet. With his hands around your waist, he would pepper gentle kisses from your cheeks down your neck, whispering in your ear “you are a vision today, my Baroness.” You'd always smile and blush bashfully in return, returning his kisses in kind. Moments like those when it was just the two of you had become one of his favorite parts of the day.

You made the meetings, filled with diplomats groveling to win his favor, bearable. How he loved to watch you as you sat on the grand Harkonnen throne beside him. You never failed to command the room with your head held high. Power and dignity seemed to drip off of your being and fill every room you entered. You were truly worthy of the title of Baroness, and with every passing day and every interaction, there was more and more for Feyd to admire about you.

In private, you took to training together, where he would bask in your shared might. With every blow he endured from you, all he could think about was that he, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, was the only person alive to witness you so animated with ferocity and passion from battle, as all others who have seen you this way have been slain and buried. Sparring sessions between the two of you almost always ended with you both on the floor, limbs entwined and chests heaving after one of you would get the best of the other and take the opportunity to pin the other to the floor. 

At the end of the day, you'd always assume your position on the balcony in a flowy, white nightgown. With a gentle gesture, you’d beckon him to accompany you while you observe your shared domain, watching the shuttles flying through the gaps in the dark architecture and the stark white floodlights passing over the cityscape.  He’d hold you close by your waist and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you start to shiver from the evening chill, at which point he’d tug at your waist to take you back to the bedroom to retire for the night. Every day, Feyd was falling deeper and deeper into you, and he’s loved every moment. 

Bringing himself upright, Feyd stretches his arms and stands up, walking over to the closet. Across from his sets of Harkonnen formalwear and battle gear, your gowns are neatly hung. Half of them are the sleek, black Harkonnen designs he had made for you. The other half are gorgeously vibrant Youran gowns. He sighs, imagining sharing one of your moments again in front of the mirror like always, but alas, you are not beside him. Once he’s dressed, he emerges from his quarters and is met with a nameless servant.

“Good morning, Baron,” the servant says, bowing deeply and trying not to give Feyd an excuse to kill him. “I am here to inform you that we have received a signal from the Baroness’s craft.  Her arrival is imminent.”

Hearing those words, Feyd turns on his heel toward the landing docks, dismissing the servant who heaves a sigh of relief because his head is thankfully still connected to the rest of his body. As Feyd walks the halls, his pace quickens, feeling the anticipation rise in his chest. People bow and salute him in the hallways, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. He’s too preoccupied with his thoughts of you; he can already smell the aroma of rainforest flowers you carry around with you. The thought that he’s so close to having you near again nearly drives him mad. 

When he arrives at the landing docks, the fleet of Harkonnen vessels is already touching down. As he hears the machinery’s loud whirring die, the ramps of all the crafts to meet the floor. Lines of Harkonnen soldiers file out first, each soldier with weapons in arms. The steady pulse of their synchronized footsteps echoes through the space with perfect adherence to Harkonnen military standards is satisfactory for Feyd. The commander in front barks orders, and the guards immediately step into formation, making an aisle that extends between Feyd and the craft closest to him. 

He is at a loss for words when he sees you walk down the ramp. You are undeniably gorgeous in Harkonnen clothes, but you look positively ethereal in the Youran gown and golden headdress that adorn your body today. Instead of shrouding yourself in the cloak you’ve worn in the past to hide your weaponry, you’re wearing a traditional dress reserved only for Youra’s utmost nobility. Layers of sheer, olive and cerulean fabric flare behind you to create your dress’s skirt out from under a ribbed bronze and mahogany corset.  Seeing how it’s cinched your waist and accented your silhouette, all Feyd wants to do is hold you and drag his fingers up and down the length of your figure.

Through the abundance of delicate golden chains that are symmetrically draped over your exposed shoulders and chest, Feyd can see how the corset and the off the shoulder neckline cradles your breasts in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. The entire skirt of the dress is decorated in dazzling embellishments and the characteristic Youran golden thread that Feyd has come to love on you. The fabric of the train seems to flow like water behind you as you walk.  

The high front hemline of the gown that ends at your upper thighs gives Feyd a good look at your legs, the lengths of which are delicately wrapped in the thin, tan ribbons from your sandals. The crosshatched pattern of the ribbons allows him to see just how beautifully your legs are sculpted from years of training and exploration. The sight makes his mouth water. He is truly breathless gazing upon you, his Baroness.

You return his affectionate gaze and call his name excitedly, reaching down and bunching up your skirt in your grasp before breaking into a run between the lines of Harkonnen guards. Your footsteps are the only noise reverberating throughout the area. Before he even realizes it, Feyd’s running for you, too. As you approach each other, he extends his arms out to you, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist. As he lifts you up into his arms, he spins you both around as you nuzzle yourself deeper into his hold.

Your grips on each other are desperate. Without a moment to waste, he cups your cheek with one hand as the other holds you tightly by the small of your back. A tear threatens to fall from his eyes as he considers saying that he hopes that you’ve missed him, but the look in your eyes already tells him the answer. This is truly happiness like he’s never experienced before. It washes over him when you finally bring your lips to meet his. His breath is warm against yours as he exhales into the kiss in satisfaction. He feels your hands come up to clutch the back of his head to deepen your kiss and growls hungrily, quickly losing himself in your embrace while attempting to resist the urge to devour you on the spot. His brow furrows when you finally break for air.

“Hello, my love,” you whisper softly, pressing your forehead against his, as if what you’re saying is a secret meant for only his ears. He grins at the pet name you’ve picked for him.  “How have things been at home?” Your words make Feyd pause. Were you calling Giedi Prime “home?” 

“Everything has been adequate,” Feyd says, kissing you again. “But I do prefer it when my Baroness is beside me.”

“I guess you’re in luck then,” you smile at his words. You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his prominent pectoral muscles underneath his shirt which makes him sigh in satisfaction. You swiftly squash the temptation to kiss him again as you meet his gaze because if you do, you’d never want to stop. Feyd sets you down, even though he’d gladly carry you all day wherever you want. 

“My father sends his regards. He’s very pleased with House Harkonnen. He also sends his condolences at your uncle’s passing,” you say, which makes Feyd scoff silently to himself. “I’ve also gathered all I need for the laboratory.  I hope I didn’t bring too much back with me. I hope it’s not a burden…” you trail off.

“You could never be a burden. We have plenty of servants. They can handle the labor,” Feyd assures as he turns to one of the closest guards. “Start unloading the Baroness’s things. You know where to take them. Don’t you dare damage any of it. There will be repercussions if anything is found broken.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard responds before beginning to bark orders to the others. One by one, the guards disappear into the vessel, and emerge moments later, carrying large wooden crates by the bronze colored handles attached to the sides of each. They all file out and disappear into the fortress, headed for your lab. 

“So,” Feyd says, turning back to you. “Home is Giedi Prime now? I wouldn’t have expected you to call anywhere but Youra home. It’s not that I’m unsatisfied that you’ve found comfort on Giedi Prime, but I was surprised to hear you say those words.”

You smile and glance down at the ground before looking back to him, responding. “Younger me would have agreed with you. Youra is my first home and will forever be such. However, my feelings have changed. Home is wherever you are,” you explain, intertwining your fingers with his. At your words, Feyd pulls you in again by the waist for another quick kiss, and he wonders what he did to deserve a wife like you as you both turn to follow your belongings. 

Weeks ago, you and Feyd had set aside the largest of Baron Vladimir’s personal recreation spaces to be converted to a laboratory for you on Giedi Prime. You both had celebrated the initiation of the transformation by gathering all the Baron’s belongings and smashing them to smithereens, which was quite cathartic for the both of you. In particular, you loved bashing Vladimir’s pipe and ripping his bathtubs apart piece by piece. The day of eradicating every trace of Vladimir, except for his portrait in the hallway, culminated in you both basking in the warmth of a glorious bonfire, fed by what remained of the Baron’s belongings. 

You both arrive at your laboratory. The Harkonnen workers have been very efficient installing the necessary infrastructure in the time you have been away. The room that was stripped to the bones the day you left for Youra is now a proper lab, outfitted with fireproof surfaces, chemical hoods, gas lines, and plenty of storage cabinets.  

“Wow, Feyd,” you say. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this got done in the time I was gone.”

“Only the best for you, my love,” he replies as more servants arrive, and you begin to instruct them how to unpack your belongings. Feyd stands back on the sidelines and watches you, seeing the sparkle in your eyes now that you’re able to bring part of your life from Youra to Giedi Prime. Many of the instruments and objects he sees being unpacked are unfamiliar to him, but you seem unphased, perhaps even comforted, by the diversity of items. He marvels at your proficiency with handling all of them. With the help of the servants, you quickly have all the crates unloaded and the items put away and organized. You dismiss all the workers promptly, so you and Feyd can be alone. Once the doors are closed, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Is the space to your liking?” Feyd asks, coming to your side and slipping his arm firmly around your waist.

“It’s perfect,” you reply, looking around with elation in your eyes. You reach into a drawer in front of you and take out a jar. Inside, he sees it’s full of the iridescent indigo scales of the fish you had shown him the night you were attacked on Youra. “I wanted to wait until I got back to Giedi Prime to do the extraction on the scales for your batch of the elixir. …Would you like to stay while it happens?” 

Feyd nods without hesitation. He knows that watching you work is something only the people closest to you ever get to see. “Of course, my love.  It would be my pleasure,” he says. You smile at him, delighted at his interest. You point to a little door in the corner and tell him to wait for you before disappearing into it. A few minutes later, you emerge having shed your gown and jewels for a tan lab coat. When you smooth your hands over the new coat, Feyd thinks to himself how put together you look. You seem even more at ease now that you’ve changed. In your arms, he sees another coat and two pairs of safety glasses. 

“To protect your clothes and eyes,” you say, walking over and handing him the other coat and one of the pairs of glasses.  Inside the coat, he sees “Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” delicately stitched in with golden lettering.  As he puts it on, he realizes it’s been tailored to his measurements perfectly at your behest. His heart swells once again. Your foresight is obvious to him. Beside him, you take out a mortar and pestle and pour a few of the scales into the mortar. He hears the scales clatter like pebbles against one another as they fall. 

Over your shoulder, Feyd can finally get a closer look at the scales from the fish you had shown him. The scales are shaped like rounded trapezoids and glimmer even in the artificial indoor lighting. Through the striking coloration, he can see delicate silver ribs that flare out from the narrower end of the scales, making each scale look like a pocket of moonlight rays shining through an inky night sky.  Feyd thinks how it’s truly a wonder how nature produced such a creature that bears such beauty.

You grasp the pestle in your hand and start striking the scales with firm, downward motions. Upon impact, the scales fracture at the ribs. Little by little, the scales become smaller, and you change your technique, beginning to roll the pestle around the bottom and up the sides of the mortar. You reverse the direction of the circle every few times. Because of your expert hand, the scales are soon reduced to a fine powder in the bottom of the mortar.  The dust glistens beautifully as you pick up the mortar and tip it around in a rolling motion, observing the results of your grinding.

“It’s time to perform the extraction and then the purification. Hopefully the crystals will be well formed,” you say to him, taking the mortar over to the fume hood behind the two of you and flipping the on switch to the hood.  “Have you ever watched any of your scientists work before?”

Feyd shakes his head as he follows you, memories of his childhood passing through his mind. “My uncle always instructed me to remain in the arena and the training grounds growing up. The laboratories on Giedi Prime were never our places to be. Our scientists would always come and report to us rather than us going to them. It has always been that way. Everyone in House Harkonnen works for the Baron. Everything they do is in service to him. It is inappropriate by our standards for him to go to them.”

You nod at his words, reaching for the glass sash that separates you and Feyd from the compartment of the fume hood. “Unsurprisingly, it’s the opposite on Youra,” you say, putting the mortar with the powdered scales inside before lowering the sash again until it’s almost closed, leaving gap a couple inches tall for continued access. “Yes, all workers serve my father and me, but we are all colleagues, in a way. They are the workers and my father is the hub for all of the departments on Youra. Much of my father’s success is tied to them, so he would often visit our workers to acknowledge their efforts and dedication. He always wanted to see their work for himself, too. He’s always been the curious type. My father had me follow him to the laboratories as soon as I was old enough to understand safety protocol. I’m sure if it wasn’t for regulations, he’d have brought me into the labs in a baby sling.”

The image of young you in a laboratory, holding your father’s hand as Youran chemists show you both what they’re working on comes into Feyd’s mind.  Even though he didn’t know of you when you were children, he can imagine you then, much shorter with a rounder face but with the same bright eyes brimming with curiosity.  The idea makes his heart warm and a smile tugs at his lips.

“I’m sure those laboratory visits were most influential for you,” Feyd says. You nod in return as you put on a pair of gloves and reach under the sash to grab an amber bottle containing a clear liquid from the side of the hood.  

“Absolutely,” you reply as you transfer all the powdered scales into a glass Erlenmeyer flask and add enough of the liquid to cover the solids. You move the flask onto a raised plate in the hood and press a few buttons to begin the heating process.  “I loved watching them do their work. They knew so much about our world, but were still determined to know more.  The way they moved in the lab was like a dance. I desperately wanted to be a part of that, so I began working with them when I was fourteen…”

As Feyd listens to you talk about your past as you work, his admiration of you grows. Your determination and tenacity through failed experiments and stalled projects are astounding to him, and the fact you’ve been able to become a swordswoman on the side this is truly a marvel. Your skill and years of training are evident today, as your body seems to know this process by memory. This in front of him is the product of all those years of effort.

The liquid in the vessel begins to bubble gently. As the moments go by, the liquid takes on the iridescent nature of the scales and becomes a vibrant blue. Removing it from the heat, you strain the liquid through fine mesh into another container, removing all the powdered scales from the mixture.  Looking at the collected solids, Feyd can see the scales have lost their original coloration and turned a chalky off-white. You smile to yourself, knowing that the extraction was effective while you prepare a large volume of a different liquid, also clear and colorless, in a large beaker. 

“Are you ready for the recrystallization?” you ask him, grabbing a syringe and drawing up some of the extract into the barrel. You return to the beaker of liquid and gently tip it sideways with one hand while pointing the tip of the needle at the side of the beaker. Carefully, you begin to squeeze the syringe and the indigo liquid begins to drip out the needle’s tip and trickle down the side of the beaker. As the extract hits the surface of the clear liquid, deep purple crystals seem to flutter out from the point of impact into the liquid instantaneously. Feyds lips part in amazement, unable to tear his gaze away from the process

“How does it work?” he asks, watching as a batch of thin, needle-like crystals start to gather at the bottom of the beaker while the bulk liquid remains colorless. It’s as if all the color of the extract has been contained within the crystals. 

“I use the first liquid to remove the compound from the scales and make a concentrated extract. I then add the extract to a bulk solvent which our compound of interest is insoluble in. The compound forms crystals when the liquids meet because the second liquid is in great excess compared to the first,” you explain, drawing up more extract and adding it to the beaker in the same way. Once you’re out of extract, you squat down to bring your eye level to that of the beaker. “It’s perfect. I don’t think the crystallization has ever gone that well.” 

You’re absolutely beaming as you swirl the crystals suspended in the liquid, admiring how they twinkle in the light. He can’t deny that your excitement is contagious. You collect the crystals by filtering the mix through another filter and spread out the crystals on a metal sheet to allow them to dry before removing your safety glasses, and Feyd follows suit.

“This is the compound I was referring to that night at the Pools of Ashora,” you say to Feyd.  “If we dissolve the crystals in water and drink it, it allows people to retain their body’s water content and reduced the frequency at which people needed to drink water.”

“Fascinating…,” Feyd trails off, staring at the delicate crystals scattered across the surface inside the fume hood. 

“When I was on Youra, I tested the elixir myself,” you say. Hearing you say that you’ve done that, a bolt of fear goes to his heart at the thought of you just drinking a novel chemical. Feyd’s eyes quickly lock onto you, and his neck stiffens. His mind swirls with distress at the possibility of you getting hurt. You may look okay now, but was the elixir difficult for you to stomach? Did it hurt you in the moment?

Looking at him, you’re immediately in tune with his reaction, and you lift your hand up to rest on his arm to calm his nerves. At your touch, he immediately relaxes. “Don’t worry, Feyd. I am alright. There’s nothing to be worried about. We’ve done plenty of trials since I first introduced this fish to you. I assure you it’s safe. I’ve had all of my best scientists on this project, and I had the best doctors in Youra monitor my vitals for two days after the fact.” Feyd nods, knowing if anyone is competent enough to keep you safe, it's yourself and the Youran doctors and researchers. “We still don’t know the exact mechanism of the compound in the body, but we do know there aren’t significant negative side effects on people. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Feyd replies, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your waist and pull you close enough that your lips are almost touching and you’re both staring into each other’s eyes.  “I will always put my faith in you and your work.”

“I’m glad to hear,” you reply, your breath fanning out across his face, which sends shivers down his spine.  “That means a lot, Feyd, we’ve been working hard the last few weeks for this.” Grinning at you, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips your head up toward his, catching your lips in his.  You quickly take off your gloves and hold his cheeks in your palms, savoring the intimate moment. 

A knock at the door sounds through the room. Feyd grumbles in annoyance as the tension between you releases. You and Feyd look at each other before ending your embrace. You call out “Enter!” in the direction of the doors. A military advisor enters the lab in full uniform with his head low. He immediately drops to his knees in front of both of you to show his respect.

“Baron, Baroness,” he says. “I am deeply sorry for interrupting you both, but I bring critical news from Arrakis.”

“Very well,” Feyd says, straightening up and peering down at the man kneeling before him. “Out with it.”

“There has been an attack by the Fremen. They destroyed eighty percent of the most recent spice crop.” You can tell by the way the man shivers that he is afraid. Nobody ever wanted to be the one to break bad news to Feyd-Rautha. “Count Rabban attempted a counterattack.”

“‘Attempted?’ What happened?” Feyd growls, his eyes flashing in dissatisfaction. You catch Feyd’s hand in your palm as it flies in the direction of the knife he keeps on his person. You shake your head. You tell him there is no use in killing this man because it would be a waste with just a look.  

“Y-Yes, my Lord,” the man says, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You can hear him beginning to hyperventilate despite his best attempts to steady his breath. “Rabban went after the Fremen, but the dust and debris from Rabban’s initial artillery attack made the visibility so poor on the battlefield that only Count Rabban and a few others survived. They were ambushed in the haze; it was a massacre with a casualty rate of seventy two percent and climbing.”

“Over half?!” you gasp, your own fists beginning to clench at Rabban’s blunder.

“Rabban says he saw the Fremen prophet, Muad'dib, on the battlefield before he fled. The Fremen… they are dedicated to him. They kill for him, Baron. Our spice operation is in jeopardy. We await your command.” 

Feyd stiffens, a vein threatening to pop on his temple. He sucks in air through his teeth, infuriated at Rabban’s continued incompetency. The advisor recoils at the noise, shuffling backward toward the door.

“You are dismissed,” you call to him with a huff.  A wave of relief washes over the man as he bows and thanks you before slipping out the door.

“Rabban is a damned fool!” Feyd shouts once you’re alone. “He has had every chance to rectify his mistakes on Arrakis, but he seems to leave his brain behind when he makes decisions and lets this Muad'dib win every time! And now I hear news of abandoning the battlefield at the sight of this prophet? He is a coward! An absolute imbecile! If something doesn’t change soon, the Emperor will take Arrakis from us!” 

You reach your arm out and rest it on his shoulder. In moments, you’ve quelled Feyd’s initial outburst until he’s only seething with fury instead of being on the verge of trashing the entire lab. “I think it’s time to relieve my brother of his duties,” Feyd says after he takes a deep breath. “We shall go to Arrakis to do it. I want to see the look on his face and the hope drain from his eyes when he knows he’s failed. I will take over the operation on Arrakis.  We will do what my brother was incapable of.”

“In that case…,” you say, preparing two glasses of water, adding a pinch of the crystals to each.  The water immediately turns a luminous indigo, and you hand Feyd one of the glasses, which he gladly takes.  You raise your glass in the air. “To victory and to House Harkonnen.”

“To victory and House Harkonnen,” he replies, connecting the rims of your glasses and drinking the entire glass in one go.  The elixir is salty and rich on his tongue as if he’s drinking the essence of the tropical ocean. As the elixir flows into him, he feels a warmth pulsate throughout his body.  He isn’t sure if this is truly the effects of the elixir or just a placebo, but Feyd feels powerful, like he could slaughter a thousand men and still have a hunger for more.  As he meets your gaze, you give him a knowing look. You feel the energy, too. You both shed your laboratory coats and leave the room to prepare for your journey to Arrakis. 

--

The preparations before and journey to Arrakis went without a hitch. You had opted to choose Harkonnen battle gear over your own, but you and Feyd still agreed on concealing your knives under a black Harkonnen dress cloak, still not eager to let anyone know of your true nature. Arriving in Arrakeen, you notice the striking architecture, made up of geometric slabs of tan stone layered to create a fortress to protect its inhabitants.  This time on Arrakis, Feyd doesn’t feel the heat like he used to. It’s as if his body is fighting back against the harsh environment on the desert planet. You feel it, too. You were initially concerned because you had only tested the elixir during the dry months on Youra, which paled in hostility in comparison to Arrakis, but seems the elixir’s protection is more than sufficient.

You and Feyd walk the halls of the fortress side by side, heading to the room where all of the Harkonnen strategists and military officials are. You see them gathered around a digital map projected by a computer in the middle of the room, which shows the locations of all the Harkonnen forces in the north of Arrakis.  Upon seeing their Baron and Baroness side by side, they all freeze and bow.

“Welcome to Arrakis, Baron, Baroness” one of them says. He opens his mouth to continue but Fed cuts him off. 

“Enough,” Feyd hisses at him. “I have orders for you. You are no longer to follow the word of Count Rabban. As of today, he is relieved of his duty as Planetary Governor of Arrakis. You will report directly to and receive orders only from me and your Baroness.”

The room of men immediately shout “Yes, My Lord!” in response. A smirk forms on Feyd's lips at their responsiveness, and he instructs them to hit the Fremen with old-fashioned artillery. As the orders are executed by the Harkonnen military, you watch the map intently as the targets on the map turn green, indicating the Fremen bases are hit successfully. All of the military advisors’ eyes widen in surprise at the genius of Feyd’s strategy as the reports of complete annihilation from the ground forces roll in. 

They all begin to applaud Feyd and as their chants fill the room, your heart fills with pride.  Feyd has finally proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was always meant to be the leader of House Harkonnen.  As the applause continues, you see Rabban appear in the doorway, a look of surprise disgust on his face. You notice he’s still wearing his nightclothes, and your eyes flash between him and Feyd as Rabban approaches Feyd, Rabban’s legs still stiff from sleep. 

“Leave us,” Feyd instructs the others in the room, who promptly file out. They keep their eyes on the floor, not daring to look at Rabban. They know people who end up alone in a room with Feyd after repeated blunders usually don’t exit the room outside of a body bag. 

“What are you doing here?” Rabban growls at Feyd.

“It’s early morning.  What are you doing here?” Feyd quips back.  Rabban lets out a frustrated huff.

“You can’t just waltz in here,” Rabban says through gritted teeth.  “And how can you bring that woman into the inner sanctum?”  

“How dare you refer to your Baroness like that!” Feyd roars, grabbing Rabban by his collar.  “If you have forgotten, dear Brother, I am Baron now.  I will do as I please and take my wife wherever I wish!” 

Feyd throws Rabban back and he falls on his back hard. In desperation, Rabban tries to scramble to his feet again, but as soon as he’s almost upright, he feels his knees buckle from under him as you kick the backside of his knees in. Rabban’s forehead collides with the stone floor with a visceral crack, and he feels his arm caught in your grip behind him. He groans as you push his arm to the verge of overextension. On his neck, Rabban feels the cool tip of a blade threatening to pierce his skin, which sends a chill down his spine, his head still spinning from impact.

