#they were born on the second day of the second month at the apex of a solar eclipse

[stayatsam]

time to plan out the border...

[short-honey-badger]

Phantom Pain 11 - Mihawk

Hello darlings. I'm sorry it's taken forever to get another part out. I hope you enjoy some filthy heavy petting/smut with Mihawk and Shanks as an apology! ❤️

Masterlist

The day you meet Dracule Mihawk will be a day you will always remember. And that day would stretch on for nearly a month while the other captain stayed with the Red-Haired Pirates. If asked why, Mihawk would purse his lips and shrug a slim shoulder, his voice nonchalant as he informed them that he was merely bored.

Through the bond you shared with said Captain of the crew, you could tell that Shanks was overjoyed to have the other man on board the ship. You couldn't help but soak up the bright feelings your soulmate radiated like the sun baking you on a clear day. You'd heard about the swordsman before. Your lover could talk to a brick wall if you left him alone long enough, but you digress.

The warlord made you nervous. There was something about the way he stared at you with those golden eyes that made shivers strike down your spine and straight to your core. Shanks hadn't said anything about your random spikes of lust, but you could also feel how curious he was on his side of the connection. You refused to acknowledge how knowing those brown eyes were every time they caught you after Mihawk had taken your attention.

You were weary to be alone, Mihawk, and your gut served you well when the man in question waltzed into the quarters you share with Shanks, seemingly having tracked you down. The redhead wasn't here, your soulmate busy with captainly duties, and so not around to protect you from this devilishly handsome man and his heated looks.

“There you are,” Mihawk sneers and saunters forward to take the book you're reading out of your hands. You stare at him in shock, too stunned to move at his bold actions. The dark haired man, for of course he's only wearing his trousers and an open shirt, smirks down at you, long fingers gripping your jaw and angling it up to face him, “Hiding away again, like usual.”

You stare at the man, lost for words for half a second, before your temper flares and your expression shutters into a scowl, “I'm not hiding away. It's just hard to get any reading done out there without getting in the way of the crew.”

If it also had the added benefit of not seeing Dracule, well, that was just a coincidence. However, it looked like your luck had run out, or his patience had run thin.

“All I hear are excuses, Amor,” Mihawk drawls, and then he is crowding into your space, stepping in between your thighs and looming over you. His hand forces you to bend your neck, making sure that you are watching him. The sudden change up makes heat flare in your stomach, and the pirate smirks at the way your eyes glisten with barely hidden lust.

“I wasn't born with a soulmate, you know. So, I was never bound to that cognitive instinct to find their other half. I am free to bed who I want when I want.”

His voice is low, sultry even, and it has fire racing up and down your spine as you stare up at Mihawk. You lick your lips, desperately trying to push the feeling of molten arousal that threatens to consume you away.

“And what does that have to do with me?” You curse yourself and your shaky voice.

The smile that Mihawk gives you is nothing less than sinister, and a gasp rips from your throat when his free hand lands on your thigh and slides up to the apex of your legs. His thumb finds your clothed clit and swipes over the throbbing nub. He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“It has everything to do with you, Darling.”

On the deck, Shanks prods the bond he shares with you, his brow furrowing and his cheeks pinking up when he feels the electrifying lust from your side. He latches onto it shamelessly, cock hardening in his pants and attention immediately tuning out whatever Yasopp was trying to say to him. The redhead had wondered why Mihawk had asked where you were, and a smirk crossed his face. He knows why now.

The feedback from your pleasure was just as intense for Shanks as it was for you. He could feel each little sigh you made, each ripple of lust whenever Mihawk did something in particular you liked.

Shanks excuses himself. He needs to see this in action, not just feel it.

The connection between you and Shanks is wide open, allowing the two of you to feel everything that the other one is. His cock is aching by the time the captain reaches his quarters, precum leaks from the tip and stains the front of his pants. He pushes open the door, and the sight he's greeted with is almost enough to make him cum.

Mihawk has you splayed out on a table, shirt up around your chin, and pants completely missing. His lips are wrapped around a nipple, and he's got two fingers plunging in and out of your sopping cunt. Your face is one of pure bliss, eyes clenched shut and mouth open as you hang onto the table for dear life. Shanks stumbles over, his forehead slick with sweat when pleasure zings through the bond.

Mihawk curls his fingers just right, and you let out a choked sob when he presses against that spongy spot that makes you see stars. You hear a low, masculine moan and force your eyes open to see Shanks collapsing in a chair. He has an amazing view of your cunt, and he sends you a grin when he catches you looking.

“Hey, baby,” He rasps, and your eyes zero in when he tugs his cock from his pants, a low groan falling past his lips when he strokes his throbbing length, “Having fun?”

Mihawk doesn't give you a chance to reply. A yelp escapes you when he bites down on your nipple, and he raises his head to send you a soft glare.

“Don't pay attention to him, Amor. I'm the one between your legs. Don't forget that.”

You can only nod dumbly, brain less than mush, and Mihawk smiles at you in satisfaction. He leans back down, lips leaving behind dark marks around your chest and then up to your throat where he bites down. Shanks sucks in a sharp breath at the same time you do, his hand stuttering as pleasure spreads through his body like a tidal wave. He watches the other man start kissing down, lips by passing through the valley of your breasts and the soft flesh of your stomach for a far better prize.

His tongue is an inferno against your sticky pussy, and Dracule groans deeply in appreciation when he tastes you. His fingers speed up, the faster pace bringing forth a wave of slickness that Mihawk slurps down like a man starved. You keen and buck your hips, that coil in your lower stomach tightening to the point of desperation.

“It's okay, baby,” Shanks croons, and you roll your head to the side, looking at him through your lashes, “Come on his tongue, sweetheart. I want to watch.”

His filthy words are what does it, and that tension snaps. You toss your head back, thighs tightening around Mihawk's head and pressing his face into your cunt. The man just groans in pleasure, tongue lapping at your folds as you ride through your orgasam.