“You should learn to respect your superiors,” you whisper to him as Feyd’s gaze is fixated on you.  The picture before him has a fire rising within him. His breath turns thick and heavy, seeing you over Rabban, your blade on his neck and your foot on his back with a fiendish smile on your lips.  “I would have expected more from my brother-in-law… You are a disgrace to House Harkonen,” you drawl, pressing your dagger’s tip into Rabban’s neck enough to draw blood. Dark crimson blood trickles down Rabban’s neck and he squirms. You remove your foot from his back and step forward to place your shoe by his face. You take the opportunity to kick his cheek in a little with the toe of your shoe before the heel of your combat boot hits the floor by Rabban’s face with a firm thunk. “Kiss my feet, and I may spare your life.”

Rabban quivers under your hold, his palms spread over the stone floor. He considers trying to escape. He could try to press his body up and avoid the blade on his neck and try to sweep your legs out from under you, but he quickly realizes that you are in control. Any movement like that would end with your knife in his chest, back, or neck. Despite his position being compromised, he hesitates to kiss your foot  How could he, Glossu Rabban, kiss a woman’s shoe in submission?

“You heard her, Brother,” Feyd hisses, stepping toward you both as he basks in his brother’s terror.  Feyd stops in front of his brother and squats down to look at him. “Kiss her feet.  Now.” 

After a moment, Rabban quivers and presses his lips against the leather of your shoes. As he does, you see how miserable and pathetic this man below you is. It's truly a shock that this oaf is the brother of your Feyd, who is confident, domineering, and skillful in every way.  

“You made a good decision obeying, Rabban,” you say, releasing the blade on his neck. “I would have wasted a perfectly sharpened knife slitting your throat if you hadn’t cooperated.” You step back from him as he clambers into an upright position. His hand flies to his neck, feeling the blood trickle down his neck and seep into his nightshirt. 

“You are hereby relieved of your duties as Planetary Governor of Arrakis,” Feyd grins at the pitiful sight before him. “You will return to your quarters in the meantime and wait for future instruction.”

Rabban leaves in defeat. Once the doors shut behind him, you and Feyd smirk at each other, and Feyd rushes to you giving you a tender kiss.  “I love you, Baroness,” he murmurs, completely infatuated with you.  

--

A few days later, you stare up into the atmosphere of Arrakis. The Emperor’s craft has just entered the atmosphere. You and Feyd share incredulous looks and you immediately make your way to where the emperor will be docking.  

“What could the emperor want?” you ask Feyd as you walk..  “We restored spice production. It’s never been more efficient.”

Feyd shakes his head, deep in thought.  “I do not know, my love.”  

“I don’t like this, Feyd.” you whisper to him, trying not to let anyone else hear and Feyd nods in return.  “What could have summoned the emperor to Arrakis?”

“We shall see,” he replies. Rabban arrives and bows to you both, which makes you frown. Rabban hasn’t been involved in House Harkonnen’s operations since he was removed. Nevertheless, he still proceeds into the throne room before Feyd or you can dismiss him.   

Inside the throne room, the emperor is perched on a large throne up a large flight of stairs with his daughter and a Bene Gesserit standing by him.  Your eyes narrow seeing the witch’s presence, knowing they have tricks they are not afraid of using to manipulate the great houses. You, Feyd, and Rabban kneel in front of them, bowing your heads.  Before any of you speak, the emperor’s voice rings out. 

“I am sure you are curious as to why I have come to Arrakis,” he begins.  “What do you know of the prophet Muad'dib?”  Rabban speaks up first, saying that Muad'dib is a madman.

“Mad?!” the emperor says.

“All Fremen are mad!” Rabban counters, and the Emperor’s fist clenches around the arm of his throne. You and Feyd shoot daggers at Rabban, and he closes his mouth immediately, putting his head down again which casts his face in shadow.

“We apologize for my brother speaking out of turn,” Feyd says to the Emperor. “Rabban has had no part in the latest work of House Harkonnen. He is not a reliable source of information.  We know Muad'dib is a figure of the Fremen, and they follow his command.”

“Yes,” you say. “He organizes their forces, and they have been effective in battle against many of our forces by hiding in the sands and staging ambushes.  They’ve been effective at destroying our spice harvesters in the past, but we’ve been able to successfully retaliate.” The Bene Gesserit flashes some hand signs at the emperor. She must be able to tell if people are lying or not. 

“What of the prophet’s whereabouts?” the Emperor asks, his voice darkening with frustration at your lack of knowledge.  The emperor’s suggested scorn directed at House Harkonnen is sour on your tongue, and you grit your teeth.  

“We control the north of Arrakis and spice production, Emperor,” you reply, keeping yourself collected.  “We believe Muad'dib has fled to the south to hide in the storms after my husband’s last military tactic was successful in neutralizing their northern bases.” 

As you utter those words, you feel a tremendous boom propagate through the air, causing the building to shudder. Everyone in the room looks up. Some of the diplomats that have accompanied the emperor swallow thickly. You and Feyd exchange knowing glances. Something isn’t right. The Sardaukar forces, who have come to protect the emperor, raise their weapons and get into formation with one line in front of the emperor, who has abandoned the throne in favor of shelter. 

The other line of Sardaukar forms a line opposite the entrance way, as more explosions can be heard beyond the walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban slip away, ever the coward. You feel Feyd’s touch on your arm as he beckons you to position yourself behind the defenses with the other diplomats. From your shared position, you both wait and listen intently. The others in the room are paralyzed in a cold sweat, but you and Feyd are silently watching, waiting, and listening, already gathering information on the situation to calculate your next move.

Dust fills the room as another bang resonates throughout the room and the barrier breaks down. The frontline of the Sardaukar advance, weapons at the ready. As they disappear into the dust, you know they aren’t coming back. The room is almost entirely quiet, but through the haze you hear the barely audible but familiar sound of daggers piercing armor, slitting throats, and tearing flesh. The remaining Sardaukar dig their heels in as a figure emerges through the orange debris, wrapped in tan fabrics caked in others’ blood. His face is concealed by a scarf, and the only flesh of his you see are his eyes, blue from spice. He is accompanied by an army. Judging by the amount of noise they made on their arrival, you and Feyd know there are probably hundreds of them. Fighting your way out is not an option. This must be the prophet Muad'dib.

Muad'dib looks around with his blade drawn, seemingly searching for someone as he enters the room.  You see him and Feyd make eye contact. Feyd’s eyes narrow at him in curiosity. When Muad'dib does not find who he is looking for, he turns the crowd of people behind the Sardaukar guards. Most of the diplomats instinctively take a step back. He makes eye contact with the emperor before turning to his own forces and hissing something in a foreign tongue which you presume to be Chakobsa, Fremen language. He exits the room back into the crowd of Fremen who chant for him, waving their war banners.  You see they bear the hawk insignias of House Atreides. The son of Duke Leto Atreides is alive. 

The Fremen advance, easily slaying the last remaining Sardaukar. Many of the diplomats shudder and jump in surprise as the Fremen plunge their daggers into the Sardaukar warriors, who are powerless to stop them. Once they are all dead and their blood is spread across the floor in crimson red pools, the Fremen start grabbing the rest of you by your arms, and you are all dragged away one by one. You are being taken prisoner. You look to Feyd, who gives you a subtle nod as if to say “go along with it,” and you do.

--

You’ve laid low all in the confinement the Fremen have kept you in all night, not eager to give any of them a reason to kill you. Silently, you’ve been analyzing your situation, trying to figure out a way to achieve an optimal outcome, which you feel is slipping through your fingers. Since you have been taken prisoner, you can only presume that the rest of the Sardaukar and the Harkonnen army have been slaughtered and their bodies burned before daybreak. You and Feyd are likely the last living Harkonnens on Arrakis.  

After sunrise, you are called upon by a faceless Fremen, who orders all of the prisoners to follow. You are reunited with Feyd, who takes your hand, careful not to let the Fremen see this gesture of affection as to not allow them any leverage. His touch automatically makes you as at ease you can be, given that you are both captives without allies. 

Arriving in a room with the other prisoners, you see the surviving Fremen mingling and congratulating one another. The man from before stands in the clearing of the room without his face covering, his black wavy hair framing his face. Feyd turns to you and mouths “Atreides.” You nod in understanding, and watch as Paul Atreides addresses the Emperor, challenging him for the throne. Looking out the window, you see warships in the distant sky.  The other great houses have arrived and Paul Atreides threatens to destroy all the spice fields if the houses intervene. 

“Stand yourself or choose your champion,” he orders the Emperor, who turns to Feyd.  

“I select Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” the emperor declares. “Get him a blade.” You inhale sharply, knowing this means Feyd must fight to the death against a man who has already slain many in battle and emerged victorious from the bloodbath of the previous night. You trust Feyd’s skill, but you know not to underestimate Paul Atreides. Feyd’s eyes flicker toward you. He knows what you’re thinking and gives you a slight nod as if to promise he will fight his hardest, not for the emperor, but for you. He is presented with a blade by one of the members of the emperor’s council. To your surprise, Feyd pushes it away and turns to you. Coming to stand in front of you, he gestures downward toward your legs, where your daggers are still strapped to your thighs out of sight.

“Feyd, are you sure?” you say to him, your voice small. 

“I want to use your blade. Please let me fight for you,” Feyd whispers. You nod and reach down to fulfill his request, drawing one of your Youran weapons from your garters. When you hand it to him, Feyd feels the familiar heft of your dagger in his hand, which makes him grin. Just as he remembers, it’s expertly balanced and perfectly crafted, its pointed tip shining in the low orange light of the room. He smiles, recalling the night you handed him the same blade, the first time he saw your true nature. He twirls the knife in his grip with a flourish of his wrist as he stands opposite Paul Atreides. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, cousin,” Paul says.

“Cousin…” Feyd says, continuing to evaluate Paul for his weaknesses. “You wouldn’t be the first family member I’ve killed.”

His words don’t phase you. You’re well aware of Feyd’s family history. You clasp your hands in each other in front of your chest, willing Feyd to be the victor. Paul Atreides straightens himself and salutes Feyd. “May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul says with a gruff tone, lowering himself into a battle stance and pointing his knife at Feyd. Feyd smirks, raising your weapon. The sight of it in his hand is gratifying for Feyd. Despite standing alone against Paul, it’s as if you are both in this fight together with him wielding your weapon. 

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd returns and within moments, they're after each other, having an all out brawl in the middle of the room. They each swipe at each other with reaction times like lightning.  The sounds of blades crashing against one another, the low smacks of their bodies colliding, and their grunts of exertion fill the room. You have to admit, Paul Atreides is an impressive fighter. He’s quick on his feet and swiftly dodges and counters many of Feyd’s attacks, but it is obvious that Feyd is the one with strength on his side. The only way for Atreides to win is if he is able to find a way to use that strength against Feyd.

You’re barely breathing at this point. Your facade of stoicism threatens to crumble when you see Paul Atreides’ forehead connect firmly with your husband’s nose. To your surprise, you don’t see any blood on Feyd’s face. Paul Atreides’ head is thrown back after almost bouncing off of Feyd’s nose. Paul’s head seems to be spinning as he stumbles backward on uneven footing.  Feyd recognizes Paul’s debilitated state is fleeting, and takes advantage of the moment, striking Paul again. The tangle of limbs is intense, but in the blink of an eye, you see Feyd disarm Paul, taking Paul’s knife for his own.  

As they break away from one another, Paul Atreides is heaving, struggling to breathe as the leather bound hilt of your dagger protrudes from his abdomen. He’s wheezing as his own blood seeps into his battle gear. His allies gaze upon the sight in shock, some wincing in second-hand pain.

Feyd approaches him promptly, and grabs Paul by the scruff of his neck, raising Paul’s own knife at him. Paul Atreides uses his own gloved hand to grab the blade, trying to push it away, but Feyd leans in, forcing the blade to slip further into Paul’s grip, cutting the flesh of Paul’s hand open with a sickening noise, the tip of the knife getting closer to piercing Paul’s neck.

The next moment, you feel like screaming. The dagger, once poised to slice open Paul Atreides’ neck, is no longer in the air visible to you. Paul Atreides has used his grip on Feyd’s blade to redirect the tip toward the stomach of your husband. Your hands fly to your mouth, tears threatening to spill.  The force Feyd puts behind his blade at that proximity is fatal. 

The memories of meeting Feyd on Youra, fighting by his side against Ozran, plotting into the early hours to kill his despicable uncle, your wedding ceremony in front of House Harkonnen, and the moments of tenderness and affection he’s given you in private flash through your mind. Your stomach writhes, and your heart shrivels into itself, and your mind begins to confront the idea that you now must mourn the life you and Feyd had assembled. Another thought flashes through your mind. You’ll likely be killed after this with the rest of the prisoners in this room, and die alone without your husband, lightyears away from your people on Youra and Giedi Prime. You’ve failed.

Through your tears, you stare at the scene as the air and the people surrounding you are completely still.  However, something gives you pause. You hear something hit the floor look down to the area under Feyd and Paul’s feet. You spy fragments of metal, broken into uneven shards, scattered across the floor. However, there is no blood to be seen.  Your eyes shoot to Feyd, who is also looking down to where they both hold the hilt of the broken knife. 

Without a second to spare, Feyd’s hand flies to your knife in Paul’s side, ripping it out of him. Paul cries out in agony, the removal of the knife causing a blood curdling squelch of skin and muscle ripping. The next moment, Feyd slits Paul Atreides’ throat with a grand swing of his arm, sending blood splatter fanning across the floor. The pregnant woman seated in the wooden throne bearing the Atreides crest lets out a high pitched shriek, and she begins to wail, seeing the light from her son’s eyes fade as his body crumples to the floor. A Fremen woman across from you lets out a shaky breath, her lip quivering and tears pool near her bright blue eyes as Paul Atreides’ fresh blood collects in a puddle on the stone floor under the gaping hole in his neck.

Feyd turns back to you, bloody blade in hand and lets out a deep exhale, allowing the tension in his own chest to dissipate. He had thought he was dead, too, but no. He is alive. He is victorious, and he gets to look into your eyes again, knowing that he has done his job for you.

Kneeling, Feyd presents the emperor with the soiled blade. The emperor smiles and pronounces Paul Atreides, the prophet Muad'dib, to be dead and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as the victor. In defeat, the ally of Paul, identified as Gurney Halleck, relays a message to the great houses of the outcome of the fight.  The emperor’s reign shall continue, and your husband is alive. You push your way past the others in the crowd and throw yourself at Feyd, who cradles you in his arms, running his fingers through your hair, whispering to you “Please don’t shed any more tears, my love. I am still here… I wouldn’t leave you that easily.”

“I thought I lost you,” you choke out and Feyd shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe away the tear stains on your cheeks. 

“You haven’t and you won’t,” he replies, his hands holding your body steady. “Let’s go home.”

—

Holding your knees to your chest, you sit in a private chamber on the Emperor’s vessel as it leaves the atmosphere of Arrakis to take you and Feyd back to Giedi Prime, which was the least the emperor could do given that Feyd nearly died for him. One of Feyd’s hands rests on your waist, holding you firmly in his grip while the other rubs gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb.  Feyd watches as your eyes dart side to side, which happens when you’re deep in though. 

“What is on your mind, my love?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.  

“I’m thinking about your battle with Paul Atreides,” you reply. “The knife broke when he tried to turn the tables on you, didn’t it?” Feyd nods, bringing his hand down to the spot on his abdomen where the knife was. “May I see where it was?” you ask and Feyd obliges, creating a small bit of distance between the two of you so that you can get a good look at his torso.  

You bring your hand to where Feyd’s armor has been sliced open by the blade. Bringing the other hand to his body, you gently spread the layers of fabric and leather apart to look through the hole. Underneath, you see Feyd’s familiar pale skin and his chiseled abdominal muscles that you’ve always loved to drag your fingers across. His skin appears to be absolutely pristine without a single nick or bruise in sight. You bring your head closer to get a better look before saying, “There isn’t evidence of any damage to your skin, Feyd. Your body is like the battle never happened. There isn’t a trace of impact.” As soon as you utter the last word in the sentence, you freeze and your lips part ever so lightly as your mind races to connect the dots. He knows that look on you, and he sees the gears turning in your mind. 

“Impact…,” you mumble to yourself. Your eyes shoot up to Feyd’s  “During the battle there was a moment when Paul Atreides’ head collided with your nose.” Your hand flies to his cheek to steady his head. You examine his nose, using your hand to tilt his head side to side. Everything about his face is unchanged, which shouldn’t be the case, especially after a fight like that and the headbutt he endured from Paul. You tip his head back. Again, there is no blood or breakage. 

Your mind begins to race as you return your hands to your husband’s torso. Your hands fumble as you attempt to remove the layers of armor in between you and Feyd’s skin. Feyd realizes what you’re doing and soon enough he’s shirtless in front of you. You extend your hand out and drag your hand over his stomach. You press your fingers firmly down onto his abdominal region and upper body repeatedly, changing the area you’re putting pressure on each time. He feels solid under your touch and not in the way you’re used to. Feyd has always been bulky and muscular, hardened from years of training, but something about this is different. It’s like his body has the durability of an alloy the researchers on Youra could only dream of engineering, but he’s still flesh and blood. Bring your fingers to your own stomach, pressing your fingers against your own front, and you gasp. “That’s it!” you exclaim.

“What is it?” he asks, knowing you are on the edge of an epiphany. 

“It’s the elixir!” you gasp, standing up and holding your head in disbelief  “It saved your life!”

 “I thought it was only to help the body retain water,” Feyd says as you get up and begin circling the room.

“Don’t you remember? That’s the end result of the elixir, but we were still unsure of the mechanism by which that happens!” you exclaim. “Remember the night I showed you the fish? I said that the fish sheds its scales at the beginning of the wet season. What I didn’t tell you is that the wet season is the only time of year we can get the scales off the fish because they fall off naturally. Our scientists have tried to get the scales before the transition of the seasons, but they've always been unable to pry the scales off or kill them because it was impossible to slice open the fish. No matter how much we sharpened the knives, we couldn’t cut them open!”

“That’s how the fish retain water in the dry season. The fish develop these scales with this compound that transforms their own bodies into a shield from the elements, so that water can’t escape. I’ve always wondered how a fish would be able to survive the whole dry season on a dried up lake bed.  This compound is why the fish species hasn’t gone extinct! When they’re sitting in their dried up ponds, no predators can eat them because their bodies are too tough to pierce,” you surmise, delight filling your complexion. “By drinking that compound, the same thing has happened to our bodies! You were able to survive the battle because your skin became this impenetrable barrier that lets you keep your water that just so happens to be impervious to outside attacks as well! That’s also why your nose didn’t break and why Paul Atreides was so disoriented after he struck you with his head. It was as if he rammed his head into a steel wall.  Researchers on Youra didn't catch this effect in the clinical trials because we don’t just go stabbing all of our test subjects with knives or subjecting them to blunt force trauma, especially not for a study about water retention!”

Feyd hardly believes what he’s hearing, but he knows it's true. Everything you’re saying makes perfect sense.  Memories from the battle flash in his mind.  He remembers his arm is suddenly bending toward himself, feeling the rough surface of the broken blade scrape against his abdomen, but the pain he had been trained to resist since childhood never hitting his senses. He brings himself to his feet and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can muster. “You are phenomenal, my dear,  I can’t believe you figured that out,” he murmurs to you. “Thank you.  I owe you my life.”

He lowers his lips to yours, kissing you like he’s never done before. You both cling to one another, relieved you are both alive and safe. Feyd holds the back of your head and runs his fingers through your locks tenderly, thinking about how far you both have come in this short amount of time. Mere months ago, you were a stranger he had the obligation to meet and marry. He knew he would have to enter a loveless relationship with you in the name of alliances. He tried to convince himself you were a woman he wanted to make a plaything out of.  Before, he was intent on manipulating, breaking, and exploiting you for his own amusement. Those ideas feel so foreign to Feyd now as he revels in your affections and caresses your cheek. 

Looking down at you, he sees you for what you are. You are the most beautiful being to ever exist.  Nothing past or present will ever compare to you, and it brings tears to his eyes, knowing you are his wife and he is your husband. You are the culmination of all House Ronen and House Harkonnen have worked for, a true representation of the union of your two houses, and the pinnacle of all Feyd has come to hold dear. You are where brain meets brawn, where tradition meets modernity, and the pride and joy of Feyd’s life. You are simply everything. 

-- 

Thanks for reading!  I can’t believe the series is over (but I'm also considering writing an epilogue, but I have some requests coming down the pipeline, so we'll see about that. lmk if that's something you might be interested in...). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed Knives Dance! :)

Also is it obvious I study chemistry yet?

Taglist:

@austinbutlerslovers @rougegenshin @itshype@woodland-mist @tian-monique @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @allthingsimagines @meetmeatyourworst @nyaaaaa008 @caroline334 @alana4610 @targaryen-madness

Tags that aren't working for some reason??? @roguegenshin @miaraises

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels. 

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside. 

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him. 

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did? 

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched. 

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?” 

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known. 

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours. 

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours. 

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own. 

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't. 

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon. 

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't. 

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same. 

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles. 

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life. 

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed. 

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag. 

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal. 

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest. 

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off. 

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe. 

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest. 

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious. 

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?" 

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him. 

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard. 

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen. 

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people. 

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?” 

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be. 

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked. 

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder. 

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt. 

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —" 

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you. 

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him. 

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is. 

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence. 

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy. 

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-... 

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight. 

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now. 

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either. 

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter. 

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes. 

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs." 

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself." 

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share. 

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse. 

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls. 

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row. 

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses. 

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks? 

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words. 

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not." 

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs." 

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories. 

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable. 

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this. 

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining. 

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time. 

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back. 

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either. 

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro." 

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun. 

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter. 

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense. 

Assholes, the lot of them. 

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious. 

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island. 

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that. 

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it. 

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side. 

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once. 

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[licorice-tea]

You Feel Right; Stay A Sec

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: pining, yearning, wanting, and needing <3 no smut just fluff! kissing and smooching, just one mention of “going further”! reader is a heart pirate and likes reading :)

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: it’s been a while since i wrote something for my man (Law <3) so i had fun with this😇☝️inspired by lyrics from the song “Hostage” by billie eilish… i love writing based on songs, it’s probably bc i have music playing 24/7 in either my headphones or on a speaker, and i just love music! so it’s easy to get inspo or create scenarios while listening to it, yk? anyway, hope you enjoy! <3

I wanna be alone

Danger around every corner, piles of work, tasks demanding his attention, and crew members in need of their captain’s opinion are all sources of constant stress for one Trafalgar Law. It’s not that he doesn’t love being a surgeon; it’s his passion, nor his crew; they’re the closest thing he has to a family now. It's just that his battery in all aspects- social, mental, physical- is constantly drained.

The only things keeping him going are steaming cups of black coffee and the rare moments of quiet before he passes out on top of his comforter. And, no matter what form the momentarily relief from life takes, it most always comes when Law is alone. He prefers it that way, anyway.

Alone with you, does that make sense?

He prefers being alone, really. Which is why nothing about you makes sense. Right off the bat, Law has felt differently around you than others. He made an effort not to show that difference in opinion no matter how strong it came to be at times.

Times like now, where sleep eludes Law despite how damn tired he is. For whatever reason, all he wants is to hold something- no, someone… you. Law wants to hold you. Or maybe you could hold him, who cares about the specifics?

Law flips on his stomach and groans into his pillow. This is new territory. He’s never wanted someone the way he wants you. A partner to hold close on nights like these, or to simply be alone with.

I wanna steal your soul

He has considered, on multiple occasions, telling you how he feels. But Law would never actually do such a thing. It would be a complicated and messy affair, surely, thanks to your positions. (His as your captain and yours as his subordinate.) And he wouldn’t want you to feel like you had to accept his confession, either.

Still… he wishes you were his, in every way a person could give themself to another.

And hide you in my treasure chest

At least you’re on his crew. You’re always nearby, should he need you, which he often does. Sometimes, Law likes to call you into his office for a made up reason. “Y/n-ya,” he’d say, “give me a rundown on tomorrow’s conditions at sea.” Though you’re not the navigator of the ship, you still know plenty about seafaring, so you’d comply. Then he’d find some other trivial matter to discuss, or offer you a new book so you could later exchange thoughts on it. Just something- anything to keep you around as long as possible. It’s so much more peaceful with you.

I don't know what to do

But how to make your role in his life a more permanent one? Law hasn’t a clue. Tonight, like many others, you sit on a couch in Law’s office. Neither of you speak, but the atmosphere is calm and comfortable.

Or it should be. Law discreetly looks your way every few minutes, then every few seconds. His eyes follow the way yours scan side to side over a page of your book. From the lines of your jaw and neck, to stray hairs falling over the curve of your cheek.

The usually undetectable tension seems to be coming to a point tonight, and Law doesn’t know how to resolve it. But he wants to, almost as much as he wants you.

So, for once in his life, he moves without much planning. Law rises from his desk and crosses the room to sit beside you. He (stiffly) puts his arm around the back of the couch. Naturally, you give him a perplexed look- it’s not like Law to suddenly reach out like this, physically or otherwise.

“Good book?”

“Yeah, thanks for recommending it.”

“For sure.”

“…Is that all?”

He nods, then pulls his hat lower over his eyes. Silently, he makes a plan to abort this failed mission.

Luckily, you stop him and take the initiative.

To do with your kiss on my neck

Law lifts his arm back off the couch and over you. But, you gently grab his wrist before he can go any farther. “Law, is there… You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Again, he simply nods. A moment of silently staring into each other’s eyes passes, and he leans forwards extremely hesitantly. Your hand moves from his wrist and tentatively rests on his shoulder. Still, Law doesn’t break eye contact (for once in his life), continuing to lean forward at a painfully slow pace. So you allow your hand to travel up to the side of his neck.

“You can kiss me.”

He nods again slightly, “I know. I- I will.”

I don't know what feels true

At long last, Law places a featherlight kiss on the corner of your lips. It’s an unsure, awkward action, but welcome nonetheless. His lips linger on yours, not quite aligned for a moment. Despite your breath being held, you allow your eyes to close and savor the feeling. You want more than this chaste kiss from him, of course, but you’d take your time with it. Law isn’t the kind of man you’d want to have a touch and go experience with. No, he’s the kind the one that you want to savor. The one that you want to take your relationship slow and steady with as he wants, and as a result get to spend even longer in his company.

When he pulls away, you can’t help but smile. Law’s parted lips close into the gentle curve of a smile as well, his usual smirk appearing much more bashful. The two of you lean back into each other. Your noses are nudged and warm breaths mingle before your lips can meet again.

But this feels right, so stay a sec

Law realizes he’s never done this before; kissing. But now, he’s hooked. He still doesn’t really know if he’s doing it correctly; if you’re enjoying the experience as much as he is, but it feels good. Therefore, he must be doing something right. Plus you only pull away from him to take breaths before immediately returning your lips to where they belong (on his), which confirms his hopes.

What started as a sweet and slow kiss ends up becoming a much hotter make out session. Months of pent up attraction and feelings for each other spill over, out of your mouth into his (and vice versa.) He’s the first to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip and get you to open up, and proceeds to groan into your mouth in a way that’s surprisingly communicative of how strongly he feels. It gets to the point where, besides your hands roaming over each others backs, you feel that your saliva must also be permanently entangled.

But all good things must come to an end. You pull back completely so that you and Law are properly facing each other, rather than within kissing range. “Law, I… We should talk about this. Before we go any farther.”

His face heats up at the implication; he hadn’t even thought that far ahead, too lost in your sweet taste, warm skin, and soft lips to do so. He nods and just murmurs, “Okay, let’s just keep doing this.”

You agree and kiss him without another word.

Yeah, you feel right, so stay a sec

When you do both finally wind down, and are left as nothing but half-sleep puddles in each other’s arms, Law murmurs something unintelligible into your hair.

Silence passes, though you can practically hear the gears in Law’s head turning. Finally, he speaks his mind. “Don’t go.”

A smile graces your features. How pleasantly surprising it is to have your captain- possibly the most closed off man you’d ever known- asking for you to stay. Of course, you hum in negation. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

His arms seem to tighten around you- though whether it’s reflexively or to keep you close, you’re unsure. “Good.” Then, Law murmurs something unintelligible against you.

“Hm?” He can feel the vibration on your lips against the side of his face more than he can hear it. That’s how closely you’re pressed into him.

Law clears his throat. “You feel right.”

“So do you.”

[wonderlanddreamer]

Alfie Solomons x Reader

Summary: Just an all-around cutesy fun family fic based on this request. I'm so sorry this took me so long!

The living room was a sea of chaos and laughter. Alfie Solomons and his three sons, Jacob, Levi and Noah, were engaged in an epic mock battle. Pillows were strewn about like fallen warriors, and cardboard swords clashed with imaginary foes.

Jacob, the self-appointed leader, stood atop the sofa, brandishing his makeshift sword with authority. “To arms, men! We must defend the ship from invaders!”

Levi, ever the enthusiastic six-year-old, charged forward with a pillow shield. “Aye, Captain! No pirates shall cross this line!”

Noah, the youngest at four, followed suit, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’m gonna get the treasure, Daddy!”

Alfie, playing the role of the fearsome pirate captain, let out a hearty laugh that filled the room. “Arrr, you think you can best ol’ Captain Solomons, do ye? Well, you’ll have to try harder than that!”

With a playful growl, Alfie lunged forward, swooping Noah up into his arms and spinning him around. “I’ve got you know, me heartie!”

Noah squealed with delight, waving his arms around as if trying to fly. “Put me down, Captain! I’ll tell you where the treasure is!”

Jacob, not to be outdone, leaped from the sofa with a mighty battle cry. “Charge! Rescue Noah from the clutches of the pirate!”

Levi followed, the two brothers launching a coordinated assault on their father who feigned dramatic defeat, falling to the floor with exaggerated groans. “Oh, the mighty Solomons crew has bested me! What cunning fighters you are!”

You watched from the doorway, cradling your six-month-old daughter, Rosie, who cooed happily in your arms. The boys sprawled across the floor, laughter filling the room, which made you smile. “Okay, crew. Time to tidy up on deck. Our guests will be arriving soon.”

Today was a special day, as your sister Clara and her family were visiting from the countryside. Alfie, ever the doting father, ruffled each of the boys' hair affectionately before making his way over to you. With a tender touch, he cradled the back of Rosie’s head, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek and then one on yours. You rose on your tiptoes to return the gesture with a kiss on his lips before you all busied yourselves tidying up the delightful chaos of your home.

Your family arrived a little while later, just as Alfie and the boys had renewed their game of Pirates. Clara, always the embodiment of poise and grace, stepped into the bustling household with her husband Henry and their children, Emily and James, in tow. The contrast between the two families was immediately noticeable. Emily, a ten-year-old exuding quiet confidence, and James, her shy seven-year-old brother, stood close to their parents, their eyes wide as they absorbed the lively scene around them.

Henry, a man of few words with a fondness for order, appeared slightly uneasy. His gaze lingered momentarily on the scar etched across Alfie’s face—a vivid reminder of the life Alfie had lived and the battles he had faced. Sensing her husband's discomfort, Clara, ever the diplomat, gently nudged him and offered a reassuring smile as they ventured further into the vibrant chaos.

As you ushered them into the living room, Alfie paused in his play, his gaze softening as he greeted your sister with a warm hug. "Clara, love, it's been too long. Henry, good to see you, mate," he said, extending a hand to Henry, who shook it with a polite nod.

The children exchanged tentative smiles, with Emily and James hanging back slightly behind their parents, unsure of how to navigate the exuberant energy of the Solomons boys, who had resumed their play with newfound vigor. Emily, with her neatly braided hair and a book clutched to her chest, surveyed the scene with cautious curiosity, while James, clutching a small toy car, shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“Alright, you lot, settle down for a bit,” you called out, your voice a gentle command amidst the lively chaos. The boys, though reluctant, heeded your words, collapsing onto the sofa in a tangled heap of giggles and elbows, their laughter bubbling up like an unstoppable tide.

As dinner approached, you found yourself orchestrating a delicate balance between chaos and calm. The dining table, a long, sturdy wooden piece that had witnessed countless meals and family gatherings, was set with meticulous care. Each place was adorned with simple yet elegant tableware, and the soft glow of candles flickered gently, casting a warm, inviting light across the room. The aroma of roast chicken, infused with herbs and surrounded by a medley of colorful vegetables, wafted through the air, offering a comforting contrast to the lively chatter and occasional bursts of laughter that echoed around you.

Seated at the head of the table, Alfie took it upon himself to engage Emily and James, his natural charisma shining through as he endeavored to draw them out of their shells. “So, Emily, James, you like stories, yeah? I’ve got a few good ones about treasure hunts and daring escapes that'll have you on the edge of your seat,” he announced with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief and a hint of challenge.

The children exchanged nervous glances, their eyes flickering between their plates and Alfie’s expectant gaze. Emily seemed both intrigued and wary. James, clutching his fork tightly, was visibly torn between curiosity and caution. Despite Alfie's best efforts, the scar that bisected his face and his naturally booming voice cast a shadow over his otherwise friendly demeanour, making the children hesitant to engage fully.

Noticing their hesitation, you leaned over to Alfie with a gentle smile, your touch on his arm a subtle cue. “Maybe start with something a bit less adventurous, love. How about the story of how you outsmarted that fox in the chicken coop?”

Alfie chuckled, a deep, warm sound that softened the edges of his rugged exterior. He nodded, shifting his approach with ease. “Ah, right, that one’s a classic. So there we were, middle of the night, and this cheeky fox thought he’d have a go at our chickens…” His voice took on a playful tone as he launched into the tale, weaving humour and suspense into his words, gradually drawing Emily and James into the story with each vivid detail. Slowly, their apprehension melted away, replaced by smiles and wide-eyed anticipation.

As Alfie wove stories with animated gestures and a playful tone, the ice continuing to thaw. Emily and James listened intently, their initial apprehension giving way to genuine curiosity. Alfie had a way of turning even the simplest story into an epic adventure, and soon the table was filled with laughter.

Meanwhile, Jacob, Levi, and Noah, ever the mischievous trio, had taken it upon themselves to share their peculiar brand of "wisdom" with their cousins. The boys, with the kind of solemnity that only children can muster, demonstrated what they deemed the "proper" way to eat peas—by launching them like tiny catapults across the table using the backs of their forks. Each pea flew through the air in a perfect arc, landing with a soft plop amidst the plates and cutlery.

Your stern look was met with their exaggerated innocence, the boys' eyes wide and faces a picture of feigned ignorance. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a serious demeanor, you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The sight was both exasperating and endearing, a reminder of the boundless creativity and joy of childhood.

Little Rosie, perched in her high chair with a perfect view of the spectacle, was utterly delighted. Her tiny hands clapped together with glee, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched her brothers' antics. Her giggles, a sweet and melodic sound, filled the room, providing a joyful counterpoint to the mayhem. Her laughter was infectious, and soon even the adults found themselves chuckling, the initial chaos softening into a shared moment of family warmth and connection.

As the meal progressed, conversation flowed more freely. Clara and Henry shared stories from their quiet village life, while you recounted the latest antics of the boys, each tale more outlandish than the last. Alfie, ever the storyteller, chimed in with anecdotes that had the whole table in stitches, even managing to coax a few smiles from Henry.

After dinner, the children burst forth into the garden, and their liberation from the confines of the dining table met with joyful exuberance. The garden, a sprawling oasis of lush green grass and vibrant wildflowers, was bordered by towering oak trees whose branches swayed gently in the evening breeze. The sky above was a canvas of deepening blues and purples, with the first stars beginning to twinkle against the fading light of day.

The Solomons' boys, natural leaders in mischief and adventure, quickly took charge, inviting Emily and James to join them in a spirited game of hide and seek. Their voices rang out through the crisp air, filled with excitement as they dashed across the lawn, weaving between garden furniture and disappearing into the shadows cast by the trees. Emily, her braids bouncing with each step, giggled as she found a perfect hiding spot behind a sprawling rose bush, while James, his earlier reservations forgotten, crouched behind a large oak, his eyes wide with anticipation. The children's laughter echoed like music, a joyful symphony that spoke of new friendships being forged in the twilight.

Inside the house, you and Clara worked side by side, clearing the table in a seamless rhythm born of years spent sharing chores and confidences. The clatter of cutlery and the gentle scrape of dishes against the wooden table were soothing, familiar sounds. Clara paused for a moment, surveying the room with a smile that reached her eyes. “You’ve got quite the lively crew here,” she commented, her voice tinged with both admiration and amusement. “But I can see the love in every corner of this home.”

You turned your gaze toward the window, where the scene outside unfolded like a cherished painting. There stood Alfie, his silhouette sturdy yet gentle against the dusky sky. He watched over the children with a gaze that was both protective and tender, embodying the essence of a guardian and a father. Rosie, nestled snugly against his broad chest, was a picture of contentment. Her tiny hand clutched his shirt as she nuzzled closer, lulled by the rhythmic motion of Alfie’s hand, which stroked her back with soothing, whisper-soft movements. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with the promise of sleep, as she basked in the warmth and safety of her father's embrace.

“It’s chaotic, but it’s ours. I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” you replied to Clara, a sense of deep satisfaction and love swelling within you. The chaos was a tapestry of cherished moments, woven together by laughter, love, and the vibrant energy of family life.

Clara nodded thoughtfully, her gaze shifting to Alfie. “And Alfie... he’s really something. I think he won over Emily and James with that story about the fox,” she said, her voice soft with appreciation.

A chuckle escaped your lips as you recalled the scene at the table. Alfie’s voice, usually so commanding, had taken on a playful lilt, weaving a tale that captivated the children and drew them into his world. “He has a way about him. Once you get past the rough edges, he’s got the biggest heart,” you remarked, your voice filled with affection and pride. Alfie’s storytelling was more than just entertainment; it was a bridge that connected him to others, revealing the kindness and warmth that lay beneath his rugged exterior. As you and Clara continued to tidy up, the laughter from outside mingled with your own, wrapping your home in a cocoon of love and togetherness.

As the evening gradually drew to a close, the first stars began to twinkle against the velvet backdrop of the night sky, casting a serene glow over the garden. The children, their energy finally beginning to wane after a day filled with laughter and adventure, were coaxed back inside with gentle words and promises of bedtime stories. The transition from the lively outdoors to the comforting confines of the house was seamless, the warmth of the interior enveloping them like a soft blanket.

Upstairs, you tenderly settled Rosie into her crib, her tiny form nestled among the plush blankets. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, a sleepy protest against the pull of slumber, before she succumbed to the peaceful embrace of sleep. Her breathing slowed into a gentle, rhythmic pattern, each exhale a soft sigh of contentment. The boys, still buzzing with the remnants of their outdoor escapades, were soon tucked into their beds. Their whispered conversations, filled with the lingering excitement of the day, gradually faded into the background, replaced by the soothing cadence of their breaths as they drifted off to dreamland.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. Alfie and Henry sat comfortably in the dimly lit living room, each nursing a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light, casting a warm glow that mirrored the camaraderie between them. Their conversation flowed with ease, the occasional burst of laughter punctuating their dialogue and breaking the stillness of the room. The day’s earlier formalities had given way to a genuine connection, a shared understanding forged over shared stories and mutual respect.

You joined Clara on the sofa, the cushions soft and inviting beneath you. A comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle clink of tea cups and the soft rustle of fabric as James and Emily, their energy finally spent, dozed quietly with their heads resting on Clara’s lap. The moment was a peaceful respite, a chance to reflect on the day’s events.

“It was good to see you,” you said, breaking the quiet, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “We should do this more often.”

Clara nodded, her smile warm and genuine, radiating the affection of a sister and friend. “Definitely. It’s nice to be reminded of what’s important,” she replied, her gaze drifting momentarily to the sleeping children, her voice laced with gratitude.

As the evening wound down, the sense of fulfillment in the air was palpable. Clara and her family prepared to leave, gathering their belongings with the unhurried pace of those reluctant to part. The visit had been more than just a gathering; it was a celebration of familial strength and the joy that could be found amidst the chaos of everyday life.

Standing at the door, Alfie clapped Henry on the back with a friendly grin, the camaraderie between them evident in the easy banter. “You take care, mate. And don’t worry, next time, I’ll have even better stories,” Alfie promised, his voice a playful rumble that hinted at future gatherings filled with laughter and tales.

Henry chuckled, finally at ease, his earlier reservations long forgotten. “I look forward to it, Alfie,” he replied, the sincerity in his voice a testament to the newfound friendship between the two.

As you waved goodbye to Clara and her family, watching them disappear into the night, you felt a profound sense of contentment. The house, though quieter now, seemed to hum with a lingering warmth, a testament to the bonds that had been strengthened and the love that had been shared over the course of the day.

Turning to Alfie, who wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew you close, you found comfort in his familiar presence. “Well, love, I reckon that went alright in the end, didn’t it?” he mused, his voice a soft rumble that resonated with satisfaction.

You nodded, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your side. “It did, indeed,” you agreed, your voice filled with both relief and joy.

Together, you lingered in the doorway, watching as Clara’s car taillights faded into the darkness. The night settled around you, quiet and still, a gentle reminder of the connections strengthened and the memories made. Feeling the warmth of Alfie's arm around you, a sense of calm and satisfaction washed over you, knowing that the day had brought everyone closer.

[ricep0pp]

already having to relive the Octavian/Luke comparisons and i think i may in fact spontaneously combust.

the blatant misremembering of Octavians character simply because readers just went along with whatever the main cast thought is honestly a little bit infuriating. he's the most spectrum coded character in HoO and most of his actions up until he is literally *brainwashed by Gaea* are justifiable.

"b-but he destroyed Percy's pillow pet comfort item!!" okay, maybe think about how he has to do this with his own comfort items every day? it's literally his job and it's very likely that nobody has ever gotten upset with him over it before. and *Reyna told him to do this* so why are we mad at octavian if it was an order from the praetor to do an augur thing and the easiest way to do that was with an item that had a connection to Percy?

i will also never get over the banquet scene at the beginning of MoA. Octavian literally does nothing wrong here but the characters decide that they just really want to make him the butt of every joke simply because they find him 'annoying'.

after Reyna does the toast and Jason is recounting their rescue of Hera/Juno, Octavian interrupts him in an exclamation of disbelief that they hadn't noticed that the queen of the gods had been imprisoned in a location that was very important to the romans. is interrupting rude? yes, but he obviously seems distraught over the fact that Juno was unknowingly imprisoned. instead of politely explaining the full extent of the situation, what does Piper do? immediately use charmspeak on him.

next, when Percy praises Jason's skills ("No wonder they made you praetor."), Octavian immediately brings up the fact that they have three praetors now that Jason has returned. this is really important, especially from his perspective since he's such a stickler for rules and regulations. Percy decides to immediately abtagonize him, and then completely dismiss his frustration over Percy choosing to step aside for Jason. Octavian has every right to be offended over this, even if it's not necessarily the most correct time to bring it up. Percy antagonizes him, and then basically blatantly insults him by treating the position he's worked his entire life for as if it's nothing important.

after that, Reyna has Octavian recite the great prophecy, ignoring his hesitancy (that is entirely warranted considering greece and rome have been at war for literal millenia). when Annabeth recites the last two lines of the prophecy and Frank brings up her parentage, Octavian has a right to be skeptical. in rome, Minerva isnt even a war goddess, and doesn't have children. without understanding how the gods operate in their seperate forms, it's reasonable, considering they arrived in a war ship, are being lead by a child of a war goddess that they are wholly unfamilliar with in more ways than most of the other major gods, and are, in fact, greek, to be suspicious of the groups intentions.

when Annabeth and Percy list the seven demigods they believe should go on the quest, Octavian is again rightfully upset. There are rules and procedures that are being completely ignored, and by visitors that are already suspicious to him and have made it very clear that they do not care about his opinion, even though he's on the senate and *the fucking augur.* he is once again interrupted, but this time by the book itself as Tyson shows up.

Ella then recites the 'mark of Athena' prophecy, which Octavian *once again* has every right to know about. prophecies are his job, and his entire *personality* as far as camp jupiter is concerned. i understand that it basically says 'Annabeth will destroy rome' but her secrecy in regards to the quest her mother gave her has never once made sense and is not justified in any way. instead of even saying something simple along the lines of 'Athena made me swear to secrecy', Percy for some reason is made to be the character that needs rescuing (in a situation that has nothing to do with him) and Annabeth takes the opportunity to make Octavian into the fool in front of all of his peers. it feels even worse later on when Annabeth and Reyna discuss the prophecy but only to agree that it even *is* one, and for no purpose beyond that for several paragraphs.

THEN when Leo offers a tour of the Argo II to Octavian and Reyna *once again* dismisses his suspicions, she winds up partly to blame for the resulting attack, as well as Leo for never telling anyone about gaea, and Annabeth for not saying anything when she noticed Leo was acting off. when Gaea attacks CJ and Octavian relays to Annabeth that he saw Leo open fire on the city, she assumes he's pulling some trick to get them to fight each other. she had known him for all of maybe a few hours and for some reason, watching her friends and boyfriend openly bully him has convinced her that he could be evil?

mind you, all of the above events happened over the course of *two* chapters, both of which are from the perspective of Annabeth who had only just met Octavian.

he only really began doing things you could consider 'evil' once gaea had fullt brainwashed him and driven him mad. and even then, he gets a fucking joke death?? as the only character up to this point that i was ever able to identify with on an ASD level, that feels really shitty! and the fact that the fandom just jumped on the Octavian hate train really drives home how people cannot handle spectrum coding/writing/*people* unless its presented in a cutesie helpless way.

but back to the original point of Octavian being compared to Luke; Luke was scheming the *entire* time we knew him. He did not want to protect his home, he did not have any real morals or self imposed rules. all he cared about was getting back at Hermes for not showing he cared about him (which is kind of bs considering Hermes is one of the busiest gods in the pantheon but as a fellow neglected kid i get it.) Luke was willing to do this in any way, even if it meant literally destroying the world. Octavian was just trying to keep his home safe in the way that any historical roman would have.

You also kind of have to consider his background. he was left at camp as an unwanted baby. we dont even know if his parents named him or if the camp did. his only identity is that he's a legacy of Apollo with a gift that is incredibly useful to CJ. this, along with his very clear coding (whether intentional on Rick's part or not), only shows me a character that was always unwanted and outcasted from the only place he even could call home. he doesnt want to be praetor for power, he wants to be praetor to prove to everyone (and himself) that he's worthy of being one of them. if he wanted power for the sake of power he could easily use his augur position to manipulate his way up, but never once do we see him attempt this. it doesn't help that he's named after THE Gaius Julius Ceasar Augustus, the man that founded the fucking roman empire in the first place. imagine how that must feel? to have your identity tied to such massive, larger than life people? imagine feeling like you have to live up to that in a place that seemingly fucking hates you for existing and only keeps you around because youre useful??

i really wish people would stop blatantly villainizing Octavian, dudes literally just an 18 year old autistic kid that was victimized by Gaea. give him a break, please.

[d0youc0py]

A • Apprehensive • How apprehensive are they to get into a relationship?

Extremely. Not because he doesn’t want too but because he is actually very satisfied with the life he has now. He has his great group of friends who he sees often outside of work and he really doesn’t need much more interaction outside of that. He doesn’t want the stress of worrying about you while he’s away.

B • Bad Habit • Bad Habit they have when it comes to relationships

This man will look for any reason- any reason at all to jump ship. Once again it not because he doesn’t want to be in a relationship, of course he wants to love someone and be loved, but he’s so scared of you getting hurt because of him that he will nitpick everything you do in the beginning to find an excuse to distance himself. Yet something about you keeps him coming back……..

C • Cuddling

Touching actually comes very naturally to him. It’s his emotions that are a total roadblock. He thinks it’s the easiest way to get his feelings out without having to find a way to get his brain to connect with his mouth. He’s not a fan of PDA but if you grab his hand in public it will make his legs shake. Loves spooning! He gets to wrap his whole body around yours, breath in your scent, and he has access to kiss your shoulders, neck, head. He wraps his whole arm around your waist while the other is placed under your head like a pillow. Please hold his hand in this position. He also likes casual cuddling. You throwing your feet over his lap while on the couch. He always sits with his arm draped over the back of the couch/any where he can, so take the opportunity to nuzzle on in there.