Shanks hisses, the overlapping pleasure from your orgasam makes his own feel like a star was being born. Hot cum shoots from his cock, painting his hand and dripping down to splattering against the floor. He saves as much as he can, and then stands to shuffle over to where you're still catching your breath.

He shoved his filthy hand in your face, those brown eyes completely black as he met your eyes. Mihawk gets your attention when he gives one last lap to your dripping pussy and rises to his feet, golden eyes shining in the low light of the cabin.

“Clean him up, Amor. We're not nearly finished here.”

[strangelittlestories]

After we had finished rising up out of the clay, after we had spread ourselves across the spiked and shaking ribs of the world, we discovered two things.

First, that despite how much we believed, our world showed no signs that it was home to any gods.

Second, that it certainly did offer a home to *monsters*.

But we did not see why we should face the toothed maw of this earth alone. Why, just because the divine did not spring into the world fully formed, should our prayers go unheard? After all, if demons can sprawl across the peaks above us and cast their shadows upon our crowns, does that not imply a space from which deities might offer us their light?

A person named Jana was the first to turn our vision into action. Atop a mountain near their home, they could see a great beast - a dragon of rock and ichor and slime moss - squatting on the apex and drinking the sunlight. Jana and their people assembled supplies - candle tallow and lumber and fragrant oils - and the group began the climb to the summit.

They caught the monster while it slept (for these creatures slumbered months at a time, between their ruinous devastations). These canny folks pried apart its craggy teeth with levers and wedged its mouth open long enough for Jana to drag the cart of supplies inside.

Weeks passed. The dragon did not wake. Jana did not emerge.

Some of the people grew tired of waiting and gave Jana up for dead.

But some stayed, huddled beneath makeshift shacks and gathered round pitiful little wasteling campfires made of dried moss and dung.

Then, one day, the beast's mouth opened on its own. But its eyes stayed shut and no cantankerous breath issued forth to spread its slow death of sulphur, ash and nightshade.

Staring down its throat, the faithful saw a gentle glow.

They stepped into the mouth. Inside, the craggy passage was shored up with sanded wooden arches and decorated with softly burning candles. But the *glow*, the glow came from deeper still.

Traversing the corpse of this strange dreadnought (for it was clearly dead), they saw a creature that had been transformed into a building. Its dense flesh was calcified and hollowed out. Bones were shaped and chiselled into arches, beams, pillars. In its cavernous lungs, the air sacs had been turned into sparse cells furnished with sparse pallets.

They knew, when they saw this, that this was a place they could shelter. A place they could be safe. A place where - free from the ravages of beasts - they could begin to live.

And in its heart, there they found the thing that had once been Jana. It was a figure of light and smoke and absence. It was our first god.

---

In the times that came after, many new gods were made. Each born in the heart of some awestruck hellspawn or monstrosity.

Over the years, the presence of the gods sharpened our faith and with those blades of belief did we drive back the darkness. And with power, so did the gods become more distant.

Their monstrous temples, too, ceased to be places of succour and became places of worship. They turned from homes into holy houses. And, in their way, they became prisons. For we walled up our gods, who had once been our *friends*, behind blockades of reverence.

We forgot what it was that made these places holy:

That these temples were beautiful because people had made them and because people had lived in them.

And that our gods were beautiful because people had made them and because *people* had lived in them.

One day, perhaps, a person like Jana will walk down the halls of that first temple and drive a blade of faith into the first god’s chest.

And they will live in the empty temple and it will become beautiful again (for a time).

Perhaps.

[whencyclopedia]

Thomas Wolsey

Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal Archbishop of York (l. c. 1473-1530 CE) served as Lord Chancellor to Henry VIII of England (r. 1509-1547 CE) from around 1513 CE to 1529 CE. Wolsey rose to become the most powerful man in England after the king, he created the Chancery court, worked with some success at England's foreign policy, and famously built Hampton Court Palace near London. Unable to secure from the Pope the annulment of Henry's first marriage to Catherine of Aragon (1485-1536 CE), Wolsey fell out of favour with his friend and monarch. Accused of treason, the cardinal was already seriously ill when he died on his way to imprisonment and trial in November 1530 CE.

Early Life & Rise in the Church

Thomas Wolsey was born c. 1473 CE in Ipswich, the son of a butcher. He studied at university and became the chaplain to Henry VII of England (r. 1485-1509 CE), gaining invaluable experience of Tudor politics from his sponsor, the councillor Bishop Richard Fox (1448-1528 CE). However, it was under Henry VIII that Wolsey's career really took off. Indeed, after being appointed the royal almoner (giver of alms) in 1509 CE and benefitting from the new king surrounding himself with his own advisors rather than his father's, Wolsey enjoyed a meteoric rise to power from 1514 CE. He became the bishop of Lincoln in March 1514 CE and just a few months later, in September, he was appointed archbishop of York and so became the second most powerful church official in England.

Eager to be the top man in England but realising the current Archbishop of Canterbury was secure in his position, Wolsey bypassed him by directly approaching the Pope. In 1515 CE Wolsey became a cardinal and so he now outranked even the archbishop; he was truly a 'prince of the Church.' In 1518 CE Wolsey went one step higher and became a papal legate (legatus a latere), that is a representative of the Pope himself and entitled to make decisions on his behalf. Usually, legates were given their authority for a limited time only and for a specific purpose such as an international conference. In 1524 CE, Cardinal Wolsey was given legate powers for life. Thomas could now really believe that one day, he might even be in a position to grab the very top job of Pope.

Even before these momentous ecclesiastical progressions, and much more importantly for history, Wolsey had become Lord Chancellor around 1513 CE (or perhaps 1515 CE, historians do not agree on the date). In this position, he was, in effect, Henry VIII's sole minister, the very apex of the pyramid of political power in England. Thanks to his administrative skills and good friendship with the king, Wolsey became a giant political spider with a web of subordinates that stretched into every part of the kingdom.