D • Dates

Dates with him are absolutely wonderful. He does an amazing job focusing all his attention on you, making you feel as if you are the only person he has ever laid eyes on. Dates with him are always pretty simple. Dinner, or maybe a movie, maybe a day trip to a museum or maybe just a walk around a park if the weathers nice.

E • Emotions • How do they handle your emotions?

When you’re happy- he’s happy. When you’re sad he does everything he can to make it stop. He’s extremely fix-it oriented and may not understand that you just want a shoulder to cry on. Anger is a hard one for him because he doesn’t get too angry often. He comes across like he does but it really takes a lot for him to get heated. Anger always makes him uncomfortable too. He’s worried that he’ll somehow become an outlet for you anger. Because of this he tries to dismiss it in hopes you’ll move on but a lot of times this just makes you feel invalidate. Once he realizes that you just want someone to vent to and tell you it’ll all work out he’s there for you 100%.

F • fun level • how fun are they as partners?

This completely depends on your personal idea of fun. If your idea of fun is going out and staying out till two in the morning then he’s not your guy. But if your idea of fun is sitting out on the patio with a drink swapping banter and people watching then he’s your guy. He unknowingly makes typically boring things like cleaning, or waiting in line enjoyable with out of pocket comments. He’s a city boy and has a pretty good idea of all the true gems hidden around.

G • Games • do they play games with your heart?

Absolutely not. He basically got into this relationship unwillingly so if he’s in it- he’s in it. Extremely loyal. He saw what his mom went through and would never ever put someone through that. He’s not the type to flirt with other people just to get you jealous. Trust is a huge thing with him. If he can’t trust you- or if he senses you don’t trust him, it’s not gonna work babe.

H • Hot damn • what are they attracted too physically?

He’s a total sucker for rosy cheeks. He adores a healthy red glow. He’s also incredibly observant. If something about you catches his eye he’s going to just stare at you with no shame to see if he can get an idea of who you are. Edward Cullen vibes. Do you hold your head up high? Do you make eye contact with others? Do you curl in on yourself? He finds loads of people attractive- but he really needs to get to know you before he is attracted to you.

I • indescribable • what do they have the hardest time opening up about?

He opens up about his childhood in a slow- but not excruciating pace. It seems like everyone has some sort of childhood trauma so he doesn’t feel too frowned upon. He will absolutely never open up to you about his work though. You will of course meet the people he works with outside of work, hear a few funny stories, but he will never tell you how good he actually is at his job. He probably won’t even mention Ghost to you unless someone slips up and calls him that. Even then he’s extremely vague. He doesn’t want you associated with that at all. He keeps all of his masks and uniforms locked up in storage unit until he gets deployed.

J • Jealousy

He’s a fairly confident guy, so no he doesn’t get jealous. If you are actively trying to make him jealous to get a rise out of him than that’s a major turn off to him. He thinks it’s childish and honestly downright mean to make your partner feel that way. It’s rare when you feel jealous. He’s a handsome hunk of man so he gets hit on every once in a while. He makes it very obvious he’s in a relationship though. Wether that be flashing his wedding band, gesturing to you, or just downright saying he’s not interested. He hopes that by doing all this it eases your mind while he’s away. He knows it hard not knowing what he’s up to for weeks at a time and it would be easy to let your mind wander, especially when his so flippant and vague about his time away from you. Like stated above he is very big on trust and he really never gives you a reason to not trust him.

K • Kids • Do they want kids?

This might be controversial, but no. He’s doesn’t want kids. Kids stress him out and honestly bring up a lot of trauma for him. He has a lot of good qualities for parenthood. He reliable, protective, understanding, but he also has a lot of emotional problems that he will be working through for the rest of his life. He is gone at least 5-6 months out of the year, and he doesn’t think it’s fair to leave the child rearing up to you. Why would he want to bring a life into this world when it’ll be so hard for him to be there for it? Plus when he’s home he wants to relax- he wants to be with you. He’s very open about this at the beginning of your relationship so you aren’t blindsided.

L • Love • How fast do they say ‘I Love You’?

When you are both old and white haired you’ll probably be able to count on one hand the amount of times he has said I Love You. He’s not big on words. Anyone can talk. He likes to show. Also when he does say those words it’s so special because you know that he is literally overflowing with the feeling.

M • Money

He makes great money (as he should) so he isn’t cheap. He’s a practical spender though. He would much rather spend his money on remodeling the kitchen than go on a vacation. He has absolutely no problem paying for your dates, but if you wanted to pay every now and then it wouldn’t hurt his ego. You could absolutely rely on him to help you out financially if you ever needed it. Your car broke down and you can’t afford to fix it? He’s got you. If you hate your job and decide you want to stay at home or switch careers, he’s got you there too. If you make more than him it honestly doesn’t bother him. Surprisingly his guilty pleasure is clothes. The man owns fifty different tops all in black. T shirts, hoodies, sweaters. The only color he has in his closet are his white button ups. He also has a soft spot for jeans. He’s very picky about his jeans but once he finds a pair he likes he gets ten pairs of them.

N • No • Biggest turn offs

He absolutely hates over sharing right off the bat. Like on your first date you tell him every horrible thing that has happened to you- he’s running. If there is something he absolutely needs to know then it’s okay (he thinks?). He also hates people who aren’t self aware. People who will judge others for something they themselves blatantly do.

O • Over and Out• How he’d break up with you

He’d do it right before he got shipped off. If you two had just started going together he probably would just ‘ghost’ you and you’d think he fell off the face of the earth. But if you two had been going for a while it would complicate things for him. He’s torn between leaving you a half assed phone call or breaking up with you to your face. While you’re at work/out of the house he’d pick up the things he had at your place leaving a very cliche ‘not you but me’ not on your kitchen counter. Maybe when he got back he’d answer you phone calls and meet you for coffee- but it’s very unlikely.

P • Protective vs Possessive

He’s a unhealthy mixture of both. Some of his protectiveness is quite sweet. He always makes sure to follow the sidewalk rule and walk a little bit behind you. He gives off scary guard dog energy and he makes sure to put it to good use. Someone’s making you uncomfortable. Glare so strong it’ll make your knees buckle. Other times it’s annoying, and it feels almost like he thinks of you as a child. “Careful around the oven.” Duh Simon. You’ll get random calls from his burner phone with him practically begging you to lock the doors and windows over the phone so he can hear it. He has minor OCD. Teaches you simple- yet uncommon self defense techniques and make sure you feel confident using a knife. His possessiveness comes from from his ego and is deeply intertwined with his protectiveness. He firmly believes that no one else can protect you like he can. Which is kinda true. You are his so it’s his job to protect you. This means he’ll probably put up a fight if you want to go somewhere without him, even if it’s just to go grab the mail. He’s no stranger to how horrible people can be- he’s guilty of it himself.

Q • Quick • How quick do they actually fall in love?

It happens at a normal pace. That doesn’t mean he knows it. It takes like five different people to point it out to him before he starts believing their right. All he knows is that he feels bad when he’s away from you and fucking fantastic when he’s with you. He finds that he works harder so mission goes by quicker. He finds that while he’s driving over to your place his cheeks start to burn, only then does he notice he’s been smiling since he’s started the engine. When he does finally admit it, it doesn’t cause him to rush into anything. The two of you may still be friends for a few months before he acts on it. He genuinely enjoys the foreign feeling of butterflies and warmth in his chest. Just let him soak in it.

R • Relationship history

He’s been in a few relationships, about five. He’s never been in love but he has loved someone. That person was there for him during a tough time in his life (his father leaving and his brother trying to get sober) and he was there for them too during their own rough patch. It lasted a little more than a year and they both mutually decided that they would make better friends. Neither of them ever kept in touch. The other relationships would always last about 3-5 months. Mostly something to take his mind off of work when he was home. He enjoyed being with them but it just never worked out.

S • Sentimental

He is sentimental. He still has a soft spot for the outfit you wore on their first date and no matter how old it is he insists that you keep it. He will frequently drive past important places to the two of you. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are always so soft as he remembers whatever it was that happened there. He’ll never admit it but if you ever decided to make him a scrapbook/photo album he’d probably cry.

T • Tidy • What’s it like living with him?

He’s honestly a pretty wonderful roommate. It’s been drilled into his head order and routine. He cleans for about 10 minutes every morning, simple things like wipe down the kitchen, dust the living room, throw a load of laundry in. He finds great calmness in repetitive tasks. Clutter makes it hard for him to focus and it seriously makes his skin itch. He does hate vacuuming though so hopefully you’ll take that over for him. He’s also a decent cook, nothing fancy, but they are very much comfort meals. Steak with potatoes, stews, spaghetti, things like that. It’ll take him a while to get use to living with you, but it makes him feel safe. His favorite time of day is when both of you are settling into bed, mumbling things you just remembered about your day, his chin resting on top of your head, just being completely absorbed in you. Moments like these are things he never thought he could- or really deserved to have.

U • Ultimate • the ultimate way to weasel your way into his heart

The quickest way to Simon’s heart is honestly just paying attention to him. You notice when he’s feeling upset and instead of brushing him off as grumpy you take time out of your day to make him feel better. You had a rough day and say the only way it could be better is by him making you a cup of his famous tea- he’s melted. He shows up to a gathering and you show genuine excitement about his presence- might marry you right there. You were out shopping and bought a little something for him because it reminded you of him- someone sedate him. He knows he’s a tough nut to crack so when someone actually puts in the effort to get to know him it always shakes him to his core. You- someone who could have almost anyone- want him?

V • Vacation

His favorite vacations are small two-three day ones. Maybe both of you book a hotel a few towns over and spend the weekend exploring the quaint little town? Traveling takes a lot out of him. It sounds a bit silly given his profession but he isn’t the biggest fan of planes. In his defense he’s know some pilots who should definitely have their license revoked. Since he’s legally dead there are a few hoops to jump through when flying international. (Thankfully Price is the paperwork master) He also isn’t a fan of all the plannnning. Ugh. If you wanted to get him on a real week long vacation the whole thing will have to be a guided tour and he wants to have a buzz for most of it.

W • Wait • how long will they wait to marry you?

About three- four years. Small wedding. He refuses to say vows out loud but will absolutely write some and let you read them after the ceremony. Fighting back tears. He is actually invested in the planning portion of it- especially the cake. Price officiates the wedding and would absolutely walk you down the aisle if you requested. Johnny is best man. Gaz is the flower girl and the DJ. Your reception is fucking amazing (thanks Johnny) and you have the best wedding album ever.

X • eXtra

If you want this man in a pile of mush please for the love of god skim your fingers over his jaw and chin. It’s a sensitive area for him because it’s covered half the time and it’s also a way he self soothes. When he’s stressed or nervous he’ll rub at it and it really does physically calm him. It’s also a great way to get him to sleep or back to sleep on nights he’s struggling.

Y • You • How often does he think about you while he’s away?

With his job he is easily distracted. Nights away from you are hell though. He literally sleeps with one of your shirts. He has it balled up and tucked under his chin and tries his best to imagine it’s your head.

Z • Zzzzz

He likes to go to bed early and wake up early. He naturally runs cold- despite his size- and he needs the room like a meat locker to sleep. Big fluffy comforters are something that he absolutely indulges in. The two do you are pressed together all night to keep warm. He wears socks to sleep- fight him. He also wears a pair of tight boxers (he likes to be compressed) and a loose t shirt. He loves skin to skin contact, if he has a chance of being pressed against you naked you could probably get him to turn the thermostat up to a normal temperature. He doesn’t snore often but when he does it’s growly like a grizzly bear. He is a light sleeper so anytime you move or a loud car goes by he will wake up. It’s never too difficult to fall back asleep though. He does suffer from night terrors. You can tell when his having one because his body heat will rise and he’ll start to twitch in his sleep. At first he was very snippy when you tried to soothe him but that’s just because he was embarrassed. Eventually he comes to crave some of your touches to bring him back down to earth.

Hope you all liked this. If you don’t agree with anything you see here that’s fine too! This took me a ridiculously long time but I throughly enjoyed it. I’m debating on whether I should do Soap or Price next.

[littlemissthunderstorms]

paperwork

tbhc au

soft dom alex x reader

as a ceo of tbhc, work can get stressful. sometimes you just need a distraction! (hint hint being eaten out from under your desk)

———

“5 new engines for the ships. i need them on monday….. what?” you spoke into the receiver. “fine. tuesday. no later than that.” you rolled your eyes, mumbling your routine “goodbyes” and “thank you’s” before you slammed the phone down.

you sighed, leaning your head back in your chair as you gazed out of the floor to ceiling windows that adorned your office. an overwhelming pile of paperwork for new various technological advances crowded your desk, you needed a break. stars shimmered in the void that stretched on and on, sometimes giving you the chills. most times the galactic scene outside of your windows would cure your mind fog, leaving you to admire the vast darkness decorated by swirls and stars.

your thoughtful little daze ended abruptly when the phone on your desk rang out. “tranquility base hotel and casino, how may i help you?”

“yeah this is alex. i have a complaint. why the fuck is there so much paperwork for these goddamn rocket ships?”

you scoffed, kicking your feet up onto the desk. “i don’t know, but i’m exhausted. i think my hair might fall out from all the stress.” you ran your fingers through your hair, head slumping back in your chair again.

alex chuckled from the other line, his laugh forming a soft smile across your lips. “hey, um can i come by your office real quick?” you could practically hear his smirk through the receiver. “sure….we’ve got work do to though so make whatever you’re doing quick.”

without a response, he hung up on you. you put the phone down and resumed filling out the sheets of paper that piled up on your desk.

a few moments later alex gave a quick knock to the door and slid in, closing it behind him. he looked as sleek as ever, navy suit adorning his figure, widows peak prominent with his slicked back hair. his heeled boots clacked on the floor as he made his way over to you.

you looked up, smiling at him with twinkly eyes. the boy planted both hands on the desk and leaned over, kissing you sweetly. you sighed into the kiss, making alex grin like a fool. being the ceo’s of tranquility base, you two had been crammed in your offices for the past week. the only times you were able to see eachother was in your shared suit at night. even then you guys were absolutely exhausted, falling asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

the boy made his way over to your side of the desk, spinning your chair around so it faced him. he then knelt down in front of you, face to face due to the low level of your chair. he cupped your face with both hands, kissing you so deeply you had to hold his shoulders for support. the kiss was soon wet and messy, his tongue slid into your desperate mouth, spilling soft moans out of you.

he pulled away slightly, panting as he rested his forehead against yours. “is that what you came for? a couple of kisses?” you smirked. alex leant back, looking you in the eyes. “well that’s part of it.” a mischievous glint flickered across his dark gaze. “i was brainstorming earlier, i know something that might help relieve our stress.”

you tilted your head, quickly catching on after a few moments. “alex….” he looked at you pleadingly, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “stress lowers your life span, seriously, it’s not healthy.” you rolled your eyes, hitting his chest playfully. “what if someone walks in?” “i’ll lock the door.” he replied. “what if someone hears?” you bit your lip. “they can’t do anything about it, we own this place.” he twirled a loose strand of your hair around his finger, bringing his hand up to squish your cheeks.

you blushed ferociously. “fine.” you chuckled, starting to get up out of your chair when alex pushed you back down. you looked up at him, confused. “stay right there love.” he pushed your chair back in so your arms rested on the desk and made his way over to the door, locking it and making his way to the side of the desk opposite from you.

“what are you doing?” you questioned. the boy flashed you a smirk and muttered a sweet “just relax” before he knelt down, crawling under the desk. you soon felt his hands smoothing up your thighs, moving to unbutton your dress pants. once he removed your pants completely, he leaned in, nudging your clothed core with his nose, smirking at the already prominent wet patch of arousal. you gasped, grabbing ahold of the armrests of your chair.

he rested his hands on your thighs, pressing open mouthed, wet kisses to the part of your underwear that was soaked through. you moaned softly, helping him as he slid your panties off. once they were discarded, alex pressed languid kisses to the insides of your thighs, occasionally leaving a little bite and soothing it with his tongue.

he groaned, watching as arousal soaked your throbbing clit. you slid your chair back slightly, positioning yourself in a way where you were able to see him. “fuck alex…. don’t tease me.” you whispered, panting softly. the boy looked up at you with glittery eyes that seemed to reflect the pools of stars that shimmered outside, planting a kiss to the top of your thigh as he admired how gorgeous you looked with your cheeks all flushed for him.

“shh shh pretty girl, how bout’ you keep filling out that paperwork yeah? s’ not gonna do itself.” he cooed, rubbing his hand up and down your calf. you gulped and nodded as you picked up your pen, trying to focus as best as you could on the papers.

your handwriting stuttered when alex blew on your clit, eliciting a soft whimper from your lips. alex loved teasing you, the little moans that would escape from your lips when he’d run his tip along your folds. or the way you’d wriggle your hips while he kitten licked at your pussy, craving more. but now, he couldn’t hold back. he was practically drooling, needing to taste you.

alex licked a stripe up your clit, causing you to gasp and bite your lip, putting a death grip on the pen. he continued to eat you out, his nose coated in arousal as he darted his tongue in and out of your dripping hole. you moaned quite loudly at the action, moving to wrap your leg over his back, his face nuzzling deeper into your pussy.

you flipped over to the next paper, trying your best to fill it out and be good for him, doing what he said. alex suckled your clit into his mouth, his pace getting faster as his warm wet mouth glided over your heat. you moaned again, gripping the desk with one hand.

putting the pen down, your eyes squeezed shut, your whimpers only escalating. alex noticed this and stopped his movements. “keep filling out that paperwork, cmon, be a good girl.” you nodded and went to pick up the pen again, trying your best to remember addresses and names in your clouded state of ecstasy.

alex wasn’t making it any easier. the man was ruthless, slobbering all over your pussy as he devoured you. you bit your lip, trying to focus when two long fingers slowly started to pump inside you, his tongue on your clit not ceasing one bit. you yelped, quickly covering your mouth with your hand, trying to sign the bottom of a contract with the other.

your eyes squeezed shut again as his fingers curled inside of you at a speedy pace, your mouth parted in a half moan. the squelching noises coming from under the desk were pornographic, making you impossibly wetter.

already, you could feel the pleasure building up in your lower stomach. opening your eyes a bit, you realized you’d drooled on some of the paper, smudging some of the ink. you couldn’t care less. you threw your head back as alex’s mouth moved against a particular spot that only brought you closer to fireworks, his fingers hitting your g-spot over and over again.

“oh fuck alex, right there.” you practically screamed, tears dropping down your flushed cheeks. alex moaned, sending vibrations into your clit as he licked and sucked faster, his thick fingers stroking your walls so deliciously. “fuck fuck fuck fuck.” you whispered, bucking your hips into his face as your orgasm ripped through you.

you screamed alex’s name, nails digging into the wooden desk as your heel dug into the boys back. you whimpered and gasped, sobbing alex’s name as your legs shook. the man knew how to give a women a killer orgasm, that was for sure. alex licked up every drop as you came, he didn’t stop until your hips flinched away from his face, wincing at the sensitivity.

alex crawled out from under the desk, his nose and cheeks rosy and damp from your arousal. he stood up, picking you up from your chair and sitting in it instead, placing you on his lap. he kissed your tears, soothingly carding through your hair with his soft hands.

“shh shh, that’s a girl…” he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “you did so good.. my perfect girl.” your stomach fluttered at his words, mind starting to de-fog from your insane high.

alex sat you up so you were straddling him, feeling his erection against your bare clit.

“think you can take one more for me honey?”

———

hope you enjoyedd!! might make a part two sometime

taglist: @ultragirrl @inmyownfantasywrld @almluv @raven-ql @ohladymoon @yourstartreatment @missbabyjay @andulina567

(let me know if you’d like to be added/removed)

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter One

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series: Ongoing, set after The Mandalorian season two

Warnings/Tags (Overall): eventual smut, post-canon, trauma, past emotional/physical abuse, scars, self-doubting/negative self-image, din working out his shit, reader working out her shit, found family, injury, religious trauma, cults

~series masterlist & info~

chapter tags/warnings: mentions of past trauma/emotional abuse

chapter length: 6.8k

notes: this planet and its creatures are entirely made up by me, it does not exist, hope u like it anyway :) the fic title is from "daylight" by taylor swift, aka the soundtrack for this fic ❤️

my love was as cruel as the cities i lived in; everyone looked worse in the light

Ah, the smells and sounds of a backwater planet in the morning. 

Dewy grass underfoot and damp moss lining the bases of trees. Birds chirping on the tall branches, bright green leaves shaking gently in the wind, the sound rustling through the air. The scent of the nearby flowers, the running of the river beside your hut, the hissing of an engine and the smell of burning metal…

Wait. 

That’s…not the smell of this backwater planet in the morning. 

You’ve just had a small breakfast, fruit picked from the meiloorun trees a few miles West, when the strange sounds and smells suddenly hit you. 

It’s concerning, to say the least. No one is around for hundreds of klicks; not a hint of civilisation, not a whiff of a trade route until you reach the other side of the planet. 

You chose this place for a kriffing reason. No one’s here. No one’s even near. Despite the sparse covering of meiloorun trees in an overgrown meadow, there’s no reason for anyone to be here. No reason for a ship to land nearby, that’s for sure. 

Unless…

No time to think. 

There are footsteps approaching. 

Shit. 

Your sniper rifle is by the door to your hut, blaster by your pillow. One for hunting food, one for self defence. 

One that you’ve never had to use before now. Not since arriving here, anyway. 

Well, first time for everything. 

You grab it, and press yourself against the wall by your door, slowing your breathing so you can listen closely. The footsteps get closer; they’re muffled on the grassy ground, but getting louder, and it’s definitely a two-legged being of some kind. Just one. 

You’d have thought that if They had found you, They would bring the whole damn lot along to take you back. An army, a garrison, outnumbering and overpowering you in every way. 

But maybe not. They’re cunning, manipulative. Maybe sending just one of them, sending him, is a tactic. Maybe They think it would break you down; make you vulnerable again.

Well, whoever it is is walking carefully, slowly. Like every step could be putting a foot wrong. 

There is, of course, the possibility that they’re not here for you at all, and are just going to bypass your hut without a second thought. A very minute possibility; you are the only sentient being here, your hut the only sign of someone’s life. It’s the best place to hide, somewhere where no one ever goes, because no one needs or wants to. The flora and fauna isn’t ideal, there are no useful resources for trading, and only just enough for one careful person to survive on. 

But that chance of someone being here not for you is squashed when you peer out of the window on the door and realise that, yes, there is a figure emerging from the woods in front of your hut, and, yes, that is the shine of the barrel of a blaster. 

Kriff.

They’ve found you.

You could run. There’s a back door you built specifically for this. 

But if there’s only one out front, then it’s definitely some kind of manipulation tactic. There will be more nearby. They’ll be waiting in the back, having taught you themselves to always have a back route to escape, and they’ll grab you before you can even think twice. 

The only option is to try and reason with him. To try and use his own tricks against him. To manipulate him into thinking you’re doing what he wants, and then use his weakness to get away. 

It’s never worked before. 

But it’s the only option you’ve got.

Creaking open your front door, you point your blaster around the frame, followed closely by your left eye. You expect to see a human face, bearded, white skin and bright blue eyes. Familiar. So familiar you can never fucking forget it.

But, instead, all you see is blinding silver. 

No, not silver. Not even durasteel. You don’t know what it’s made of, but it’s armour, a lot of it, shining brightly in the morning sunlight. It’s complete with a helmet, also that strange type of silver metal, with a black T-shaped Visor across the eyes and cutting down the front. A gloved hand is holding up a blaster not dissimilar to your own, though the person looks hesitant, only holding it as a caution, as they approach your hut in the same way.

“Get back!” You shout. 

The armour stops. 

People don’t normally actually stop when you tell them to. So, you’re not sure what to do next. 

(You were expecting to shoot, but honestly, you’re not sure what good it could possibly do past that armour. What is that stuff, anyways?) 

“Leave now,” you demand, “this is your warning. I will shoot you.” 

The hand holding the blaster lifts, very pointedly bringing their finger off the trigger. They hold up both of their hands, in surrender. “I’m not here to harm you,” a voice comes through the helmet, modulated and most likely male. He’s speaking quietly, so measured and calm that you wonder if the helmet does that for him. 

“You need to leave!” You say again, gaining enough confidence now that his blaster is not pointed at you to put your whole head around the door. Now both of your eyes are on him, you see the entirety of his armour. He is absolutely armed to the fucking teeth, probably not even needing a blaster to kill you in a breath. There’s a rifle on his back. A satchel is slung over his shoulder, but you can’t see the bag itself as it sits over his back. 

The shape and design of his helmet is familiar to you, distantly, something in your brain ringing when you see it. But you can’t quite put your finger on it, and it’s not important right now. 

“I can’t do that,” he says, measuredly calm again. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” 

A pause. He still has his hands in the air, but after seeing the amount of weapons he has strapped to him, it’s not all that comforting. “My ship crashed,” he says after an uncomfortably long time, like he wishes he didn’t have to say it. “I was hoping to find somewhere to buy parts.” 

You huff out a laugh. “Good luck with that,” you say. Subtly, and with your blaster still aimed at him, you get another look at him. With his hands up, his satchel is starting to slip around his body. You get a glimpse at the very edge of the bag. Whatever is in there is heavy, and you’re not about to take the risk that it’s something dangerous. “You need to leave. You can’t be here.” 

“Is there a town nearby that you can direct me to?” He asks. “I tried looking at the map, but it must have been corrupted…” 

You laugh again, rolling your eyes. “It’s not corrupted. There’s nothing on this side of the planet.” 

Another pause. “But you’re here.” 

Alright. Either They have sent some random, terrifying guy to lure you into a false sense of security, or he is just genuinely lost. 

You’re just about to lower your blaster, to give him the bad news that he’s going to have to travel half way around the planet if he ever wants to get off it, when two things happen at once. 

First, the satchel slips all the way around. You jump at first, but soon, the bag itself is moving, and something pops out from the top of it. Something…alive. Something green, wrinkled, with ears as big as its head and deep, dark eyes almost as large too. 

You frown. A kid? 

Not enough time to process the fact that this seems to be a father who has got himself stranded, because suddenly you see something else in the satchel, sticking out from one of the front pockets with a blinking light and a beeping that you can hear from here. 

A tracking fob. 

Your heart rate shoots up, blood suddenly rushing through your ears so you can’t hear anything but that. You flick the safety off your blaster, aim it stronger at him, look through the scope with one eye. “Get out of here, bounty hunter, or I swear I’ll shoot you where that armour can’t protect you.” 

The child—why the fuck does a bounty hunter have a child?—coos, seeming concerned, and looks up at the armoured man like he’ll have an answer. 

The man himself has his blaster aimed at you again, and you didn’t even see him move to point it. Kriff. He’s fucking good.

They put a bounty on you. Fuck, They wanted you back that badly. 

“I said leave!” You cry, feeling tears of both fear and betrayal sting at the backs of your eyes. You try desperately to swallow them down. “Take that tracking fob, and leave, or I swear to the Maker—”

Your words seem to startle him, and he drops his blaster once more, the helmet tilting down towards where the fob is sticking out of his bag. “No, no, it’s not—this isn’t for you!” He says, sounding more hurried now than he had when his hands were up and you were about to shoot him. He fishes the fob out. “This isn’t yours. See, it’s not telling me I’m close to my target. Look.” He holds it out towards you. 

A quick glance tells you that he’s not lying about that. The lights aren’t blinking right. 

You hesitate. Your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, so hard that it feels like it might jump out and run away from this entire situation. Which, you couldn’t blame it.

You wish you could do the same. 

“You really just crashed here?” You ask, your blaster-wielding arm twitching. 

“Yes,” he answers. 

You look at the child. “The kid yours?” 

“I…yes. Yes, he’s mine.” 

A frown creases at your forehead, both concerned and curious. “No one’s surrounding us? No one going to jump out and take me?” 

“…No,” he says. Something in the tilt of his helmet comes across as amusement. 

It’s not funny. 

But he has a kid. Someone sent here to kill you wouldn’t have brought a kid.

Well, probably not. Though knowing Them, you wouldn’t necessarily put anything past them. 

Not without hesitation, you lower your arm. Flick the safety back on, but keep your finger on it, ready to flick it back at a moment’s notice. “You crashed onto the wrong planet,” you say, stepping further into the doorway. You can’t see his eyes, but it feels like they’re on you, taking you in now he can see you. “I meant it when I said there’s nothing until you get to the other side.” 

He observes you. “Can you help me?” 

You sigh. It’s been a long time since you had any kind of human contact—well, you assume he’s human—and it’s already becoming too much. A tiny, corrupt part of you says, No, you can’t help him. Send him on his way. A part of you that is either there for self preservation, or a part that They put in you from a young, young age. 

It’s a part that you have never listened to. Not once. 

And you’re not about to start now.

“I can give you food and water,” you say, eyeing the kid curiously, wondering if it even eats or drinks, “and I can tell you more about this place. Maybe even help with the ship. But I haven’t got a way for you to get to the city.” 

He seems to relax a little. Tentatively, and still holding his hands halfway up, he steps closer. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you very much.” 

He sounds so sincere, so genuine, that it takes you by surprise. Because, really, he’s quite terrifying. Just this big, looming wall of steel-silver armour, covered head-to-toe in weapons, as well as ones that are no doubt hidden, too. You can’t see his face or read him at all. He walks so casually, like he’s meant to be here. Like this is normal. 

And there’s a fucking green child strapped to him, the likes of which you’ve never seen before.

“Please, sit,” you say, gesturing to the table and chairs you have set up under the awning that stretches from your hut’s roof. “Are you hungry?” 

“The kid is. We have supplies on our ship, but it’s a few miles away…” 

You raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t sit down, just stands there under the shade, staring at you. “When did you crash?” 

“We didn’t crash, necessarily. Just…an interesting landing.” 

“Right, right, of course. But it was such an interesting landing that you can’t take off again?”

“…That’s right.” 

Before replying, you head inside and to the little kitchenette along the left wall. There’s some fruit there and a little of the bread you made last week. You gather it, along with a knife and some plates, and take them out to the man. 

“Well, I don’t know much about mechanical stuff,” you shrug, putting it all down on the table, “but I’ll do what I can to help.” 

He still doesn’t move to sit down, or even towards the table. The child careens towards the food, though, reaching out little clawed, three-fingered hands. 

The man just stares at you. You wonder why. What he’s staring so much for. Is there something particularly puzzling about you? Something he doesn’t understand? 

“Thank you,” he says eventually. “For your generosity.” 

Yeah, well. Again, you gesture to the table, and finally he follows. He sits down and puts the kid on the bench beside him, giving his nose an affectionate little rub before he turns to the table and breaks a bit off the bread. The kid is reaching for it as he hands it over, and the way his little green mouth starts biting at it is adorable. 

“So,” you say, “who are you?” 

The helmet looks back at you again. Even out of the sunlight, it’s still a piercing, shining silver. “People call me Mando,” he says after a beat. 

You frown. “Mando,” you repeat, mostly to yourself. “As in, Mandalorian?” 

He seems to startle a little, pausing as he cuts the fruit into kid-sized squares. “You know about the Mandalorians?” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” 

A noise comes through the helmet. You could swear it sounds like a breathy laugh. He shakes his head and looks back to the fruit in front of him. “Depends what you know.” 

“Uh, let’s see,” you sit down on the chair opposite him, across the table. “A race of warriors, proud of their heritage, destroyed by the Empire…” 

He tenses. Stops again, and looks up.

Kriff. 

“Sorry,” you say quickly, “sorry. It’s…been a while since I talked to another person. That was insensitive.” 

After yet another long, indiscernible stare, he gets back to work. Silence passes for a minute, long and uncomfortable as anxiety roils in your stomach. You always say the wrong fucking thing, don’t you? Always making things worse, always fucking things up…

“Well, you’re right,” his modulated voice breaks through your quickly spiralling thoughts. “The Empire destroyed most of us.” Grief laces his voice, heavy like you imagine the armour on him must be. 

It twigs, then. His armour. Mandalorian. The shape of his helmet. 

That’s where you recognise it from. 

You want to ask, want to hear more about his people, about what happened. Before coming here, you knew a lot about the different cultures in the Galaxy; last you heard, the Empire was gone, and the New Republic was being built. But you don’t know anything about the Mandalorians except that they were all wiped out—or, so you thought. 

He starts handing little cubes of yellow fruit to the kid, who coos and accepts them happily. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” You ask him, curious.

“No, thank you.” 

A frown tugs at your forehead. Maybe he’s not human. “Do you…do you eat?” 

“What?” 

“I mean…do you need to eat?” 

“I—yes, I need to eat. I’m human,” he adds on, like he’s realised my unasked question. 

Okay, good. Not that it would have been bad if he’d not been human. But the way his broad shoulders look under the armour, the solidity of his thighs, the way his gloved fingers are flexing around the fruit, shiny with juice, working deftly…

You shake yourself from your thoughts. You literally just met this man, and you know that he’s a bounty hunter. You need to stop.

Speaking of, “So did you come here for a bounty?”

He looks up again, and something about the way he startles comes across as surprise. Pleasant or unpleasant surprise, you’re not sure, but either way, he looks surprised that you asked that. 

“No,” he says.

“How badly damaged is your ship?” Recalling the smell of burning engine oil, you prop your foot up on one of the table’s legs, the soles of your boot gripping to the wood. Sunlight is streaming through the coarse fabric of the awning above you, casting tiny slivers of golden beams across all three of you. It shimmers in his armour, and he looks just a little magical. The kid is gazing up at the twinkling lights above him. It looks like the canvas is covered in golden stars, flitting as trees rustle between the fabric and the sunlight. 

“I can probably fix it myself. At least enough to get me somewhere that has parts.” 

“Hyperdrive blown?” 

“Yes,” he says. “How’d you know?” 

“I could smell it,” you say. It’s been a long time since you smelled that, but it’s ingrained in your memory, all sour and oily. 

“The hyperdrive blew, and it damaged the engine. I only just got us down safely.”

“So probably a little body damage too, then.” I ponder, wondering if there’s any way we can find parts that he might need. There’s a scrap heap a little way off—definitely not as far as the other side of the kriffing planet—left there by, presumably, the last people unfortunate enough to crash here. 

“I thought you didn’t know about mechanics?” He asks, something in his voice quirking, the same tilt of his helmet that you thought was amusement earlier. 

“I have a little knowledge. Are you sure you’re not hungry?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Alright.”

And it’s not a good idea to offer him the kind of help you’re thinking of offering. It’s not. He’s a bounty hunter, very clearly dangerous, and he’s also the first person you’ve seen since you left Them.

You don’t trust people easily. You used to. But you don’t anymore. 

But he has a kid. And if you don’t help him, he’s going to be stuck here forever, unless he’s happy to take the year-long journey of going to the other side of the planet. You came here for solitude, for safety. To not have to trust people.

That won’t work if he’s going to have to stay here.

And, who knows? Maybe he’ll try and kill you for food in the end. By the looks of him, he could. 

You sigh to yourself. 

Because even despite all that, despite the fact that the only remotely good reason to help him out is to try and stop yourself getting eaten, you’d still help him anyway. 

That’s who you are. You didn’t let Them make you anything else. Swore you would never. 

“Well,” you say, having made up your mind, “there’s a scrap heap a fifty klicks West of here. It’ll take a couple days of travelling on foot to get there, but it might have what you need.” 

He nods. “I could probably get there. Can you mark it on a map?” 

You haven’t seen a map in years. In fact, you only know this place by its terrain. By its land under your feet, the trees above you. “No,” you say. “But I can come with you.” 

He stares. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“If you ever want to get off this planet, yes, I do,” you say with a smirk. What you don’t say is, And I want you to leave. Despite the fact that you’ve got really lovely shoulders and a cute baby. “Assuming you actually need parts. Can you fix what you need to fix with what you’ve got?” 

He sighs. “Probably not,” he says. “It’s a new ship. I don’t…know it as well as my others.” 

I quirk an eyebrow. “You have others?” 

“Had,” he corrects. “I have had others.” 

“Hm. Alright, well, I’ll help you, if you’ll accept my help. Just don’t point a blaster at me again.” 

There’s that sound again, a little huff, like a laugh. “I’ll ask the same of you,” he says, “if you would.” 

“Mm…I’m already doing you a pretty big favour,” you tease, smirking and patting the blaster that sits at your hip, “I’ll think about it.” 

-

You’re not really big on babies. They’re messy, sticky, demanding, and loud. 

But this one is really very cute. 

He’s got hold of your finger, and is squeezing it gently between his little fingers. Mando tells you that his name is Grogu, and the first time you call him it, his big green ears twitch along with a tilt of his head. 

It probably wasn’t all that wise to let Mando stay the night. Even though he and the kid slept outside in your hiking tent, and you kept the front door locked, you know that he could have without a doubt gotten inside to kill you. Or worse. 

But he didn’t.

All that happens is that, when you wake up, he and the kid are already sitting at the table, and the little box of food that you’d left with them after sunset in case they got hungry was empty. 

You’d talked with Mando a little yesterday, but mostly went about your daily routine like he wasn’t there. He seems good at that; just being still, blending in, the opposite of obtrusive. Which, you suppose, is what makes a good bounty hunter. At least the type that likes to do it with minimal mess.

Still, you’re curious about him. He sat outside all day with the kid, even took him for a walk to the nearby creek in the late afternoon. It’s so strange to see such contrast in him: the cold, hard exterior of his armour, something so impenetrable and immovable; and then the soft way he handles the kid, the way he bounces him on his hip, shows him magic tricks, picks him up when his little hands reach out for him. 

There are a lot of questions on your tongue. Why and how he has the kid, where he came from, where the rest of his people are, how the kriff are you such a gentle person when you’re also the scariest pillar of metal I’ve ever seen?

You keep them to yourself. 

You wouldn’t want anyone asking questions about you. (Hence why you’re here in the first place, but.) So you don’t ask the same of him. 

The morning after he arrived here, the three of you set off for the scrap heap. Your backpack slung over your back, filled with blankets, rations, flasks, and sleeping mats. Mando carries a bag that you gave him, though most of the bulk is your hiking tent. 

It’s only when you’re a half hour into the forest that you realise you’ve only got one tent. 

Three sleeping mats for the floor, yes. Three sets of blankets, yes.

But one kriffing tent. 

Well, you think, we can take sleep watch shifts anyway. 

The sun is warm this morning, but not too hot; just a comfortable heat on your skin as you walk through the thick forest, climbing over fallen trees and winding, gnarled roots that stick up from the ground. It’s mostly dry earth underfoot, some moss glistening on rocks, a few tufts of grass sprouting beneath pillars of light that shine through the treetops. 

Mando isn’t much of a talker, you’re realising. And you can’t decide if you like that or not.

The kid is always babbling, though. He’s got his head sticking out of Mando’s satchel again, and he’s looking around slowly, his mouth slightly open and big eyes wide as he takes in his surroundings. You wonder if he’s ever seen anywhere like this; where the two of them may have been together. You don’t even know what species he is—he could be from somewhere like this. A planet with a warm, mildly humid climate during the spring.

You’re coming up on one of the large valleys that splits the earth, stretching down into a deep cavern filled with rushing water coming from the tall waterfall beside it. You can hear the water before you see any sign of it. 

“We’re coming to the waterfall valley,” you explain, “there’s a fallen tree over the chasm that we can use as a bridge.” 

Wordless, Mando nods in acknowledgement. 

The fallen tree that bridges the gap between sides of the river is giant, both in length and width, with more than enough room to comfortably walk across it in a single-file line. It was probably thousands of years old before it fell. The roots snapped at its base, leaving gnarled and sharp splints of wood curling up into the air and surrounding foliage. On the other side, its branches are bare, the leaves having died and fallen off long ago, and the branches are anchored into the ground after years of being covered by it. 

“It looks mossy,” Mando says as you step up onto it first. “Watch your step.” 

He’s right; the spray of water constantly shooting up into the air from the waterfall has made for a nice home for moss, glistening in dark green florets along the top, with longer water weeds hanging from the underside. 

It could be slippy, but you’ve walked across it many times, and you’re used to it. It’s the only way to the fruit trees in the overgrown meadow. There’s almost a path worn across it, though not quite; the moss grows back far too enthusiastically to stay away. 

Grogu is cooing as you cross. You don’t look back at him lest you lose your footing, but you can imagine that he’s gazing around with that same wonder on his face.

It is pretty. This whole area is pretty. Serene, if you don’t count the various wildlife that can often be just a little hostile. There are birds of prey that swoop down from the impossibly small treetops sometimes; yellow and red lizards that skitter along the forest floor, their tails, complete with stinger, thrashing threateningly into the air as they run past. As long as you keep an ear out, though, it’s alright. 

“I don’t know your name,” Mando’s voice, calm through his helmet, cuts into your thoughts once you’ve crossed. He’s fallen into step beside you, one of his hands absently pressed against the kid’s back. 

You glance at him, uncertain. Technically, you don’t know his name. So, really, it’s only fair that your answer is, “No, you don’t.” 

His helmet tilts as he huffs out a laugh. “Alright. Guess I’m not going to?” 

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” you challenge, raising a teasing eyebrow at him.

He laughs again. You wonder how often he does that. He seems to live a pretty serious life, with what little information you have on him. But the kid is adorable, and there’s bound to be several times a day where he laughs at his cuteness, surely. “Alright. Fair enough.”

“There’s a river up ahead. I’m going to fill my flask.” You gesture to the approaching clearing where a river cuts through the forest floor, a few metres wide, deeper than it looks. 

“Can we cross it?” 

“We’ll have to get our feet wet, but yes. And watch out for the water snails.” 

“The what?” 

“They live in the riverbed. If your foot lingers too long, they’ll crawl on you and suck you down into the sand. Oh, and then there’s the stinging lizards that live in the brush on each side.” 

The helmet tilts to look at you, and something about his body language comes across as incredulity. “Safe planet you got here,” he says, dry.

The surprise of hearing him make a sarcastic comment catches in a laugh in your throat, bubbling out without permission. “It is safe,” you counter, smiling at him even though he’s not looking at you anymore, “no one else around kind of has that effect.” 

“If there’s nothing on this side of the planet,” he says, “why are you here?” 

A cold stab of dread shoots through your stomach. Quickly, you push it away, forcing the thoughts out of your mind that want to come in and race around until you feel dizzy. To cover up your slight falter, you clear your throat as you step out into the river’s clearing. “How about I don’t ask you about you, and you don’t ask me about me?” 

He stops beside you when you lean down to fill your flask from the rapidly running river water. For a moment, he just observes you, quiet. It’s strange to be able to feel someone’s gaze so strongly when you can’t even see their face, their eyes. “Deal,” he says. 

Satisfied, you stand up straight again, and gesture to the shallower part of the river a few feet to the right. He follows as you step into the water. You keep your steps light and quick, scanning the riverbed for any sign of those metallic-brown molluscs that masquerade as innocent rocks. 

The thing with the snails is that they don’t actually want anything with you. They don’t eat you. They just pull you down into the sand because it’s their instinct. You get stuck, and sink until you drown in the water or the riverbed itself. When one sticks to your foot, the entire swarm of them joins in, and it’s nearly impossible to escape if you don’t catch it quickly enough. Your only hope in that situation is that the blue shindl birds will come and eat the snails before their numbers are too many.

You make it to the other side quickly enough, and turn to watch Mando copying the lightness of your steps. It’s quite amusing, actually, to see this heavily armoured, heavy-booted man taking light footsteps like he’s standing on ground too hot for his feet. The kid laughs from his place in the satchel, and you watch in amusement. 

That is, until, there’s a loud swoop coming from the sky above you, accompanied by a Squalk! 

A shindl bird, bigger than your own body, swoops just metres above you, dipping so low down towards the river that you can feel the downdraft from its giant, pale white and blue feathered wings. 

On instinct, Mando freezes in his tracks, covering the kid with one hand and reaching for his blaster with the other. 

“Don’t shoot it!” You shout hastily, watching as he tracks the bird flying down the length of the river with his blaster’s scope. The bird turns around, heading back to you. “They’re just looking for the snails to eat!” 

Mando ignores you, too busy clutching the kid to his side. 

“Mando, you need to move! The snails!” 

This time, he doesn’t ignore you; but he does only have a second to look back at you before he’s trying to move, to bring his feet out from the riverbed, but one of them is stuck. 

Kriff, he’s stuck.

His visor turns down to his feet. He tugs his left leg, trying to walk forward on it.

“Oh, for kriff’s sake,” you curse, reaching for your own blaster. He’s not sinking yet, but you can already see the large snail on his foot through the water, and more are coming to life beneath the surface, slowly making their way to him. 

The shindl swoops overhead again, lower this time, clearly having spotted the snails too.

“Stay still!” You shout to Mando over the deafening sound of the bird’s wings flapping in the air. 

He looks up at you and sees the blaster pointed towards his foot. “What are you doing?” 

“Just hold still!” You aim through the sight, just an inch away from the edge of Mando’s foot, getting the snail’s eyes right in your crosshair.

Mando protests, saying, “Wait, no, don’t—” But he’s too late, your finger already squeezing the trigger. 

The snail on his foot wilts immediately, like leafy vegetables thrown into a hot pan. Mando wastes no time in pulling on his leg again, and he only just gets himself to move in time before the rest of the snail’s colony is gaining on him and discovering the body of the early bird who got the worm—well, the foot.

He splashes out of the river towards you, still gripping the child to his side, with both hands now. Once he’s free and clear on to the riverbank, he sighs out in relief at the same time you do. 

Lowering your blaster, you watch as the shindl bird swoops right down to the water and ducks its large beak down below the surface, grabbing the dead snail first. Its wings are so wide and so close that you feel the very edge of one of its feathers brush against your face. 

It turns to look at the two of you before it flies up completely vertically into the sky and gives a triumphant cry. 

“You might want to back up,” you tell Mando with a smirk at how he’s trying to scrape off the snail’s goo from the top of his boot. “The rest are coming.” 

“The snails?” 

“No. The birds.” As you reach a hand out in front of him, you back up, automatically taking him with you. He follows willingly, though he could just as easily push you away and defy your advice. 

You step back into the tree line again, under the cover of the rustling branches. 

Before you can even blink, suddenly an entire flock of the shindl birds is descending upon the river where Mando was once stuck, all diving in with their beaks open to pick up as many snails as they can at once. 

Really, Mando did them a favour by getting stuck. The only time the snail colony comes out is when they think they’ve caught something. Otherwise, the shindl have to spend hours looking down into the water, standing still or hovering low, waiting for one to appear before them. 

The flaps and squalks of the birds fills the air, and beneath it, you can hear a trill of glee coming from the kid’s satchel. Looking down, you find his hands outstretched towards the whole ordeal, flapping a little in excitement. 

You chuckle. From under the cover of the trees, it’s a pretty amazing thing to see. The birds’ feathers are metallic and pearly, fading from glistening white to pale blue as the sunlight shifts over their curves and edges. They fly so gracefully despite the frantic fight to find the best snail. 

The first time you got caught in one of their food grabs wasn’t as fun, though. But you learned your lesson. 

“What are those things?” Mando asks. He lifts the kid from the satchel and clutches him to his breastplate, tapping comfortingly at the kid’s tummy. It’s sweet, like he’s reassuring him that everything is alright after what happened.

When you don’t answer right away, the helmet turns to look at you, waiting for an answer. 

You got distracted by him, to be honest. By him and the kid. “They’re shindl birds,” you say. 

He looks back to them. The flock is clearing a little now; you imagine there are only a few snails left for them to devour. 

“They’re native to this planet. They really love those snails.” 

“Hm.” Mando hums, and you’re not sure if it’s an acknowledgement or a laugh. 

“Come on,” you say, gesturing to continue on your path, “we should move.” 

“Are there more creatures out to get us?” 

“Probably. But don’t worry. I’ll save you again, should you need it.” 

Walking alongside you, his helmet tilts. “I can handle myself.” 

“Clearly. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

His sigh is not impatient or unimpressed; in fact, it sounds amused, warm. “Thank you. You did save me back there.” 

“No problem. I’ve dealt with those things before.” 

“I would have appreciated a warning, though.” 

“I gave you a warning; I told you not to stop in the river!” 

“You didn’t tell me about the birds.” 

The kid laughs, lifting up one of his hands to press it against the side of Mando’s helmet. 