As the historian S. Brigden summarises, Wolsey developed a very special working relationship with his mercurial monarch:

The Council was still consulted, but only after Wolsey and the king, in a kind of partnership, had determined policy. Wolsey would first 'move' Henry towards some idea; the King 'dreamed of it more and more'; and only then would the council be informed. Wolsey's influence seemed supreme, and his household, in its magnificence, looked a rival to the royal court. So completely did he see himself as alter rex, it was alleged, that he would say: 'The King and I would ye should do thus: the King and I do give you our hearty thanks.' His pride and splendour were legendary: crosses, pillars and poleaxes, hated symbols of his authority, were carried before him; earls and lords served him. (106)

Continue reading...

[mystra-midnight]

Leash

summary: in which eddie gives you a gift

warnings: mostly fluff. nothing explicit is described in great detail. mostly sfw.

words: 1k

notes: inspired by this post by @inklore and also by the party dialogue between ironbull and vivienne in dragon age: inquisition.

You're sitting on the bed in his trailer, feet tucked under yourself, as you look in the little compact mirror you'd fished out of your purse. The light of the van was dim, washing the room in an orangey-yellow glow, but it hadn't hindered your vision as you examined your reflection.

There was a lingering bruise on the side of your neck, just below your ear. It was fresh, only a day or so old. Eddie had sucked, licked, and nibbled your neck while you came on his cock so hard that your bones turned to jelly. Even now, your stomach did a funny little spin at the thought of it. Butterflies winged wildly through your veins as moisture pooled at the apex of your thighs.

And he hadn't touched you since.

You tried not to worry about it, but you always did. Sometimes you worried that Eddie would wake up one day and realise how incompatible the two of you were with your polar-opposite lifestyles and upbringings. You'd been born into the upper class—the latest phone and brand new car for your seventeenth birthday kind of upper class.

Eddie had been born into the lower class—the work for a living, calloused hands, and struggling to make ends meet lower class. He fought through his life, in school and out of it, for the things he had.

That was what made this so special.

He'd bought you a present; he actually bought it for you, he hadn't not stolen it, and he bought it with real money. Although that money wasn't exactly legally obtained, he even had the receipt to prove it.

You stroked your fingers along the choker that was now settled around your throat. It was made of leather, double-lined, and double-layered. The first layer was at least an inch and a half, maybe two, thick and lined with soft padding so that it didn't chaff. It overlapped over your trachea. The second layer was smaller but overlapped at the same point with a buckle, keeping it snug and secure around your neck. And there in the centre, dangling at the hollow of your throat, was a round steel ring.

You dragged your lower lip between your teeth as you caught his eye. Eddie was standing in front of you with those big brown eyes that made your heart do summersaults in your chest. You swallowed, feeling the choker tighten briefly from the motion.

Your nails caught at the choker as you let your hand fall into your lap, along with the other one and that now-closed compact mirror. He was looking at you like a lost puppy, like you'd hung the stars in the sky. You smiled up at him, your sweet metalhead.

"Do you like it?"

"It looks like a collar," you said softly, fingers rising once again to stroke at the stiff material. You almost regretted the words the moment they slipped past your lips, afraid they might upset him or insult the gift he’d given you.

It had only been a few months since the first time you’d been in detention together. That was the day Mr. Henderson slipped out to speak with the principal for a few moments. You’re not sure exactly how it happened; one moment you’d both been silent, then you’d been slipping him money and he’d been slipping you an overstuffed bag, and then he’d been slipping you tongue, and you’d been moaning.

You’d separated before Mr. Henderson returned and were back in your respective seats. You’d rubbed your thighs together to stifle the damp heat between them, and you had ducked your head to hide the kiss-swollen lips.

The rest was history.

"It’s a choker, sweetheart," Eddie explained, stepping close to you so that your knees brushed against his. He captured your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping your face up to look at him.

You squirmed in your seat on the bed beneath the intensity of his stare. "I know, it just looks like one," you said, your voice failing you as he slid his fingers across the curve of your jaw and then down your neck. Eddie rubbed his thumb over the dark bruise he'd sucked into your neck softly and tenderly, then found the ring of your choker.

The bed dipped with his weight as he placed a knee on the outside of your thigh. He hooked his finger through the loop as he placed the other knee on the bed, straddling your lap.

He tugged gently on the ring, pulling you against his chest. Your hands settled on his hips, nails scraping against the denim, and then pushed up beneath his shirt. "Eddie," you said his name in a whisper, a little breathlessly, inwardly cringing at how desperate you sounded. He forced you to look at him, holding your gaze with his own dark hues when you tried to look away in embarrassment.

And try as you might not too fall, you fell into the depths of them as though you were falling from the sky, tumbling through stars and galaxies until there was only him and you.

And his lips caught you before you could hit the ground. Eddie kissed you soundly, without urgency, as though he had all the time in the world for you. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone, keeping your face turned up to him in his elevated position.

When he drew back, your eyes were glossy, and your lash line was shining with tears. He gave the ring of the choker a rough tug, making you swallow. "You don't need to worry, sweetheart. I have no intention of trying to leash anyone." He joked, though even after only a few months, you knew that was something his kinky brain would probably enjoy: you on your knees, a leash in his hand to bridge you together.

You blinked up at him with a blissed smile. "I never worry, Eddie." You encircled his wrist with your own trembling fingers, not letting him remove his finger from the ring. You gave him a rough pull, dragging him down atop you as you lay sprawled on the bed, feet now dangling off the edge.

He reached out with a hand, ring-clad fingers spread wide on the bed, to support himself and keep most of his weight from settling on you. "A leash can be pulled from either end."

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Got some more :D

1: what apps do they like to use? I can see them using twitter & maybe TikTok; probably do silly videos on there.

2: did Nightwing & starfire, plus mar’i tried to hide their superhero identity from Jake? (Probably did the same before mar’i got her powers too.)

3: how would a starburst duo movie start?

4: besides spider-man, do they like other spider-man stuff like the venom movie?

5: do they play battle royale games? I can see them both playing Fortnite (& doing the dances both in & out of costumes) but Chris likes COD Warzone & Jake like apex legends.