“Well, I’m just glad you didn’t shoot them,” you say. Out of the corner of your eye as you walk side-by-side, you observe Mando, watch the kid touch the plate of metal that covers his cheekbone. You realise, then, that you don’t actually know what he looks like. He’s never taken his helmet off in front of you; not even his gloves. You don’t think you’ve even seen him have a drink. 

Maybe it’s for the best, though. Because you’re finding yourself wanting to walk just a little ways behind him so you can admire the casual, commanding way that he walks, the slight swing of his hips as his hands flex at his sides. The breadth of his shoulders, emphasised by his heavy armour. His hips, the way his torso gets only a little narrower towards them, his entire frame straight and wide and beautiful. 

You need to stop. 

You don’t even know what he looks like. 

Speaking of, “Do you want a drink?” 

“I’m fine. Thanks.” 

“Do you drink?” 

“I told you, I’m human.” 

You nod, hoping it comes across as unassuming. But there are so many questions swirling around in your head; so much that you suddenly want to know about him. He’s mysterious, you’ll give him that. Does he do it on purpose? Is it something he does to try and get people to follow him, or is he just genuinely a private person? 

You’re so used to people using tactics, games to mess with you and the way you form relationships, that you never know what to believe. They used to string you along, make you chase them, make you beg for them to just see you, hear you, understand you…and then, just when you felt like you’d finally done enough for them, they’d turn it all around and shut you out again. 

It was a never ending cycle.

It’s hard not to project that onto Mando. He’s the first person you’ve seen since you escaped Them. For all you know, he could be just as manipulative. 

Except, unprompted, he says, “I don’t take my helmet off.” 

Oh. 

Okay, racing thoughts on pause: “What?” 

“It’s part of my Creed. As a Mandalorian.” 

“Oh,” you say as the pieces fit into place. It makes sense now, but you’re still surprised; you didn’t know that about Mandalorians. In fact, you distinctly remember meeting some when you were a child who definitely did not wear their helmet all the time. “So…you’ve never taken it off?” 

He pauses, hesitating. His moment of unprompted honesty falters. “It’s complicated.” 

Oh, great. It’s hard not to put bad intentions on to him when he says stuff like that. It’s complicated.

You wouldn’t understand.

You don’t get to know the secrets. 

You’ve earned my trust, well done.

I never want to see you again. 

You have to force yourself to stop spiralling. For a long moment there, you were no longer walking through the forest with a strange Mandalorian and his little green child. You were walking through the forest with Them. With your family. And the weight of everything they ever did.

You clear your throat, demanding yourself back into the moment. “Is it not uncomfortable?” 

It must be. Especially in humid climates like this. Or maybe it’s temperature-controlled under there. The entire set of armour looks pretty swish; maybe it’s got some cool technology. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, and his tone suggests that that’s the last he wants to talk about it. 

So, you’re quiet again.

You focus on the ground crunching underfoot, the tiny birds whistling in the trees. 

You’re not back there. Mando isn’t Them. 

You’re safe. 

You’re okay. 

notes: i'm REALLY excited to finally be posting this fic! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. all interactions are appreciated, but comments and reblogs especially make my day ❤️ updates will be regular!

i'm going to make a taglist for this fic so if you wanna be on it, drop me an ask or reply to this post!

take care of yourself ❤️

[empressofmankind]

On My Silent Days

I Miss You A Little Louder

[Crocodile x female!OC]

Explicit with a capital E

Word count: 7k / 15 pages

A/N: Writing this has been my whole life the past 5 days, as anyone who has frequented my Dash recently can attest. I am obsessed with their chemistry.

Technically, this is part of 'The Show Must Go On'. You don't have to read it, but I recommend it. You'll get to know Shivs and her helter-skelter relationship with Buggy which sits as the background to this whole ordeal.

You see, this is like, Arabaste arch at the earliest - Cross Guild era more likely. By then, Shivs and Bugs have rollercoastered through so much bullshit and they've come out rock solid on the other side somehow. Clown keeps failing up, even with this relationship. Sir Crocodile finds the whole thing insulting, to say the least. And seems to think it is one well-placed remark away from utterly crumbling. Jealous ex, whomst? My dude, you fucked that up yourself. Repeatedly. You had more chances than you have fingers. Chemistry aside, this is absolutely a desert of his own making.

What else do you need to know? Shivs is only 2 or 3 years younger than Buggy (i.e. my age, come sue me), but Crocodile is 5 years older than the clown. So, she's in her mid 30s, he's in his mid 40s. She originally met him when he was maybe 28? Do the math. Oh yes, and for those less familiar with the Cross Guild era: our favourite clown has managed to accidentally become the lauded public face of what is actually Mihawk and Crocodile's venture. Understandably, the ex-warlords are a little miffed by this and spend decent amounts of time physically abusing poor Buggy.

Shivs' absolutely flawless plan is basically swapping sexual favours with her ex for get-out-of-jail-free cards for the clown.

My girl literally barging in here telling Croc: "I'll take ur cock if u leave my clown alone."

Yes. That's it. That's the plot.

She almost had him, too. Arguably, she had him the entire time. And then he gdamn snapped her from the pond edge like an unwitting gazelle in the last minute. Cuz we all - her included - forgot who we're dealing with for 14.5 pages straight. APPARENTLY.

screams into a pillow

Tag(s): Oh? Ok. Sexual favours! Is she fucking her boss? No, but he always makes it feel that way. Is she fucking her ex? Yes. Are they technically still married? Maybe. Blow jobs? Deep throat. Size kink? 100%. Filthy language. Graphic sex. Soft dom? Power bottom? I am on the fence. Little girl vibes on the margins, like, he tries. She too sassy and sooner a brat. Oh, orgasm denial! Big time. Humiliation? A little bit. Stretching? Yes. Moar size kink. Choking? Big yes. Spoiling? Also yes. She deserves nice things. Power imbalance? Yes. In whose direction? It kind of flip-flops. Did I need to spend so many words on their smoking and his cigars? Probably not, but it scratched an itch. With them, it counts as foreplay; I am sure. You know you're doing well when he takes the damn thing outta his mouth. World class banter, too. If I may say so myself. But really, the bottom line is that it's just oral and PIV dressed up real fancy.

ON MY SILENT DAYS 

I MISS YOU A LITTLE LOUDER

The double doors were as tall and foreboding as Shivs remembered. All bevelled hardwood and delicate gilding. She stood before them, gazing up. In the dead centre sat a brass knocker shaped like a bananawani's head, polished to a sheen. 

Knocking was for people with appointments, and waiting wasn't something she planned on doing here ever again. She put her palms against the cold, expensive wood and pushed the massive doors open as if breaking a siege. They swung on smooth hinges despite their weight and struck the marbled walls with resounding booms.

The opulent office beyond was exactly as she remembered. Marquina walls, fishbone parquet floors, blackwood furniture. The taxidermied juvenile bananawani set in the wall vitrine behind his desk was new. What had been there before? A map? A ship? No, a stone. An artefact of some kind riddled in curious glyphs.

Crocodile glanced up from his papers and the irritation flitting across his scarred face in the split second before he realised who'd dared barge in, set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. How often had she seen someone shrivel into a desiccated husk straight after that look?

Shivs held his pale gaze, set her jaw and strode into his office as if down the plank. 

The creak of leather as he leaned back in his seat. “You know I've killed people for less.”

She paused in front of his outrageous statement piece of a desk. She put her hands in the pockets of her baggy pants and forced her shoulders to unclench, her stance to relax. If Buggy’s dumb luck had managed to rub off on her in these past months, then now would be the time for it to start working for her.

“Lucky I am not ‘people’,” she said as she crossed her fingers in her pocket. 

Amusement squinted his eyes as the corner of his mouth twitched up behind his cigar. “No, you're not,” he said as he rose.

Shivs was not short. Not by any regular definition of the word. Buggy was only a head taller than her. She hadn't forgotten how tall Crocodile was, not really. And yet, as he came around his desk and towards her, there appeared to be no end to him as he approached. If she reached up, stretched her arm, she could nick his cigar. But only just.

"Do you still smoke?" he said as he stopped well within her personal space, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze. He took a flat, brass case from the inside pocket of his coat and held it out to her. She remembered it. Remembered the exquisite taste of the narrow cigarillos in it.

"No."

"Liar." His gaze flicked down along his cigar at her. "You smell of cigarettes, doll."

"I have changed my ways."

Humour flitted under his gravelly voice. "For the worse." 

Shivs pursed her lips. "It's an expensive lifestyle when they don't come free with a goodnight kiss."

"Hah." 

The bark of laughter actually reached his eyes, crinkling their crow's feet for a moment. He held out the case to her again. "You poor thing. I do support charities, you know."

She took it this time and flipped it open. The rich waft of tobacco and sweet Goji berries greeted her as if no time had passed at all. Might as well enjoy her sojourn back to hell while she could.

She put one of the thin cigarillos between her lips and let him light it. Watched the firelight catch and reflect in his rings. Took a moment to savour the blend, rich and sweet as polished Beli.

They were very good.

Always had been.

Shivs took the cigarillo from between her lips and blew the smoke up in rings through a slow smile. They almost reached him.

Crocodile leaned down through the cloudy hoops to pluck the shoulder of her red-and-white striped sweater between thumb and index finger, a judgemental 'hmph' escaping around his cigar.

She enjoyed the expensive smoke and his fascination while it lasted. Maybe, just maybe, this would be enough? Letting him treat her like a doll badly in need of a better dress up? He liked to spoil, always had. Now, more than ever, he had the means to take it to completely nonsensical levels. Her ego could take it, if that was the price of leaving Bugs alone.

Shivs indicated his everything with an up and down wave of her free hand. "No way to afford the good stuff on a waiter's salary."

He let go of the fabric to brush his thumb across the smear of grease paint near the collar, staining his skin and the gold of his ring red.

"Or a dud's haul." 

He hooked the silk kerchief from his vest's breast pocket and wiped his hand. She followed the length of his arm up to his face.

"The entertainment isn't half bad."

“Yes.” He chewed the butt of his cigar, derision twitching his thin lips as he tucked the kerchief into an inside pocket of his coat. “His pathetic antics can be mildly amusing.”

Shivs’ grip on the cigarillo tightened, but she smiled pleasantly. “I like it when a man can make me laugh,” she said, pointing at him with the thin smoke between her fingers. “Even if at his own expense.”

She frowned at his broad back when he turned away from her without a witty reply, retreating to the button tufted camelback near them.

“You're not here for a social call,” Crocodile stated as he sat down, putting his arms along the sofa's curved back. Something flitted past his pale eyes, but it was gone so fast Shivs couldn't nail it. “What do you want, doll?” 

Shivs rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet, pursing her lips as if preparing to drive a hard bargain. She intended to seem casual, unconcerned. But her palms were slick with sweat and her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She filled her mouth with smoke, tasting the rich flavours. Savouring them before blowing it out in small puffs through her pursed lips.

"I want you to leave him be," she said, extinguishing the cigarillo in his ashtray.

Crocodile shifted and put his shin across his knee. Her gaze flicked down and she saw him take note. 

"And if I do?"

She held his gaze. One breath, two breaths, moved her jaw but didn't form the words. She wanted him to leave Buggy alone. Even if that meant taking his… beating, instead.

He blew out smoke through his nose, waiting patiently for her answer. The hint of a smile lingered as his pale eyes held hers from above the waterline of his scar. And in that moment, he reminded her so strongly of a lurking crocodile. Watching. Waiting. Biding its time to strike. It sent a shiver down her spine, and not entirely out of fear.

Shivs pursed her lips, steeled her emotions, checked her resolve. I'll do it for you, Bugs. It's a deal I know he won't refuse.

She met his intense gaze head on, then dropped hers slowly to his crotch once more. Allowed it to linger there, before looking back up.

He chewed the butt of his cigar and beckoned her. "You never could fit all of me down that skilled throat of yours." 

Shivs watched him uncross his legs as she approached. She trailed her fingertips along his clothed thighs before leaning on them. It brought her face level with his and she deliberately took a moment to breathe in his secondhand smoke. 

“Want to judge if that hasn't changed for the worse?” she whispered against his lips as she savoured the distinct flavours that made up his private blend. 

Strong muscles flexed and relaxed under her palms, and she presumed that to mean ‘yes’. 

She ran her hands down his muscular thighs, taking in their shape until her palms rested on his knees. His breathing changed, she could tell from the way he exhaled smoke. Denser palls, deeper breaths. No resistance as she pushed his knees apart far enough to kneel between them.

Brushing her fingertips across his overstated belt buckle, she smiled to herself. Some things never changed. She slipped the tooled tip through the frame, her movements slow and deliberate as she listened for the subtle shifts in his breathing. She loosened the prong with a sharp tug on the strap, using more force than was strictly necessary. An undercurrent of need laced the grunt that escaped him in response. 

Shivs reached into his pants with both hands, catching his gaze as she drew his penis out, feeling it swell against her palms. She made a noise of appreciation as she let her hands slide down his shaft. His pale eyes hunting after hers when she broke their gaze to look at her fingers fitting around the base. She had not forgotten how tall this part of him was.

Leaning forward, she trailed teasing kisses from halfway down his shaft towards the tip. I’ve swallowed swords longer than this, and dicks aren’t even sharp, she thought as she flicked her tongue past the rim, playful-like. Length was only half the problem though, she knew that perfectly well.

She put a hand on his thigh and leaned on it as she ran the flat of her tongue across the head and took him into her mouth, suckling the tip. Inched his cock further with deliberately slow, short bobs, tilting her head to ensure he’d catch every movement of her lips as they worked around him. Need strained his stoic expression when she stole a glance up. A twitch of his eyebrows when the tip bumped against the back of her mouth. She sucked down and drew his cock back out, watched it twitch and his grip tighten on the backrest as she felt his thigh flex under her palm.

She took him into her mouth again and ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cock. Relaxed her neck and let it slip further than before, teasing at the entrance to her throat. Nudging it, stretching it just a bit before sucking down and drawing him back out, tasting precum for her efforts.

The frustrated groan that rumbled up from somewhere deep within his broad chest sent sparks flying down her spine. This is gonna work, she thought as he reached for her head, petted her hair while she teased the precum from him with fleet, wet kisses.

“Stop messing around and swallow my cock, sweetheart,” Crocodile grunted, pale eyes alight with hunger. The petting stopped, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of her neck instead. It was like the twitch on the line that told a fisherman to react.

Shivs glanced up along his hard shaft, and reeled him in: 

“Yes, Sir.”

The horny groan that drew from him, before she’d even begun to take him again, settled comfortably in her bones. Gotcha, she thought.

Shivs breathed slow, deep, steady breaths as she slid his cock along her tongue, lining him up. The head pushed past the entrance of her throat and she switched to shallow breaths through her nose. The grunts and huffs that escaped him every time she swallowed were inhuman and she needed more of it.

She slid his cock further down, felt his thighs tremble as she did. The closer she got, the more his musk pervaded every stifled breath she managed around his thick cock. It was a heavy, heady scent and she shifted her position to press her thighs together. He didn’t notice.

She stroked his legs, ran her hands up to his hips as she leaned closer, and took him deeper still. His fingers were fisted painfully tight into her hair, but his large hand followed her without force or resistance, resting heavily against the back of her neck.

Almost. 

Almost there.

And then the tip of her nose bumped against his flat stomach. She could hardly smirk with his dick this far down her throat but counted on the crinkle of her eyes to work for her as she caught his gaze and slowly raised her hands, palms up. She didn’t care that they trembled. 

Look. No hands, motherfucker.

Crocodile grinned down at her through a huff of smoke, cigar dangling between his teeth. She thought it looked a little worse for wear.

“The pathetic clown doesn’t know what a dirty little slut you are, does he?” Crocodile said, his gravelly voice thick with lust as he petted the back of her neck. “Giving such sweet head to save his sorry hide.” He ran his fingers along her throat as if trying to feel how far down his cock had gone. “I always knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“Now,” he added as he huffed out a pall of smoke and she felt cool metal sliding around the back of her neck, barring a retreat. “I need my cock-hungry doll to make me feel good.”

Shivs dropped her hands to his hips, gripping the folds of hard muscle there for support. She slid her tongue between her bottom lip and the underside of his cock, making sloppy little noises with the slightest bob of her head. Even those small movements pressed the round curve of his hook into the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine that made her squeeze her thighs together. She didn’t bother to try and hide it.

His large hand joined his hook, strong fingers digging into the back of her head, twisting into the hair there and holding her put as his thick cock twitched so far down her throat she didn’t even know anymore where precisely she felt it. She worked her throat around him, drawing rumbling moans from him that pitched.

“Ah -nngh- you feel so good, doll. So. Damn perfect.” His thighs tensed under her arms, flexing his hips with short jerks. She closed her eyes as she swallowed around him, frowning with effort. His breathy grunts as he lightly fucked her throat made her pussy throb.

Suddenly, his grip tightened like a vice and he shoved her nose-first against his hard, trembling stomach muscles, stealing her breath. Her eyes flew open as her throat strained and cramped, swallowing around him in reflex.

 “Fuck, honey. Ah---! Yes, yes.” The satisfied, drawn-out moan as Crocodile spilled his hot cum down her throat reverberated through the quiet office. 

Her fingers dug around his hips, tears jumping into her eyes as she gagged, feeling cum come up around his cock as stars danced into her vision. His grip weakened as he rode out his orgasm and she pulled back before he was quite done pumping cum. Shivs swallowed it mindlessly while coming up for air. His dick slid wetly out of her throat and mouth, streaks of cum connecting them before they broke.

She glanced up from his softening cock, glistening with her saliva all the way to the hilt. He’d tilted his head back, held his cigar nowhere near his mouth as he came down from his orgasm with deep, steadying breaths that expanded his wide chest and flared his nostrils.

He straightened with a lazy groan and a roll of his broad shoulders. 

Shivs met his gaze, panting.

“You’re still my pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Crocodile said, his gravelly voice breathy as he reached for her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. The gold of his ring was smooth where his fingertip felt rough, the warm touch grounding her fried senses. It lingered at her eyepatch, lightly brushing the faded leather. “The things we let people do to our faces…”

He hooked the kerchief from his pocket and dabbed her mouth. She reached for his hand with both of hers, touching the back of it, taking the cloth. She watched him watch her as she cleaned her face.

“Don’t you have a new pretty thing? Miss Face-of-the-Casino in her cute kimono?” Shivs forced her tone to be casual, edged with light mockery, maybe. It was stupid that it’d stung when she’d seen the younger woman. An irrational, petty feeling. An old pain. And, none of her business, at any rate.

The dismissive look that flitted past his pale eyes was rather unexpected. “An investment, nothing more.”

“She’s pretty,” Shivs said. Perhaps, part of the sting had been the fact that Miss Pretty had not responded to her the way women did when they were into other women.

Crocodile looked at his cigar before putting it back in his mouth. “That she is.”

Their gazes crossed and she pursed her lips. He reached for her jaw, fingertips grazing its curve. Then leaned down and pressed a peck against her frown. She sat up and chased after him as he took another draw from his cigar, stole the aromatic smoke from him as she teased her tongue into his mouth. He blew it out through his nose, taking the cigar from his mouth as he caught the back of her neck with his hook and took control of the kiss.

“You can have one if you like, sweetheart,” he said when they broke apart, indicating his cigar. 

And lord, if she wasn't tempted.

“You share ‘em these days?”

His derisive ‘hmph’ made her smirk as she rose to her feet. 

“What about Miss Pretty? She enjoy your… cigars?” Shivs said, and noticed she’d gotten his cum all over Buggy’s sweater. Shit.

Crocodile glanced at her, pale eyes searching. “I prefer making deals with those who have something of value to offer, doll.”

Shivs put her hands in her pockets and rocked up on the balls of her feet with a mildly overacted grin. “Oh, it’s a deal then? You’ll play nice?”

“My compliance doesn’t come that cheap,” he said through a huff of smoke.

She crooked an eyebrow, risking a hint of ridicule in her tone. “Cheap? And here I was, thinking I have a unique skill up for offer.”

He actually cracked a smile as he flicked the butt of his cigar into the general direction of his desk and ashtray. Then beckoned her with hook and hand. 

“Come here, doll.”

It would have been too easy.

She sauntered back to him and linked her fingers with his, curling the others around his hook, letting him draw her into his lap, straddling his thighs. He shifted so his cock was between them, pressing against her clothed cunt.

“What else will it cost me?” she said as she rested her hands on his shoulders, lightly riding against him. Every rub along his dick pulsed pleasure up her spine, and she hadn’t failed to notice it was already stiffening again.

He stoked the tip of his hook along her cheek as his large hand took in the shape of her firm butt, guiding her movement. “I want to know if your tight pussy can take all of me now, too.”

“Here, on a couch?” she said as she slipped her fingertips under his coat and pushed it off his shoulders. She trailed her hands down the revers of his vest, grabbed hold of them as she dry humped against him. “I thought you said you weren’t cheap?”

The bark of laughter that drew from him shouldn’t make her smile the way it did.

He pressed a kiss against it. 

“I wouldn’t dare, honey,” Crocodile said as he gathered her up in his arms and rose smoothly from the couch, leaving his coat behind. He strode across his study and through the adjacent library to the expansive bedroom beyond. She remembered the sweeping view from its curving window wall and the sea of nightlights twinkling far below.

Instead of depositing her on his spacious bed, he set her down on the plush rug beside it. And motioned up and down her clothes with a dismissive gesture. “Take those rags off.”

Not my rags, Shivs thought as she kicked her boots aside, removed her baggy pants and grabbed the edge of the sweater. She didn’t wear a bra. She didn’t like them, and she hadn’t bothered wearing one this evening either.

Fingertips traced the lacy sides of her underwear while she had the sweater pulled over her head.

“You still have those.”

He sounded…not surprised. Curious, maybe?

“No reason to get rid of perfectly fine underwear,” she said as she freed herself from the sweater, finding he’d already undressed.

“They can stay on,” he said as she folded the sweater, her hand lingering on it before she turned to him.

“For now?”

A smile twitched the corner of his lips. 

“Here, doll.” He held something out to her, cream-coloured and neatly folded. It seemed small and delicate in his large hand.

When she took it, the fabric cascaded into a surprisingly classy, mid-thigh negligee of shimmering silk. The top was constructed from intricately detailed lace with tiny bananawani worked into the pattern.

“Pretty,” she said as she brushed a finger across the delicate lace. She put it on and it fit her so neatly it felt like a second skin. An outrageously luxurious second skin for the silk felt soft as sin and the lace light as air. She turned a full circle on her tiptoe, overacting it just a little. She knew he liked that.

“Looks good on you.” He reached for her head, combing his fingers through her tangled red hair, tucking stray bangs behind the strip of her eyepatch. “I’d never let you get so grimy.”

“Can’t be a dirty little slut if you wash me.”

“Hah.” Crocodile leaned down and scooped her up into his arms, just like that. “Come here before I shove my cock down your throat again to shut you up.”

“Don’t tempt me- ah!”

Her reply cut off when he suddenly let go, dropping her into his bed. And that was quite the distance, even if the landing was soft. He immediately climbed on top of her, caging her with his much larger body. She spread her legs, accommodating his wider hips as he reached for her breast. His thumb traced circles around her nipple through the fine lace, stiffening at his touch.

“Like what you see?”

“Always have, doll,” he rumbled against her collarbone. Though no longer smoking, she could still smell it on him. Would be able to pick it out of a crowd. Subtle tones that reminded her of burnt coffee, dry glass and cinnamon, mingling with the faint wax smell of his hair gel and heavier citric notes of his cologne.

A small gasp escaped her when he brushed the lace down and kissed her hard nipple, taking it into his mouth and licking the sensitive tip. She felt the curve of his hook press against her hip, hitching up the silk as his hand slipped between her thighs. Strong, confident fingers pressed against the fabric of her panties and outer labia underneath. It ignited old desires, flickering life into fires she’d thought snuffed out.

His rough fingers traced the delicate lace, undulating with its curling, stylised waves. Her breath caught when they found the edge along the crease of her thigh. A mewl on her lips as he dipped them under the smooth fabric, fingertips grazing the warm, sensitive skin of her outer labia and sending sparkles of anticipation up her spine. The delicate fabric stretched with an alarming whimper from the seams as strong digits brushed between her folds, not quite able to reach. He grunted against her breast at the soaked pussy he found there.