6: silly question, since they are pre-teens almost & have girlfriends, what do they prefer: butts or boobs? or personality XD

Sorry for the wait @gothicghost2000 But Here we are XD

1. They have three primary social apps: YouTube (the first one respectively), Twitter and Tumblr. All three apps have specific tools The Duo can use for their particular hobbies and interests, Tumblr for example being the blog space where they can give their predicts and hypotheses about their favorite ongoing shows and where it can go from there.

YouTube is their video library place, for all sorts including live streams, recaps of favorite shows/games, and yes thank to the Shorts function, TikTok style videos. Chris and Jake thankfully have both Jake’s tech expertise and even Oracle on some occasions to help them make sure they don’t get busted for copyright by the algorithms.

2. Not entirely actually. Even as a toddler, Jake was a relatively smart cookie and everyone knew it so before he was able to piece it altogether by the time he was 3 to 4 in his own way, Dick and Kory came clean to him about everything and even Mar’i pitched in about her training to one day be a great superhero like Momma and Daddy are since she has powers while Jake’s are still not kicking in.

I can just imagine little Jakey looking at his family, taking it all in and then finally breaking the silence saying “Does that mean I blast lasers from my eyes too later?” Akin to when Marky found out his powers at the end did the original Invincible comic

3. Basically I’d have first a colorful and detailed title sequence that through simple comic panels and even some motion comic elements, details the basics of how the Duo were born, Chris’ arrival on Earth and adoption by the Kents, the two first meeting as little kids who look up to their parents as their heroes, Jake’s power first kicking in when fending off a bully at school, the Duo training on their powers together and gaining renown slow but steadily, then once the title scene ends, we open with a bang as we are catching up with the Duo in the middle of a massive superhero battle in Metropolis against all sorts of baddies and villains, something akin to the opening shots of Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith

4. They have a good laugh and thrill at the first and second Venom movies respectively. They also are big time fans of the Spiderverse films; there actually is a strongly passionate debate between Chris and Jake over which Spidey films are better. Chris vouches for the Raimi trilogy while Jake sides firmly with Spiderverse. Other than all that though, both also watch every single Spidey animated series, good or bad, collect what their friends online consider the best runs in both Marvel Prime and the Ultimate Universe (the latter Jake is really into thanks to his Uncle Tim(my) loving Ultimate Spidey) and regularly playing co op on the Playstation games

5. Only once a month really and it’s mainly Fortnite. I can’t really see them playing COD or Apex not just because those two are more FPS centric which even if fictional in universe doesn’t sit that well with them for various reasons, but also for COD especially there egregious money practices from all that miscellaneous DLC, Lootboxes when they are a thing, battle passes, etc. it just doesn’t sit right even if technically Jake can be considered a millionaire’s kid at best

6. Personality. Full stop. Even if they’re aware of the more scandalous and fanservice side of true love, they have the content of a female’s character above physical appearance of any kind. Chris and Jake respect girls and women, plain and simple.

[unholyplumpprincess]

How do you think Bloodhound and/or Bangalore would react to having a pregnant s/o, coming out of a game, and finding out that their s/o has gone into labor?

I'm gonna kiss u on the mouth, ty for indulging me on this fine evening. You can have both >:3c

!!!Though this post is sfw, this blog is not, plz do not follow if you're a minor but you can like/rb this post!!!

Warnings: SFW, Pregnancy, going into labor, Reader is gender neutral

___________

Bloodhound: You both had talked about it extensively. You wished to be pregnant first, and then Bloodhound would carry your second child. It was all down to a T. To you taking your leave from the games when you found out of your pregnancy, to Hound supporting you two financially in the games, to when they would take time off between seasons to see you.

Hound liked everything planned like that. Being very careful and very kind to you the entire way through. Always the one to coo and hold your stomach and murmur about your shared sweet little cub within you. 'Cub' being the nickname you two had come to call your little parasite.

Your birth date was coming up in about two weeks. The doctors thought you'd be able to pick the day because your child had been doing so well so far. But it hits you sooner than you expect, feeling your water break and looking at the live video of the Apex games and biting your lip.

Hound had wanted to be there for you during labor. But you had no choice- but thankfully they had moved you into a temporary home close by the compound they were staying at. So maybe they'd get to meet your child afterwards.

When Hound finds out after their Championship that you were in labor, they cannot get transported off the dropship fast enough. Let alone going through the regular medical exams. It's been four hours past when you had been taken in, and even their driver is frightened by how quickly and assertively Hound tells him to politely speed.

Thankfully, Hound catches you on your last leg of it. You're so sweaty and teary and you practically sob out of relief when you see them. You squeeze their hand and crush them- and you'd feel bad about it, but they just keep praising you and murmuring help the entire way through.

Your daughter is born. You can't part with the beloved name of 'Cub' and neither can Hound when they croon so sweetly at her. They kiss your sweaty forehead as you hold your child, Hound's voice an everlasting comfort but making you smile when they murmur, "It appears she did not want to keep to our schedule."

No. No she did not.

-

Bangalore: Anita hadn't been sure how she felt about kids to start, but you'd talked about having a child of your own and well. She'd also seen how you acted with your nieces and nephews- and when she'd seen you balance a fat little baby on your hip and sing and dance with them, she'd thought, okay what the hell.

You had plans all laid out. It wasn't spontaneous and the sperm donor had been chosen very carefully. Someone who looked a lot like Anita, chosen with a fond sort of look on her face when she looked at the person you had chosen. To which you'd cupped her cheek and remarked, "Hope they get your curls, stud." And making her laugh.

Anita is normally cool under pressure. But you being pregnant makes her so nervous. She's the one researching and trying to figure out what you can and can't eat or can and can't do and it takes everything in you not to laugh as she tries to treat you so gently- even in bed.

When the ninth month approaches, you can physically see her sweating and wringing her hands every morning and watching you like she's just waiting for you to pop.

When she finds out you're in labor, it's when she's claimed Champion in the arenas and after she's on the dropship. No one's ever seen her so anxious before, where her words are more like barks and her tone more commanding.

Honestly, Anita probably wouldn't be there during the birth but probably you have a trusted friend or loved one. Because hey, yeah, she's seen a lot of shit, but I think when it came to things like someone giving birth she's like hell no.

So she gets to see you after. Holding your son in your arms and beaming at her tiredly and sweaty. A little boy with a full head of curls and you tiredly going, "See? Told ya he would look like his mama. Nice and handsome."

She falls in love with you a bit more that day.

[joel-millerr]

What’s Your Favorite Color?

Chapter Seven of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Summary: reader is stuck on the Crest with Mando and the kid. what should be an uneventful trip turns into something that changes everyone on board.

Warnings: SMUT! rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, praise kink(?), aftercare, depictions of death, mentions of mental illness (even though the reader doesn’t explicitly say it--it’s more implied), slight spit play?

A/N: ok so this might be the dirtiest thing I've written but I'm just so proud of where this story is going and I hope you guys enjoy. also, the entire chapter takes place on the crest, and it’s one day :)

also big shoutout to @eznova​ who helped me with this chapter. LOVE U

--

I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.

That eerie reminder echoes over and over in your mind as you wake up from one of the best nights of your life. It’s hard to control the stupid, shit-eating grin plastered on your face as you lie in Mando’s cot. You’re alone, but his scent—a delicious mix of soap and musk, fill your nostrils and if you close your eyes and focus hard enough, you can imagine him laying right next to you, wrapping strong, tree trunk sizes arms around you and placing chaste kisses all over your skin.

You couldn’t have planned falling for Mando so deeply and so quickly as you have, mainly considering that you haven’t known each other for very long, but you know damn well that if given the opportunity, you’d do everything over again.

Stars, you don’t even know what his name is.

What is his first name?

Should you ask him? You don’t want to come off imposing, and there’s a part of you that wants to wait until he chooses to share that information with you, rather than try to wrestle it out of him, but he’s shrouded in mystery, and that just reels you in even more. You really want to pick his brain, figure out what makes him him, but you don’t know if you’ll ever get that chance. There’s the possibility though, that after last night, he’ll be more vulnerable around you. Maybe you’ll both be more vulnerable and inclined to share each other’s pasts. After all, you’ve been pretty intimate with each other.

When you finally decide it’s probably time for you to get out of bed and face the potential awkwardness that could happen between you and Mando, the door to the cubby hole hisses open, with neither the kid nor Mando in sight. Your feet touch down on the cold ship’s floor, and you slip into your boots. Once on your feet, you feel an ache at the apex of your thighs. It stings and you have to basically have to walk with your thighs spread apart in order to ease some of the uncomfortableness between your legs. Every move you make is a reminder of the night before. You can even feel him inside you, stretching your walls to hug him perfectly. Kriff, you’re already wet and you only just woke up.

Hoping a sanisteam will wipe away the crude thoughts from your barely conscious mind, you take to the fresher and wake yourself up with a brisk rinse. Once you’re out and throw on yesterday clothes—you make a mental note to wash your only other garments, you’re about to head up to the cockpit when you hear Mando’s voice. Stopping at the ladder, you listen in on what he’s saying.

“…but you have to agree to go with them if they want you to. Understand?” His’s voice goes quiet for a moment. “Plus, I can’t train you. You’re too…powerful. Don’t you want to learn more of that Jedi stuff?”

It’s a damn shame how last night you had heard his true voice for the first time, unmodulated but still as deep and rough as it sounds with the distortion of his helmet, and probably won’t be privy to it for a while. You wish you could hear him, like really hear him, naked and untapped again but even if you don’t, it’ll just make last night even more significant.

You hear the Child coo in response before hearing Mando’s cadence again. “I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do.” There’s a brief pause. “You understand that, right?”

For the first time, you detect some sadness in Mando’s tone. Like he’s trying to reassure not only the kid but also himself that he needs to go through with this, that even though there might be a part of him that doesn’t want to let the Child go, in the end he has no choice in the matter. It tugs at your heartstrings. The Mandalorian, a seasoned warrior, a survivor, a bounty hunter—at war with himself and his own feelings.

You can’t help but feel guilty as well. Ahsoka had warned you that one day, you too would have to make a choice but after last night… It’s no longer as clear-cut as you initially thought it would be. Had this come to you even just six months ago, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. You’d make the choice of being a Jedi, and forgo all attachments and dedicate your life to the Order. It wouldn’t be hard for you to set all your feelings aside—you’ve had many years of practice on that subject, but now things are completely upside down. It’s territory you’ve never been in before and Maker, that terrifies you. The longer you journey with the Mandalorian, the more you become weaved together like vines wrapping themselves around a duracrete structure. Similar to the ancient temples on Naboo, tightening and gripping in every nook and cranny until it’s impossible to separate one without destroying the other.

When you reach the floor of the cockpit, you watch Mando sit ever still in the pilot’s chair, with Grogu seated to his right. Your boots hitting the ground as you walk alerts the Child, his ears twitching in your direction and he giggles excitedly, holding that little durasteel ball in his hands.

“Morning,” you announce as you plop down in the seat to Mando’s left. Grogu peers at you with big eyes and makes grabby hands at you, so lean over and bring him into your lap.

“How long until we reach Coruscant?”

“A day or two,” he answers curtly, keeping his visor glued to the blues of hyperspace through the transparisteel.

“Oh, okay. Looks like we’ll have time to kill then.”

Mando rises from his seat, turns his body to you for just a moment before announcing his leave. “Does your blaster need cleaning?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He offers you a quick dip of the helmet before leaving the cockpit in one swift movement and heading down the ladder. Your eyebrows pull together as you stare at the empty doorway to the little room you and the Child are still seated in. Looking down at him, you whisper, “Why do I get the feeling he’s avoiding me?”

Grogu bats his eyes at you before gently sucking on the ball still firmly gripped in his claws. It’ll always amaze you how attached he is to that sphere. You might never know why it’s so important to him but then again, you suppose that it’s a secret between him and his caregiver.

“I wish I knew what was going on in that mind of his,” you confess—not necessarily to Grogu, but since he’s the only one around, you feel almost compelled to spew your concerns and confusions about everything that’s happened.