She felt him slip the hook under the edge, warm from resting against her hip. The thought of him pulling her panties down with it lit up every nerve in the vague vicinity of her hips. Her eyes snapped open at the sharp jerk, the sudden cry of fabric tearing at the seam between silk and lace. 

Shivs made a noise, nose wrinkling. Those were the nicest-.

“I’ll get you new ones,” Crocodile promised against the curve of her breast, his gaze down as he hooked the fabric from her hips. The hunger in his pale eyes as he looked at her pussy made her spread her legs further. He leaned down to caress her labia and press a light kiss against them that made her throb, thinking about his tongue.

A breathy huff escaped Shivs when he slid his middle finger between her folds instead, running slow circles around her inner labia. Gathering the moisture there before teasing them apart and brushing across her clenching entrance. Pleasure sizzled up her spine when he pressed it inside, mapping her inner walls and finding all the right places far too easily. If he kept this up, she was going to come very soon.

He switched to her other breast, teasing the sensitive skin as he inserted a second finger. “I seem to remember you liked getting your little hole stretched,” he rumbled against her nipple, and spread his large fingers apart. She moaned at the strength in them, the ease with which they pried her open. It sent twinges of sweet, sweet pressure blazing through the haze of need fogging her thoughts.

She reached down to his hand, stroke the back of it. Found his thumb and guided it against her clit with a needy moan. Her thighs trembled as he massaged it firmly, pushed his fingers all the way in, then spread them as he pulled out. She felt his knuckles and the hard edges of his rings press into her labia when he pushed them back in but she didn’t mind, kind of liked it. She reached a hand for his shoulder, neck, grabbing hold of the tout muscle there as she arched her back towards him. His pace was torturously slow and she was loving it.

Shivs let out a drawn out whine when he stopped, pulled at his neck, wrist, knowing perfectly well neither will give an inch but trying, anyway. She tried to clench her thighs, rub them together, nurse the need smouldering in her veins, but his knees were between hers and she writhed in vain.

Crocodile shifted unto his elbow, bunching the silk further up her hips while taking his hard dick in hand. A hoarse whisper close to her ear as he guided the head against her slick pussy: “Won’t you beg for my cock, sweetheart?”

“I need to feel your cock in me,” Shivs said as she caught his hungry gaze. “Feel it fill me, stretch me.”

He grunted with barely contained need, she could see it in the straining of his back as she reached for his thick neck, folding her hands behind it. Felt it in the way his hips twitched as he pressed his shaft through her wet folds, coating it with her juices.

“Am I not a good girl, sir?”

“Yes, you are.”

Shivs moaned loudly when he entered her. Whined at the delicious pressure as he pushed deeper into her soaking wet pussy, stretching her around him. She clung to his neck, mewling with incoherent need. Her hand went to his hair, messing it up but not caring. Neither did he.

“Ah -ngh- fuck,” Crocodile grunted, his breath hot against her neck.

Shivs held onto him for dear life as she arched against his hard body, savoured the sharp pleasure of him stretching her cramping, soaking cunt wide enough to plough through. He’d not bottomed out yet. If she could take him, she’d have him wrapped around her finger.

“You’re. Fuck. As tight. As I remember. Sweetheart,” Crocodile groaned into her neck, his gravelly voice strained to the point of being near unintelligible. It was getting tougher and tougher to push further through her tight, contracting walls.

“Almost there,” Shivs whispered as she brushed a stray bang of dark hair from his eyes.

The noise he made in response was inhuman and she drank it in as she closed her eyes, spread her legs further to accommodate his hips and relaxed every muscle she could still feel. A whimper bubbled from her lips when he pushed up against something deep within her that twitched a pleasure so sharp up her spine it sat right next to pain. 

“Fuck, yes,” he ground out as his hips pressed flush against hers, his breath hot, heavy pants buffeting against the crook of her neck. “Feels. So good.”

He managed to push himself up onto his elbow, satisfaction animating his whole face as he looked at their joined hips, her soft labia squashed against his pubes. Shivs whimpered, his movement nudging tight bursts of pleasure deep within her. 

“I knew you could do it, doll.” His tone was thick with lust, laboured from his heavy breathing. He gently brushed a strand of sweat-slick red hair from her forehead with his hook, looking so proud. “You like getting your little cunt stuffed, don’t you?"

Shivs gave a sharp nod, struggling to form words.

“I know you do, honey,” he whispered as he rolled his hips against hers, not truly thrusting. She reached for his face with trembling hands, stroking his hard jaw. He grunted under his breath with each push and she pressed pecks against the puffs of hot breath until he responded. Until he chased her tongue back into her own mouth and pressed her head back into the pillow with the desperate force of his kiss, demanding entrance with his tongue that she was more than willing to give. 

“That's all you g-got?” she whispered through a moan and a bated breath when they broke their kiss for want of air. “I b-barely feel it.”

“Ah? You want more, doll?” Crocodile pulled out with a grunt, just a fraction, before shoving himself back inside her to the hilt, making her mewl with pleasure through clenched teeth as his cock bottomed out and up against her cervix. “Shall I take you back to my study? Pound you bend over my desk, like I used to?”

Shivs whined into his mouth as she latched onto him again, arms tightening around his thick neck as her cunt squeezed around his cock from the pleasure coiling around her spine. If he took her from behind, he could probably push deeper still. Oh, she’d be in trouble.

“Who’s cheap now, hrm?” A breathy hum into her ear as the obscene slap of his hips against hers filled his bedroom. She whined in need, the heady mix of mind numbing pleasure laced with an edge of pain making her tremble against him. “Do you want to be my little whore again? My pretty fuck slut to sit on my cock whenever and wherever I want?”

All she could do was whine and roll her hips to meet his steady thrusts. Fingers digging into the taut muscles across his shoulders, keeping him close as he fucked her deeper than she’d ever felt a man, even him. She whimpered, the heady mix of mind numbing pleasure laced with an edge of pain all but overwhelming her. Especially when he thrust just right, shoving his cock against a sensitive spot so deep inside her she didn’t even know she had it.

“I missed my. Pretty cocksleeve,” Crocodile grunted into her ear. “The. Only. Little slut that can take me -hng- properly.”

“Fuck me harder,” Shivs whispered, hands massaging his broad shoulders. He groaned with effort, she could feel the bridled strength in the muscles working under her palms. His pace picked up, and so did the strain in his body. Every thrust stretched her so deliciously, stimulating every needy nerve inside of her. 

“Do it,” she moaned wantonly as his thrusts started to push her up on the bed, her weight no match against his strength. “I c-can take it.”

“Ah - hng- you’re. Going to. Make me cum, doll,” he growled through clenched teeth. He grabbed her shoulder, holding her in place as he jerked his thrusts up against her. Her mind was unravelling. The only thing she could think about was his cock filling her, burning up every single nerve she had as needy pleasure coiled in her belly. She wanted him to cum. She really did.

When he paused, she struggled to comprehend why. Her gaze found his. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his mouth slack to accommodate the deep breaths heaving his chest. He was barely holding still, strain thrumming through every inch of his large frame above her.

“Does. My pretty little thing want. Cum as deep in her tight pussy. As her pretty throat?”

She whined, pulled at his neck with both hands. “Y-yes.”

“Beg. For it.”

“P-please,” she whimpered as she tried to make him move, weakly rolled her hips towards him. 

“Please what?”

“Please, s-sir.”

The noise he uttered in response to that settled somewhere at the primal base of her brain. She wanted, no, needed, to hear it again.

“Please, sir. Pound my needy hole like I deserve,” she mewled into his ear, savouring the way his breath hitched, that noise came again. 

“Damnit, doll,” Crocodile grunted through clenched teeth as he picked up a pace that became quickly rougher, slightly erratic. He locked his hold on her shoulder, broad fingers digging around her thin muscles and narrow bones, keeping her put as he pounded into her soaking, cramping cunt. “Gonna fuck you so full, you'll be leaking my cum well into tomorrow.”

“Please, please, pleaaasse,” she whined and clenched around him as he fucked her into the sinfully soft matrass with long, deep strokes that shoved his cock shamelessly up against her cervix to fit it all in. She wanted, needed, to cum around it, desperate for release. “Fuck me full of cum, sir. Stuff my tight cunny like you did my slutty mouth.”

“I -ngh- will, honey. I am,” he ground out, barely intelligible as his pace lost all semblance of rhythm and he bucked against her in the grip of his orgasm’s first throes.

“Oh! Yes, yes,” she moaned as he shoved his throbbing cock as far as she could take it, cumming against the deepest corner of her cunt as she shuddered around his cock with unfulfilled need. He stayed buried inside her as he came down, breath erratic before steadying, slowing. She whimpered in need, clenching around his softening cock. She hadn’t been able to cum around it like she wanted. It was too thick to cramp enough for a proper orgasm. She knew that, but had thought maybe this time…

He knew it, too. Remembered it.

“You’re still my pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he said as he caressed her cheek, ran his thumb across her parted lips. “Unable to cum around a cock like a big girl.”

She made a small noise that he swallowed in a kiss.

They stayed that way until her breathing steadied as well. Then he sat up and gathered her into his lap. She held onto him, her cheek against his collarbone. Not quite ready yet to let go.

“You look parched, doll,” Crocodile said as he brushed a bang from her eyes.

Shivs peered up at him. “I would not say ‘no’ to a sweet white.”

A noise escaped him that could have been a fond one as he lifted her off his lap and rose. The sound of his retreating footsteps filled the quiet. He’d gone to his study, judging by the distance. Shivs got up as well and shimmied the negligee down. Despite everything, she did not feel like taking it off. It felt nice against her flushed skin.

She sauntered to the curved window wall and found the view precisely as she remembered it. A sea of nightlights twinkled across the city below, mirroring the deep blue, star-speckled sky above. The moon hung low, waning from view. It wasn’t long before he returned. She heard him uncork a bottle behind her and fill two glasses. The snap and swoosh of his lighter. The familiar scent of his cigar preceding him as he came to stand beside her, still naked.

He held a glass out to her, a cigarillo clamped against its curve. The wine was a deep bronze instead of the pale yellow usual to white wines. She accepted the glass and smoke, gaze lingering on the narrow slot through its delicate stem. It allowed him to hold them with his hook without slipping. She glanced sideways and up at him. A fond smile twitched her lips when she noticed his hair was neater than before. He’d evidently taken a comb to it for a hot second.

Shivs put the cigarillo in her mouth and turned to find his lighter lying on the nightstand beside the wine bottle, and a corkscrew with its split cork still attached. She glanced at the label as she lit the cigarillo. It read ‘1811’ in large, proud capitals, and a name in a curving script she couldn’t be bothered to try and decipher. She would not be able to afford it, anyway.

Taking a sip, she returned to his side. The wine was sweet, indeed. With hints of lime, honey, saffron. She made herself comfortable against him, her bum resting on his thigh. “It’s a nice view,” she said as she blew out a thin pall of smoke.

He glanced down at her and their gazes crossed as he idly stroked her hip. “It is.”

Shivs leaned into his touch, sipping the wine. It really was, very good.

“Clever scheme you’ve gotten up to, in order to save the loser’s sorry hide,” Crocodile remarked as he blew a smoke ring against the narrow cloud she’d just produced. “But it has a flaw.”

Shivs let her weight shift from his thigh to his loin, only the soft silk between them. “You sure?”

A self-satisfied smile twitched behind his cigar as he gave her hip a squeeze. “None of this will work on Dracule.”

Only because I don’t have a penis, she thought, but no matter. They may have both grown older, but Croki was still fundamentally the same man she’d left years ago. And that would work for her, she was sure of it. Inevitably, Mihawk would pick on Bugs. She would take it upon herself to get irritatingly upset about it. Mihawk would no doubt insult her next, and Sir Self-Satisified here would take it personally by-proxy and shut him up. It’d be a win.

“I’ll think of something,” Shivs said as she blew a thin pall through his smoke ring, dispersing it.

He glanced at her, amused. “He’s partial to good wine, at least.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

She nipped her own wine, idly rubbing her thighs together. Pleasure skulked around the base of her spine, denied but not forgotten. She made a little noise against her glass when she felt his hand move up her thigh, his thumb brush under the edge of the negligee.

“Still needy?” he said as he bunched up the fine silk, rubbing his middle and ring finger against her clit in slow circles. It sent lazy sparks of pleasure straight to her brain. Drawing a shuddering whimper from her as he dipped his middle finger between her folds.

“Cum for me, honey,” Crocodile rumbled as he lightly ran the tip of his finger along the inner rim of her vagina, then teased the sensitive spot further down. Shivs gasped through her moan as the briefest shudder of an orgasm stole over her like a thief in the night. It was not enough, not nearly enough.

“N-need more,” she said as she put the glass down with a wobble. Reached for his large hand when he stopped, withdrew, tugging it back. Bunching two of his fingers together, of a mind to stick them into herself if he didn't.

“Come to our board meeting tomorrow. You’ll come sit with me and I’ll take good care of your needy little hole.” He shook her fussy touch and caught her pubes, massaging his palm firmly against her soft cunt, pressing her bum against his cock. “You can ride my palm like you used to, and I’ll make you cum on my fingers till your tight pussy is sore from cramping around them.”

Shivs wasn’t particularly keen on doing any of this semi-publically, least of all anywhere Bugs would be. Though she feared she wouldn’t be able to talk herself out of this, as easily as she’d talked herself into it.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll leave the pathetic clown alone,” Crocodile promised as he stroked her flat belly with the rounding of his hook. “Can’t beat the loser if my hand is occupied with something sweeter, hm?”

Shit. She had to tell Bugs. Forewarned, forearmed, and all that. She turned in his hold, his hand moving to her butt instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said, but he caught her wrist when she took a step back.

“Ah, ah,” he admonished as he stopped her, pulled her with him, back into bed. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

“I, what? Why?” 

Suddenly, she wanted to leave as he gathered her against him, nestling her into his lap and chest, spooning his large body around her like a cage. She wanted to leave, wanted to go to Buggy and cry when he guided his cock back inside her still moist pussy with an incriminating noise and a satisfied rumble. She’d meant to turn this trick and tell Buggy about it. Tell him her plan to manipulate the ex-warlord to leave him alone, to leave them alone. Tell him it had worked. 

Shivs pushed herself on her elbow but Crocodile pulled her back down to him.

“Stay,” he said as he hooked the fluffy underblanket and silk cover sheets about them, his arm around her waist, hand on her hip.

“Why.” She had to tell Buggy, but now she couldn’t. She’d left after they’d gone to bed. She hadn’t told him yet. He didn’t know. He’d wake up alone.

Crocodile stroked the midline of her belly with the tip of his hook, rippling the cream-coloured silk as it moved up her chest, counting to the fifth rib. The one behind which her heart sat.

“Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

A quiet sob escaped her.

"Ssh, sleep, honey," Crocodile whispered into her hair, fingertips stroking her hip. “I’ll take good care of you tomorrow.”

~

Honourary mention tags: @smut-goblin , @ruledbyproblematique , @gingernut1314 , @swirlsofblackandwhite

(N/A): To anyone reading & making it to the end. Writing this has consumed me the past days. I want to know what you think! What did you like? What made you laugh? Was there something specific you noticed? Something you now wonder about? I am 100% open to lengthy comments and blow by blows, ngl. I am obsessed with this.

If you want for more, I jotted down some of my own thoughts regarding this debacle. I may also be plotting another stint. Because Impel Down, do you understand me??

[oz00ms2]

I bet Shanks in the Firebug au has asked Firebug to come with him at least several times. Since their departure here is on way different terms than canon (even tough getting to Firebug that it was indeed an accident is probably gonna take a while. But I do believe it would be easier to get trough to him than canon as well) Shanks still holds out a little hope that he can set things right. Firebug holds a dagger to the dreaded redhaired pirates troath and snarls at him for any last words, only for his opponent to grab his arm in a flash and violently twist it behind his own back, managing to pin him to the wall behind him.

If Sharks had any mercy he would kill him quickly, slit his troath, run a sword trough his back, even killing him with his own explosives would be less cruel than him leaning in so close that he can feel Shanks breath against his neck. “Buggy…sail with me again. Let’s see the world like we always said we would when we were kids! The whole grand line is gonna know your name! We’ll have our own ship and our own crew like we’d always wanted and they’d adore you! I’ll let you design all the weapons you can think off! Please Buggy, let’s make Rodger prou-“

The elbow to his stomach hits Shanks hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs completly for a second and Firebug screams loud enough for his ears to ring and it makes avoiding Firebugs frantic stabbing towards him with his holdout weapon a bit of a challenge : “I DON’T NEED CHARITY FROM THE LIKES OF YOU! HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE YOU STILL KNOW ME!? HOW DARE YOU THINK YOU STILL KNOW ABOUT WHAT I DREAM ABOUT YOU RAT?!”

If Shanks was a merciful man he would have shouted back at Firebug or at least try to reason with him. If he wasn’t as utterly cruel as Firebug knows him to be he maybe would have looked hurt by those accusations, trying to tell him that this is not true, that he still believes in the young boy he knew years ago. Even just looking slightly remorseful would have been better than this. But Shanks doesn’t yell and he doesn’t try to argue, the smug bastards face instead bearing an expression of complete and utter understanding as he says “I see. You have your own dreams now.” Before the oncoming footsteps alert them to more marines coming and Shanks disappears.

Captain Firebug replays that scene over and over in his head. It’s disgusting. Utterly absurd. Sailing with Shanks again. Trading his secure post for a life of danger and uncertainty. Damn Idiot has lost his marbles. Like their time together as kids meant anything. Like the promises between two dumbass kids in the middle of the night mean shit to the world. Like Shanks hanging down from his Hammock and extending his pinkie towards him was akin to a blood pact when he promised him they would be the greatest pirates who ever lived (“The most amazing.” -“The strongest!” -“ The absolute FLASHIEST and COOLEST” “The most feared pirate captain duo in the world!”). It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t…

In the middle of the night, Buggy smothers his face with a pillow to muffle his anguished screams of rage and frustration.

hey anon, real tears in my eyes. 🥺😭💔💕

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Beauty of the Blue Pt. 2

A/N- i genuinely didn’t expect that fic to get so much love 🥰 thank you all for your feedback on it, i really do want to write more for him, but for some reason he’s a very tricky character for me to get down correctly. BUT, i’m glad that so many of you have been sending in requests so i get a little more practice for writing him 🖤 I may or may not turn this into a 3 part fic but i haven’t decided yet 😅

Summary- After a week of being on Buggy’s ship, you need to know why he’s been treating you so differently than you had imagined.

Genre- Fluff, Light smut at the end

Warnings- Reader has female anatomy, Buggy being a little bit of a pervert, hinting at smut near the end

Tag List- @lotr-got

(tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like to be added 🖤)

Word Count- 3.6k

If you’d like to read Part 1 you can find it here 🫶

You woke up to the sunlight shining through the window of your room, the gentle rocking of the ship awoke you further, easing your way slowly out of bed.

Your arms were stretched up over your head as you yawned, and a smile slowly came to your lips as you looked around the room.

It was small, but cozy.

Buggy had kept his promise, and he had given you nothing but the best since you’ve made your deal. Your bed had the softest blankets and pillows you’ve felt in a long while, he’d given you plenty of clothes to survive on for the next few months at sea if need be, and of course you were given as much privacy as you needed, only calling for meals as you lay in bed all day if that’s what you wished.

It was an easy life, and to be honest it was quite nice not having to ask for much anymore. You had been given every little thing you had asked for, and if his crew couldn’t get you what you wanted, Buggy would send them off on one of the lifeboats to return with what you needed and more as an apology. Out of everything else you had gotten out of your deal, Buggy was the thing you were most grateful for.

Even the crew had never seen him so eager to get up in the morning to greet you.

Each and every morning you’d woken up to him at your door, already fully dressed and ready for the day, wishing you a good morning with some breakfast if it was ready and tell you of the ships plan for the day. Thus far it hasn’t been too much of a journey. The Big Top was headed to the Grand Line, slowly but surely, and up until this point you hadn’t been asked to use your beauty to get them much of anything.

Every stop you made, Buggy would ask if you needed anything at all while they were stopped, and it felt nice to not have to be the one doing the work to get you what you needed. It was strange, having someone always doting on you rather than the other way around.

Buggy had been nothing but kind and respectful to you since you came aboard his ship, and he made sure the crew had been giving you the same treatment. You couldn’t be more grateful. Only a week in, and your life had already been changed for the better.

Though one thing had been on your mind since that night at the bar.

You figured that Buggy would’ve wanted something from you in return by now, and yet he had not asked for one thing. No intimacy, no private time together, nothing. Each and every time you had been given an offer by another captain they always wanted one specific thing from you, they made that clear, and you didn’t give it up that easy. Buggy won you over because you knew that if that was what he wanted, you wouldn’t be opposed to giving him a little something extra in return for giving you such treatment aboard his ship. And yet, he was always so respectful.

Giving you his arm to guide you wherever you went together, letting you have your privacy when you changed or bathed, and though it was nice to be able to not expect him to come into your room every night and leave after getting what he wanted, you started wishing he would.

You had caught yourself sneaking longer glances over to him, smiling whenever his gaze met yours. His touch would linger on you for a few moments longer than normal and you never wanted that sensation to leave your skin. You’d lay in bed at night wishing that you had someone warm laying next to you to hold you in their arms. You wanted it to be him.

He had already shown you another side of him, the side that could be caring and compassionate if need be, but you wanted so much more. You came onto this ship agreeing that you would be his, but now you wanted him to be yours.

Your legs hung over the edge of your bed and you smiled when you heard that familiar knock at your door.

“Come in!” You said in between yawns.

Buggy had entered with a smile, his captains hat off, a small tray in his hands with your breakfast.

“Good morning.” He said with a smile as he placed the little tray next to you on the bed, “My, my, that beauty sleep really does wonders on you.”

You giggled and looked at your hands in your lap to try and hide your blush. You had heard the way he spoke to his crew and to the islanders he had come across when going in for more supplies, and he had never used that tone with you.

“I’m glad you think so.” You reached out and sipped the tea he had brought you, “What’s on the agenda today, captain?”

“Not much more than what we did yesterday.” He approached you and sat on the other side of the tray, “No islands around, the nearest one is around a day away, so we’re just going to sail and see how long it takes us.”

You nodded and quickly grabbed the fork, picking at the little plate of fruits you were brought,

“Anything for me to do today?” You asked him, but he shook his head.

“Not a thing my dear.” He smiled and stood back up, “You just do whatever it is you always do, and i’ll take care of the rest.”

He placed his hand onto your shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, making sure none of the red on his lips transferred. He smiled down at you for a moment before clearing his throat, looking to the floor. His gaze left yours and the smile on your lips slowly faded. For some strange reason, everything felt so right with him there.

You didn’t feel alone.

“Wait!” You said to him, quickly grasping his hand and lightly pulling back, giggling as you saw it pop off of his wrist as it held yours, “Sorry…” He stepped forward and you held his hand back up to his arm, feeling the slight stretch at his wrist as it reattached itself to the rest of his body, “I still forget sometimes.”

“It’s alright,” He smiled and slowly removed his hand from yours, moving it to the side of your head, petting your hair back as he looked down to you, “I forget too sometimes…”

You shared a comfortable silence with one another, and as you looked into his eyes you could see his gaze wander and linger onto your smiling lips. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t do the same. Though covered in red makeup, you always admired how kind his smile was.

“Would you…” You started, your train of thought being interrupted by him again. Damn him and his pretty blue eyes.

Your hand moved from your side to rest on top of his as it rested at the side of your head so tenderly,

“Would you stay? I just…” You took a deep breath, collecting yourself as he sat next to you once more, your breakfast tray being moved to the side to give himself more room, “I need to know. Why have you not asked for…” You wracked your brain, trying to find the best way to ask without blatantly having to say it, “more, from me?”

He carefully cocked his head to the side, unsure for a few moments as to what you could’ve possibly meant. When his eyes moved to your lap, watching your thighs slowly and carefully rub together beneath your nightgown, he smirked.

“Is that what you want from me?” He asked you, his gaze returning to your eyes.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you looked down to your lap to hide any emotion. You weren’t sure how to feel.

As much as you wanted to be able to give Buggy everything he needed, it seemed like he was treating you so much better than any other captain at any of the bars you had gone to ever had. He didn’t expect anything from you in return for him taking you in, and you adored how kind and respectful he was, but you were the one who wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

You shrugged, his finger moving to your chin, tilting it upwards to face him once more.

“Talk to me (y/n),” he said softly, “tell me what thoughts are racing through that pretty little head of yours.”

You took a deep breath and he sat there patiently waiting for you. He wanted to be able to make sure you were living your life to the fullest, anything you wanted you got, and he would make sure of it.

“You treat me differently than everyone else on your ship. You treat me differently than any other sea captain i’ve interacted with. I’ve seen the way you are with your crew, you’re demanding and you’re strong, and a little scary at times.” He chuckled and nodded, agreeing that his behavior with his crew could sometimes be less than rational, “You treat me better than anyone else. Every other captain that’s offered me a deal would always expect something from me in return, and i think you know what that is…” You quietly trailed off, and he could see that this was something that had been on your mind for a while.

You didn’t know why you wanted him so badly, but the way he was treating you was so unusual. At least to you it was. You were fully willing to give yourself to him whenever he asked for it, you figured it was part of your deal, but as the days had gone on he had given you your privacy and alone time, and it was lonely being by yourself at night.

“And you want to know why i haven’t asked for that from you yet, hm?” He asked.

You pursed your lips and nodded slowly. You weren’t sure what to say. Even without being able to fully finish your words, he understood exactly what you were implying.

“Well, a few reasons i suppose.” He moved his hands to hold yours gently in your lap, “The first one being, i respect you more than to just use you as my little pawn. You’re someone who has what so many other people want, and you’re someone who deserves to be shown that you’re more than a beautiful face.” He was talking sternly, seriously, he meant these things truly and deeply and you could feel him tense up as his hands held yours, “I didn’t want you to think that this partnership that we have means that i get to use you as i please, that i have the privilege of letting you be my little plaything and discarding you until you’re needed. I meant what i said in that bar (y/n), when i’m king of the pirates, i want you to be my queen. But that means nothing if it’s forced onto you.” You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, holding onto every word he was saying, “Your safety, your comfort, and your needs are more important to me than this deal we have, and i would never overstep a boundary just because i knew i could.”

You knew exactly why he hadn’t made any moves before.

It wasn’t because he only wanted you for your beauty to get him closer to the One Piece. It wasn’t because he only wanted you to be a pretty little pawn sitting at his side. It wasn’t because he didn’t think you were beautiful enough to warrant those kinds of advances. He had been giving you the time and the space you needed, everything you had asked for.

You were given your own room because you hadn’t said you wanted to share Buggy’s. You were given as much privacy and alone time as you wanted because you hadn’t said you wanted him there. You were always given nothing but the best from him and his crew, and you were more than grateful, but you hadn’t realized just how much control you had with your new found partnership.

Buggy was in charge of the ship and his crew, but you were in charge of Buggy. He would do anything your heart desired just to keep you happy.

“I’m sorry that you misunderstood me at the bar, but i want to make sure you understand this relationship clearly…” He turned his body to face you, the soft fabric of his gloves softly moved as he brought your hands up as he held them, looking into your eyes, “Whatever you want, you get. All you have to do is say the word.”

His gaze never left yours and you could cut the tension in the room with a knife. He was just waiting for you to say the word and he was ready and willing to do anything you asked.

“Whatever i want?” You asked, seeing his lips curl into a smile.

“Whatever you want.”

You softly smiled, not caring wether or not he could see how he was making you feel. So warm, so comforted, and though you could still hear the noises of the crew outside your door as they did their work for the day it felt like you were the last two people on earth. He made you feel like the only girl in the world.

“Even if it’s you?” You whispered to him, your eyes finally glancing down at his red painted lips.

He chuckled, and you thought you could see a bit of pink beneath the makeup on his cheeks. It was nice to finally see him flustered for once.

“If that’s what you wish for.”

You enjoyed the silence for a few moments, just basking in one another’s company like you had wished to since you arrived on the ship. Since you came aboard you hadn’t been able to be alone with one another for more than five minutes before one of the crew came rushing to find Buggy to tell him about a new island spotted or if another crew mate wasn’t doing the work that was expected of them. He liked the silence. He liked it with you.

“So…” You trailed off, the silence moving from comfortable to awkward, neither one of you knowing what to do next, “how do we go about this?”

“Well, for starters, i’ll have you and all of your things moved into my quarters. I see no point in leaving you all by your lonesome anymore.” Your eyes got wider and your smile was bigger just at the mention of not having to be cramped up all by yourself, “And of course you’ll get all the same normal treatment, but there will be a few changes with me.”

“Changes?” Your thumbs brushed over the soft fabric of the gloves on his hands, “Such as?”

“You’re going to be seeing me a lot more often than have been my love,” He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, slowly working his way up your arm, kissing it after each new change, “we’ll share my bed, and you’re allowed to be as far away or as close to me as you like,” Your lips curled to a shy smile as he gently kissed your wrist, just imagining the warm feeling of getting to wake up in his arms each morning, “i’ll be at your beck and call, waiting to fulfill every need you have,” His lips moved to just below your elbow and a shiver ran over your body as he moved further upwards, “you’ll always be close to me, i’ll even have my freaks build you a throne so you’ll always be sitting pretty beside me,” You perked up at the thought of being able to sit and watch over the crew next to Buggy, everyone’s eyes on you just watching and waiting for you to make your rule, “and of course, every second you’re with me my dear, every waking moment that you’re here with me,” One gloved hand moved from yours to your chin, keeping it tilted up, making sure he had every ounce of your attention, “you’ll be getting every ounce of love, adoration, and worship that i have to offer.”

You were speechless.

Countless times, again and again, you’d have pirate captains and marine admirals profess their love to you. Crew mates and marines, even fish men and countless others had offered your their undying worship, but this was the first time you believed that someone wanted more than just the ability to say that they were the ones loving you.

Buggy knew you were more than that. And you could see that he really truly meant everything he said.

He didn’t want you because of your pretty face, he didn’t want you because you’re the most breathtaking creature to grace the earth on both land and sea. He wanted you for you. Everything that you had, he wanted. He loved you for more than your body, but for your soul, and he would spend hours, days, weeks, even years if it took that long to show you that he wanted to be the one worthy of having you want him too.

Your hands moved from his and for a quick moment the smile faded from his lips, only to return once he felt your soft fingertips graze his cheeks as you held him close,

“I want your love Buggy… Please?…”

Your breath was cut quickly by his lips pressing into yours, catching you so off guard that you nearly fell back onto the mattress, quickly catching yourself with your arms at your sides.

His lips were dry, yet soft, and you smiled at the gentle tickling of the stubble on his face as it grazed over yours. You couldn’t help but let out a small, needy whimper, finally feeling the rush of electricity run all through your body. And it was just from one kiss.

He pulled away from you slowly, a smile at his lips, and he couldn’t help but chuckle from seeing the little bit of red staining your lips from his makeup.

“I’m sorry,” His hand snaked behind your neck, holding it gently as he leaned down to you and pecked your lips, “I just couldn’t help it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Your hands did the same, your fingers interlocking behind his neck as his body carefully adjusted over yours, “it’s exactly what i wanted…”

The position you were in was nothing short of provocative.

You arms around him while one of his hands held you close, the other holding him up on the bed as he was leaned over you, your bodies so close to one another. The nightgown that draped over your body had been pulled up to your thighs, and you were wishing he would just get it over with and rip it off of your body, but he was too gentle with you for that. He treated you like your body was made of glass, handling you so delicately like you would break at the slightest hint of pressure. It was actually quite a talent.

His hand slowly moved from your mattress to your thigh, the glove on his hand making you shudder as you felt the corduroy fabric slowly stroking over your thigh. Though you hadn’t even noticed it, your leg had slowly moved upwards, laying just over his hip. A smirk came to his lips as he looked at your lower body, and though he had the opportunity to take a peek between your legs and see the little wet spot on your panties that was entirely his doing, he had no interest in it. He was looking down at your legs, watching them slowly moving back and forth, one at his side and the other laid against the mattress. He was making you writhe, just from a few kisses and his hands on your legs, and he loved it.

“Buggy…” You pleaded with him, just needing him to touch you. He made it so sweetly unbearable to have to wait.

A chuckle escaped his lips and he slowly looked back up into your eyes, giving your body a quick once-over just to fully take in the sight before him.

“All in good time my love.” He leaned forward once more and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “First, i want you to get all settled into my quarters. Why don’t you change and put on one of those pretty outfits i have for you, i’ll grab some of the crew to move your things around.”

He fixed your nightgown back down your legs, taking your hand and carefully pulling you up, his glove wiping away the little red marks his lips left behind.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the feeling of want back down, knowing that he’d give you what you needed eventually. You stood up from the bed and wandered over to the small wardrobe, glancing over to Buggy who had moved himself into one of the chairs across the room. His legs were spread, he was leaned back comfortably, and his eyes never left your figure as a smirk came to his lips.

“Well aren’t you going to get some of the crew?” You asked him, sifting through the hangers in the wardrobe for the perfect little outfit to wear.

“And miss the show?” He chuckled, “I never said i was leaving sweetheart…”

[moodymisty]

This is kind of a late request for your milestone follower event, Congratulations btw, you deserve it!! I was gonna send one earlier but I've been very busy this week and I didn't have the time. Anyway could you maybe do fem reader x Echo with the scenario plot of soothing them after having a nightmare. I kind of picture it with Echo having a nightmare from Skako Minor and the reader tries to calm him down, but you can write it however you want! Congrats again on your follower milestone!!

❀ from my 1k followers event ❀

Author's Note: Welcome to the party dear, and thank you!! Oh my goodness this is so cute and sad;; I really love fics that give Echo the love he deserves, both pre and post Skako minor. Like just let me give this man a fucking hug, y'all.

Relationships: TBB!Echo/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Cuddling, Nightmares, Post Order-66

Normally, the Marauder is what you would consider somewhat quiet. Other than the sound of the ship's life support systems and engines humming, Wrecker snoring, Tech rolling around in his bunk; Or Omega fiddling with something when she should be asleep. Usually Hunter scolds her once he hears, but now she's asleep for real this time.

You and Hunter had swapped spots not a long while ago, him taking watch in the cockpit while you travel through hyperspace. You've been drifting close to sleep ever since, head smushed into the pillow as you listen to the Marauder's unique lullaby. Sometimes it's ungodly annoying, other times you can't sleep without it.

Something does end up waking you up fully however, at least enough so to notice the soft 'creakkkk' of metal adjusting, and the rustling of fabric somewhere close by the bunk you're in.

You rise up into a sitting position and look around, trying to see if the source is easily visible. By doing so you notice that Echo is awake; Sitting on the edge of his bunk slouched over. His elbows are pressed into his thighs, and he seems to be just looking off into space at nothing in particular.

At first you assume he's just letting his legs stretch, or perhaps he's going to get up and take a walk around as he does sometimes; Maybe get something to drink. So satisfied you figured it out you lay back down and close your eyes, attempting to get a small bit more shuteye. But you don't fall asleep right away, and when you open your eyes again, you notice he's still sitting in the same spot.

Sitting up again you throw your legs over the side and quietly put them to the floor, taking a few steps forward before you're standing partly in front of Echo.

"Hey," You quietly say, watching as he looks up at you seeming almost surprised. Was he really so deep in thought that he hadn't heard you?

"Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be asleep?" The smile you give him is small, but there none the less.

"I could say the same to you. Something up?" Your eyebrows raise before you glance down towards his thighs. "Legs hurt?" You know he has trouble with them sometimes- the aches or sharp pains, phantom limbs- even if he tries to be quiet about it.

"No, it's not that." He rubs the spot just underneath the back of his jaw.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He shakes his head, removing the hand from his neck.

"No, it's not that I don't want to tell you." The lights in the Marauder are dimmed down, leaving some of the lit controls and the safety lights lining the floor the main source of light. They shine against his features, lighting his soft amber eyes just enough that you can see them glance away from you for a moment.

"It's just-" He stops, trying to figure out a way to word his thoughts.

"I can't sleep. Anytime I close my eyes I'm, back there."

Oh. He's been having nightmares. You know enough about Skako Minor to be completely understanding of the fact. It's just to hear that they're still plaguing him...

You take a seat on the edge of the bunk beside him, a small amount of space between both of your arms. You don't want to push yourself onto him, and make if feel like he has to accept your help or else you'll be upset, but you also just want him to know you're here- if he needs it. That you'll always be here for him.

Echo is... It's very clear that you two are more than friends. You don't know when the feelings between the two of you changed, but they have- and you two have just gone with the flow ever since. So you want to help him, in any way you can. Seeing him like this makes your heart ache.

"Would me staying here with you help? So you're not alone?" Echo contemplates for a moment.

"I," It seems like he wants to refuse, but his actual need overrides his want to not be obtrusive. "Yes, please." His voice is raspy and tired. He's probably not gotten any sleep in a few days now, if it's this obvious.

You wait for him to lay back down first, before doing the same right in front of him. Echo now has his back against the wall, with his chest pressing against your own back, but only just barely. When he feels your leg bump into one of his own and move it slightly, he shifts it away.

He's laying down technically, but he feels stiff as a board. Like he doesn't want to pass some sort of boundary. There is no way he's going to sleep comfortably like this. Flipping over to be chest to chest with him he looks at you confused, but before he can say anything, you shuffle upward until his head is about level with your collarbone, pulling him closer so you can wrap an arm around his shoulders.

It's an almost instant difference; As he slips an arm over your waist to hold you closer. Your legs tangle together, and Echo absolutely melts in the feeling of just being held. He feels your hand on the back of his neck, and within a few minutes, he's finally asleep.

It's after a few hours of the lights being dimmed in the ship, in an attempt to make sleep even just that little bit easier, that Hunter decides to wake everyone up. He's been watching the ship for the past hour or two, so he'd gotten his needed rest not too long ago.

Getting up from the pilot's seat with a quiet grunt he rubs the back of his head, walking towards the back of the ship. Tech is technically awake, though still sitting in his bunk working on something he can't quite see from this angle. Tech often refuses to move location once he starts something and so he ends up rooted in weird places for long portions of time. Wrecker and Omega are still asleep, however.

Hunter takes one look around and notices that you're still asleep as well, but Echo isn't in anywhere to be seen.

Or at least he thinks- until he looks a little closer and just barely sees the top of his head poking out from the edge of the thin blanket, his face at level with your chest. The two of you are still out cold, and knowing Echo has trouble with such things, he decides to not wake you both up for the time being.

Walking over to Wrecker he jostles him away, only to get told off.

"Hey! What's the big-" Hunter shushes him near instantly.

"Quiet," He points over to the both of you. "They're still sleeping." Wrecker gets up and curiously peers his head at the two of you, barely noticing Echo in the same way Hunter had. Wrecker however is significantly more happy about it, trying not to laugh.

He's happy Echo's found a comfortable place with you, even if in his excitement he almost ruins it. He knows that Echo has troubles sometimes, even if he doesn't always admit them.

"Go get Omega. I'll get some rations out and make sure we're still on track." Wrecker nods, and starts to quietly make his way towards the gun nest, while Hunter turns to walk towards the cockpit.

Before either of them make it too far however, Tech's tools suddenly slip off his lap and clatter all over the floor, waking even the dead themselves. He peers over the edge of the bunk looking at them, current project still in his lap.

"Tech!" Hunter yells, watching him slide off the bunk to pick them up. Meanwhile your eyes are wide, startled awake from the noise. Echo was as well, though he has to push the blanket further down in order to see what's happened over your ribcage and arm.

"There is no need to yell, I am already picking them-" Tech takes a look to his right, and notices Echo's location.

"Oh, there you are. I was wondering where you were. Do you mind helping me calibrate something?" Echo's blurry, sleepy eyes stare at Tech, his mouth slightly agape as he smacks his sleep dried lips.

"What? No..." Tech finishes picking up his things. "Ah, well then." He voices his subtle irritation, while Hunter just rubs his brow.

Echo suddenly grabs the edge of the blanket and tugs it harshly upward, pulling it completely over the two of you and laying back down. He feels your arms wrap around his shoulders again as he presses his face to your sternum, listening to your heartbeat and ignoring Tech's attempts to rope in another helper as he goes right back to sleep.

[pygmi-cygni]

Something g cute and fluffy with Din Djarin and thick female reader

hello!! yes I can do that for you!!

no smut obv, very fluffy and I did not specify anything other than gender and size.

established relationship - no helmet :)

Sleep had never been an issue. Well, its frequency in Din's life left much to be desired, but he was incredibly skilled at power naps. He could be out like a light and then awake in an instant. it was a skill he held proudly.

But today, he just didn't want to get up.

Your addition to his life was, to summarize, soft. The blankets on his bed had been replaced with thick downy comforters. There was music playing gently in the air. Food on the table, good food, not reheated ration packs. A soft, golden light filled his heart when he came home.

Currently, that light was streaming in from the window and warming his cheeks pleasantly. Din groaned and rolled over, shoving his face into your sleeping body. He grinned, realizing he was buried in your sweet-smelling shoulder.

You were his favorite scent. He feathered kisses up your neck, nibbling under your ear.

It was already way later than he should have been sleeping but he could not care less. Din sighed contentedly, running his hands up and down your back. You stirred gently but didn't wake.

There was a lotion you'd started to use, with some off-planet flower that he adored. It made your skin smooth and supple, and glowed in the sun. He caressed your soft tummy appreciatively, kissing the side of your head.

He had so much to do today. The ship had a bad hit on the left side and Grogu needed a new set of clothes, but none of that mattered right now. Not when your face was tucked against his shoulder and he had all the time to run his hands over you and gaze at the little home you'd made.

The blankets were heavy and warm over your bodies. Sleepiness still hadn't worn off from his face - sheet lines pink on his cheeks. Your lips were slack and pouty, and he pressed a gentle kiss to them. Heavy-lidded with adoration, Din slowly rolled you onto his chest, slinging one of your plush thighs over his hips.

He hugged you tight like a pillow, breathing in your delicate scent and massaging your legs. He loved to hold you; soft, warm, the perfect weight on his chest. Skin flushed from the warm bunk room. He pulled the blankets up over you and kissed your face, starting gently at your hairline and moving down.

You fussed awake, blinking groggily in the bright light.

"Morning, handsome," you murmured roughly, smiling at his affection. His mustache tickled your cheeks, making you giggle. Din rubbed his nose against yours and settled back against the pillows.

"It's getting late," you noted, yawning. "Grogu will want breakfast." He huffed a sigh and continued petting your thighs, fondling the soft tissue in his large hands.

"He can wait," he grumbled, "wanna sleep a bit more." You angled your grin up at him and patted his chest.

"Five more minutes."

thank you for the request hon! xox

[dameronscopilot]

All I want for kinktober is… Cassian Andor + phone/comlink sex + ❛ did i say you could stop? ❜

Let’s burn in hell together.

(Alright I was far too excited to burn in hell with you over this idea, and my depraved mind demanded that I kick off Kinktober with TWO releases. So thanks 🧡)

Open Channels

Cassian Andor x f!reader

Word Count: 1k+

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, mutual masturbation, allusion to unprotected p in v, allusion to creampie, accidental voyeurism, cassian's dirty mouth

Summary: In which you learn a lesson about what happens when you forget where you left your comlink.

MASTERLIST || MORE KINKTOBER

Admittedly, perhaps the bunk area of a ship wasn’t the best place to indulge yourself after another day spent clenching your thighs together in the presence of Cassian Andor. But you were now two weeks into a gruelling, seemingly never-ending undercover mission on a planet in the Outer Rim with him. And his beard was growing back in, his hair was getting to be ridiculously untamed, and every single goddamn sarcastic remark that left his mouth, every searing gaze that met yours, and every single casual spin of his blaster in his deft, practiced hands had begun to make your pussy fucking throb.

So when Cassian announced that he’d take first watch for the evening up on top of the ridge while you curled up inside of the ship to catch a few much-needed hours of sleep, you decided you weren’t going to last another minute waiting to get back to the privacy of your own quarters at the base. This wasn’t the first time you’d needed to relieve yourself as a result of the distracting sexual tension that had been brewing between the two of you for months now, but it was certainly your most risky endeavor.

Whatever apprehension you may have felt over the idea left your brain the moment you slipped your hand down into the soft pants you’d changed into, running a finger over your clit and down through your folds. You pushed up your shirt, your nipples already stiff from the cool temperature inside of the ship, and began to tease at your breasts.

You imagined Cassian was on top of you as you pinched a nipple and slid a finger inside of your entrance. Imagined the praise he’d whisper in your ear when he saw how wet you were for him. His beard would scratch against your neck as he kissed his way down your collarbone, taking your breasts into his hot, waiting mouth while he used two fingers to wipe your now dripping arousal all over your cunt. 

“Oh, Cassian. Fuck. Fuck me,” you whined as you rolled over onto your stomach, face pressed sideways against the pillow and a line of drool leaving your mouth as you held yourself up on your knees, legs spread wide as you plunged your fingers in and out of your pussy. 

However, the pleasure thrumming through your body was replaced by ice cold panic when you felt something hard digging into your elbow. Your fucking comlink. 

Staring at the small device in horror, which was blinking red to indicate you’d turned it on and opened the communication channel, you wondered exactly how much of your depraved alone time you’d broadcasted to the person on the other end—Cassian.

Too shaken to turn it off, like that would somehow further incriminate you, you stared at it as you briefly entertained the idea of fucking off to a nearby planet to pursue a life as a hermit. That sounded nice. 

And just when you thought that maybe you hadn’t done something incredibly stupid, the comlink crackled to life with the sound of a rough voice that asked, “Did I say you could stop?”

There was no masking the needy moan that punched out of you as your cunt clenched down onto your fingers at the sound of Cassian’s husky, tired tone, your legs nearly giving out. 

“I—” you tried to respond, words failing you.

Cassian chuckled, and you heard sounds of rustling and clinking metal on the other end of the com as he said calmly, “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

All too aware of the arousal that continued to coat your fingers, you whispered, “...you.”

“Be more specific.”

“I was imagining my fingers were yours,” you admitted, something stirring in your gut as you shared that private information with him.

“And where are your fingers now?” he questioned.

Curling them to stroke your walls, you breathed out, “Inside of me.”

“Are you wet?” Cassian’s voice sounded strained.

“Very.”

“Fuck,” you heard him mutter, following what sounded like him spitting and—oh. Another gush of arousal dripped out of you, beginning to pool on the sheets beneath you, as he moaned. You swore you could hear the way his wet palm was slipping across his cock as he began to stroke himself.

You resumed pumping your fingers in and out of your drenched cunt, pleasure searing across your veins like liquid fire at each groan that left Cassian’s lips as he fucked his fist on the other end of the com. 

“Do you do this often? Touch yourself when you think of me?” he rasped, voice unsteady.

You bit your lip hard as your pleasure continued to build, a tremor running through your body. If only he knew how often you took yourself apart at the mere thought of him.

“All the time.”

Cassian sounded almost broken as he replied, “Me too.”

You offered him an unfiltered, wanton moan in response, unable to fully comprehend the fact that he’d clearly wanted you just as badly this entire time.

And before you could say anything else, he added, “But I doubt my hand feels as good as your tight little cunt would feel, squeezing down on my cock until I fill you up.”

“Fuck, Cassian. Please,” you gritted out, furiously fucking yourself on your fingers. 

Cassian breathed out your name as he continued to stroke himself, and he carried on, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being stuffed full of my cum?”

“Yes, yes!” you cried out, your hole quivering from the rapid approach of your climax.

Cassian was quiet for a moment, listening to the lewd, wet sounds of you desperately fingering yourself. “Cum for me, and then I’ll come in there and fuck you like you deserve,” he promised.

You acquiesced, your orgasm tearing through you in a blistering wave of pleasure. Collapsing onto your side, you listened to the crunching of Cassian’s boots over the gravel whilst he made his way back toward the ship, your cunt already throbbing again as you waited for him.

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