“What do we do, little guy? I suppose since you’ve had training, you’ll probably want to be found by a Jedi, right?”

Grogu mumbles something at you and for just a second, you think he might understand you.

“And you’re okay with leaving him?”

He coos almost sadly, and you can hear your heart shattering. This little creature has grown such an attachment to Mando. It’s exactly what Ahsoka said—Mando’s basically his father and truthfully, if your parents were still alive, you couldn’t imagine leaving them to join a group that shuns on attachments. It would take a strength that you couldn’t muster to pull yourself away from them, not after knowing the kind of pain of having to live without them.

“I’m scared, Grogu. Truthfully, I have no idea what to think about all this.”

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not even really paying attention, too busy staring at the little ball in his hands. It’s okay, though. It’s enough just for you to express your concerns aloud. Your mind can get cluttered if you think about everything all at once. The moments you convey your thoughts verbally, it forces you to focus on what you’re actually saying, rather than all the hypotheticals that bounce around in your head.

“Should I go down there?”

Again, Grogu says nothing, he doesn’t even look up at you. Eyeing where Mando sat just minutes ago, you feel like a teenager. You’re both adults, you can’t just tiptoe around each other, it’s not like there are many places to hide on the Crest, anyway. If he won’t come to you, you’ll just have to go to him.

Holding Grogu close to your chest, you take to the ladder and head down, being mindful not to accidentally hit his head on the rungs. Just as you reach the hull, you notice Mando facing one of the crates, his blaster completely taken apart, wiping the coil with a dirty rag. Placing Grogu in the bunk to your left, you lean on another crate and watch Mando dissect his weapon and clean every little bit of residue off his gun.

“How’s your shoulder?” Mando asks, back still turned to you.

“It’s fine, kinda aches a bit but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you answer, transfixed at the way Mando meticulously cleans his weapons. He’s nothing if not thorough.

“Mmm,” he hums low in his throat. The sound reminds you of the mind-altering grunts he made the night before when he was balls deep inside you, causing you to rub your thighs together at the memory. That sanisteam was supposed to get of these filthy thoughts.

It becomes suddenly very awkward in the hull and you get the feeling that you might be lingering. He clears his throat a few times but says nothing. There may not come another time where you could try to learn more about Mando, so now seems like right time. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you muster up the strength to finally ask him, “You were born on Mandalore?” Keeping your eyes down, staring at your feet because you just don’t have the nerve to look at him.

“No, Aq Vetina.”

“Oh… I thought—”

“I was a foundling.”

“Like Grogu.”

“Yes,” he answers deep in his throat.

It suddenly makes sense why Mando saved him from the Empire, and why Grogu’s still in his care. He sees himself in the Child. He sees the vulnerability, the childlike innocence and he understands that he is responsible for this little baby, at least until you find a Jedi that is.

“Do all Mandalorians hide their faces?” You ask curiously.

There’s not much that you know about Mandalorians. The few things you do know about them is that they’re almost impossible to find due to the Empire nearly wiping them all out, and that they’re some of the best—if not the best warriors in the galaxy. Given the fact that Mando hasn’t removed his helmet once since you’ve been around (until last night), you can assume he take his Creed very seriously, and can’t help but wonder if the Child has been fortunate to catching a glimpse of his face.

“No,” he answers methodically.

Already feeling like you’re pushing the limits of how many questions you can ask before he finally decides to shut you down and stops being so forthcoming, the genuine curiosity is sadly too strong for you to pull back. It’s not like you’ve ever had this much time around someone so secretive and mysterious as Mando, and there’s just too many pieces to this puzzle that you want to so desperately put together.

“So, why do you do it?”

“This is the—” he begins, but a chuff of air slips through your lips before he can finish speaking. “What?” He asks annoyingly, turning his body around to face you.

“I don’t know…” Your hands motion around you in an effort to find the right words. “I mean you did take off your helmet in front of me last night.”

“I did.” The words come out through gritted teeth.

“So, is the rule that you can’t take off the helmet or that you can’t show your face? Because there is a difference between the two.”

This must catch him off guard because Mando stays silent for a ridiculously long time. The two possibilities are that he’s considering what you’re saying—which you’re beginning to doubt, or he thinks you’re totally out of line and is choosing to ignore you. You have this bad habit of being pretty blunt and somewhat insensitive with the way you express yourself and that’s caused you some issues with others in the past, but it’s always gotten the results you wanted. Honestly, someone like Mando will probably have tough skin, so you’re pretty sure he can handle whatever you throw at him.

“When did this become an interrogation about what I choose and choose not to do?” He grumbles, resting his hands on his utility belt.

“Doesn’t really seem like you’re choosing…” you mumble under your breath, kicking the ground and keeping your eyes to the floor.

“What did you say?” He asks defensively, squaring his shoulders and then taking a step forward. Out of habit, you lean back further against the crate.

“I’m not trying to offend you,” you clarify, using the bottom of your foot to kick off the crate, and straightening your back. “I’m just trying to understand—”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re kinda stuck with each other for who knows how long, so we should take this time to get to know each other, don’t you think?” Raising an eyebrow at him, you rest your hands on your hips, waiting for him to either deflect or finally let his guard down and talk like two normal adults.

“I don’t see how that matters.”

Your jaw literally drops, completely dumbfounded. It during moments like this that you so desperately wish you could see what his facial expression is. Why does he continuously try to keep a distance between himself and every living thing in the galaxy? Is he scared of being vulnerable around someone else? That his reputation as a hardened Mandalorian warrior would be compromised if he so much as shared a tiny bit of information with you? Does he think a Mandalorian would come and strike him down for having his own opinion about his Creed? That questioning the only thing he knew since he was a child would be considered sacrilegious?

It’s pretty silly how worked up you’re getting right now, but the way Mando dismisses you, it stirs up that anger inside you that is so hard to control. He’s always pushing your buttons, just as you push his—only this time, you simply wanted to know a little more about him. Is that too much to ask for?

Do you continue to press him?

Do you let it go?

Announcing your defeat by drawling out a sigh, your hands drop to your sides, looking down at the ground because you can’t be bothered to look at him in the visor anymore. “All right, well I’m going to head up to the cockpit and um…” You try to come up with a quick excuse to leave the room as it’s becoming more and more awkward with each passing second, but unfortunately, nothing comes to mind. You result to turning on your heel and climbing up the ladder without another word, not bothering to wait and see if Mando comes up with something to say before you disappear.

Once you reach the doorway, the blues of hyperspace nearly blind you, and your hand comes up to give shade to your eyes as they adjust to the sudden change in brightness. You’ll need to find something to keep your mind occupied until you enter Coruscant airspace, because you’ll quite frankly drive yourself insane not doing anything, so you walk over to the control panel in front of Mando’s chair and begin running some diagnostics to see at what capacity the hyperdrive is operating at, see if there’s any leakage that you could fix inside the ship and any little thing that might need some maintenance. After running a few tests, you realize that unfortunately, Peli had fixed pretty much every little issue with the ship, so there really is nothing to fix in order to keep yourself busy.

Fuck.

Feeling defeated, you fall back onto your bum and sit on the cold floor, back leaning against one of the walls, resting your right arm on one of the passenger seats. You’ve always hated silence. With nothing to distract yourself with, your mind always ends up wandering, overanalyzing every little minute detail of your life, meticulously going over each moment in time and thinking of all the ways you could have done something different, how the choices you made were wrong, how things would be better off if you did x instead of y. It gnaws at you, until the only thing you feel like you can do to stop the voices inside your mind is to scream and lash out, causing pain to yourself and everyone around you.

Is this the work of the Dark Side or is it just your unstable mind?

Is it both—working together and tearing you apart from the inside out? Slowly picking your brain apart, section by section, nerve ending by nerve ending until all that’s left of you is the worthlessness of your existence, a make-up of atoms and tissue that can’t be controlled or understood?

Stars, you’re doing it again.

You can feel your mind retreating deeper and deeper into itself, wanting to disappear from all of this. Making yourself as small as you can, you pull your knees close to your chest, head dropping down between them while your palms rub the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair and clenching so hard you think you might end up ripping some right out of your head.

The harder you pull, the more anxious you become. Heartrate picking up steadily and the lump in your throat growing in size, it’s as if the space around you is screaming, that everything is spinning, which could explain all this anxiety you suddenly feel when in reality, it’s all just in your head. The cockpit is dead silent, there isn’t even the slightest sound coming from down in the hull. Everything is deafeningly still and yet you feel it’s all too loud, and you just want to scream. Scream until you feel your vocal cords explode or until there’s no air left in your lungs. Your body no longer feels like it’s yours, and instead it’s as if you’re just living inside of it, watching everything happen around you but not having any actual control over it.

Fuck fuck fuc kfuck fuck fuck

Being so wrapped up in your own mind, you don’t even hear Mando coming up the ladder. You don’t hear his heavy boots clanking against durasteel. You don’t even hear him speaking to you. All you feel is a presence and when you finally lull your head back and peek through heavy lids, you see Mando—on his fucking knees, trying to comfort you. One of his hands hovering over your figure like he’s not sure whether to touch you or not.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks as softly as he possibly can. It comes out smooth like honey but still sitting at a low register through his helmet.

“I’m fine,” you answer curtly, no longer feeling particularly chatty.

He sighs deep in his throat, and you can tell he wants to ask you again, maybe hoping he’ll get the truth this time, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a step back and sits down on the chair opposite the one you’re closest to and stays as silent as a statue. While normally you appreciate the company, right now you want to be left alone, but you don’t have the heart to tell him to leave. So, you stay where you are, both acting like the other isn’t there.

As time ebbs on, your breathing has slows down. Mando being there—despite not saying anything, has you distracted. Your mind’s starting to settle on what’s going on at the present time, rather than all the thoughts that clawed at you just minutes ago. Without even realizing it, he’s helped you significantly.

“How old are you?”

Taken aback by his sudden engagement in conversation, you lean into the wall behind you and feel your shoulders touch the cold durasteel.

“Sorry?” you ask, pulling your eyebrows closely together. This might be the first time he’s ever asked you something personal. When Mando asks a question, it’s usually because he’s searching for clarification, not because he’s genuinely curious.

“How old are you?” He repeats.

You tell him your age and he hums in his throat.

“What about you?”

Something like a chuckle emits from his helmet before answering. “Older than you.”

That’s as close to an actual answer as you’ll get from him.

Okay, since you’re back to asking trivial questions about each other, “Is there anything you like to do for fun?”

“Fun?” He echoes.

“Yeah. Like, what do you do for enjoyment?”

He stays silent for much longer than you expected. Maker, does he not know how to have fun? Maybe it’s the way you worded the question?

“What brings you pleasure?”

His head turns to you and cocks ever so slowly to the side. It’s impossible to hide the annoyance on your face. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest, a chuff of air releases from your nostrils.

“Forget it.”

“I…don’t know,” he answers somewhat defeatedly. The idea that Mando doesn’t know what having fun is comes as quite a shock to you. Even though you didn’t have much knowledge on Mandalorians, you didn’t expect that they were unable to have fun.

“Okay, forget that question. What’s your favorite color?”

“Who has a favorite color?”

“People, Mando. People have favorite colors.”

“I don’t.” Letting out a gentle laugh, you use the palms of your hands to push against the floor and rise off the ground, slipping into the chair you were leaning on previously. Turning your body in the direction of the Mandalorian sitting across from you, you sit cross legged.

“There isn’t a color that you gravitate towards? One you look at and think, ‘I like that’?”

“I suppose I never thought of it.”

He’s been missing out on so much. How he’s been going through life without having these mundane preferences or opinions on things is…almost unfathomable. Every person you’ve ever met has had these frivolous details that made them different, giving you an insight into their personalities but Mando has no preference on anything. He just…exists.

“I’m assuming you have one?” he asks through the modulator.

“Yellow,” you begin to say. “But not a flashy kind of yellow, more like a dusty, pale yellow.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is that your favorite color?”

“I don’t know, Mando,” you answer with a smile on your face. “I just like how it looks. It’s warm and inviting.”

“Hmmm.”

“I guess… It reminds me of the sun. Back home, the sun would shine so bright, and it was so big. I used to stare at it even though my mother warned me not do that.”

He doesn’t say anything more but given that this might be the longest casual conversation you two have ever had, it’s quite the improvement from just saying a couple words to each other.

“Why do you always wear your armor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We’re in hyperspace right now and you’re geared up for battle. Doesn’t it get uncomfortable always wearing your armor? Isn’t it heavy?”

“It is heavy.”

Eyebrows knitting tightly together, your lips press into a thin line, unamused by Mando dancing around your question.

“Are… Are you not even allowed to at least take off your armor in front of another person?”

“I never thought about it. I’m usually alone so it makes sense to keep it on; in case.”

“In case what? We’re not going to get attacked in hyperspace.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Seriously, Mando. You need to loosen up a bit.”

“I do not need to ‘loosen up’. I’m fine,” he says, a hint of derision in his voice.

“Says the guy in full body armor all the time.”

“It’s practical.”

“Oh, it’s practical,” you mock, a grin creeping up on your lips.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re fucking someone?” You remark, eyebrow raised.

The visor burns into you. He’s definitely caught off guard by your brass question. Your lips curl into a sly smile, your tongue darting across your bottom lip.

“No one’s complained about it.”

Oh.

It’s kind of silly how angry that statement makes you. Okay, not necessarily angry but it definitely stirs something deep inside you. It’s clear by the way he fucked you last night that you weren’t his first—he’s obviously experienced in that area. However, you can’t help the way your jaw clenches at the thought of someone else crying out his name while he fucks them senseless.

You’re mine.

Thighs rubbing together as you remember Mando’s confession from last night, it’s quickly replaced by the thought of him saying that to someone else. Has he said that to anyone else? Are you reading into this too much? What if the only reason he said it was because it was in the heat of the moment? People say things during intimacy that they don’t necessarily mean… You’re definitely overthinking things, right?

“What are you thinking?” He beckons, voice hitting that part inside of you that nearly has you fucking moaning on the spot. How can a voice be so intoxicating? It’s not even his true voice, it’s distorted and cuts up like static but it has you nearly soaked in your seat.

“Nothing,” you lie, hoping he’ll drop the subject and move on.

He doesn’t.

“You’re quiet and from what I can tell, your heat signature’s gone up.”

Your what? “My heat sig—? No, your helmet must be malfunctioning.”

“Oh,” he rises from his seat slowly, squaring his shoulders as he does but doesn’t take a step towards you. He stays painstaking still, visor never once breaking away from you. “Is that right?”

Stars. Your heartbeat is picking up, palms starting to sweat, and your throat is beginning to close up. Your eyes maintain their gaze, trying to regain some kind of control over the situation. It’s childish, really—always attempting to have even the slightest amount of authority over whatever situation you’re put in with Mando because you never actually have any control. He may fool you into thinking you do, but at the end of the day, Mando is always the one in control.

“Your heat signature is burning up, pretty girl,” he taunts.

Kriff, this is not going the way you want it to go. You can’t be the only one looking foolish right now. If he wants to play the game, you can play it too, and you’ll make damn sure you play it better.

Looking him up and down trying to pinpoint any indication that he may not be as calm and collected as he’s playing off, your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants. As your vision pierces into him, you notice him shift his weight slightly, his hands balled tightly into fists by his sides.

“Why so tense, Mando?”

“I’m not—”

“Oh,” you echo his words from just minutes ago. Slowly slipping out of the chair, you stand to face him, squaring your shoulders. Pleasure heats up deep in your stomach, travelling down to the apex of your thighs, reminding you of how sore you actually are. “Is that right?”

“Stop that,” he warns. You got him.

“Not doing anything,” your voice sounding as innocent as you can while your eyes convey the opposite. You want him to know that you won’t give in so easily.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Do—” he starts but quickly composes himself. Craning his neck, his next words drip out of him slowly. “Drive me crazy.”

“Any of your other friends ever drive you crazy?”

Okay, that was a low blow, but you can’t shake the thought from your mind. For Maker’s sake, you’re an adult. Obviously he’s had lovers before, why is this so hard for you to accept? It’s not like you guys are together, you’re simply stuck with each other for the time being. Not only that, but you’ve had your fair share of men. He doesn’t seem to be jealous about that.

I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you.

“Mmm, are you… jealous?”

“Maker, no.” Lie.

“Then why are your cheeks red?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkfuck

Why does your face always have to give you away? You can play sabacc with the best deadpan expression in the galaxy, but right now you can’t even hide your resentment. How is Mando able to get under your skin and expose your every emotion, every thought? He pulls it out of you and basically presents it to you on a fucking platter.

“Because you annoy the shit out of me.”

“Your body is telling me otherwise.”

“Stop cheating! I can’t read your body heat, that’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair.”

All right, if this is how he wants to play, you’ll just have to be bolder. Taking a deep breath and exhaling through parted lips, your left foot moves forward, taking one big stride towards Mando, stopping just inches from his breastplate. You can practically feel his own heat vibrating off of him. His fists tighten even more, and you swear you can hear his breathing quicken, cutting up in the helmet.

“You’re not the only one who can play games, Mando.”

He makes a noise in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a groan. Stars, the air is getting thick, you’re all but drunk on this feeling. Your undergarments are stuck to your pussy, drenched with slick, waiting for someone to make the first move. The blood is pounding in your ears, but you try to maintain the best stony stare you can muster. This is a fight you’re not willing to lose. You bite down on your bottom lip, staring into the ‘T’ of his helmet through hooded lids. His chest pushes out slightly and his head angles to the side, just enough for you to see the underneath of his jaw. There’s some stubble poking out from the bottom of his helmet, and you lick your lips at the sight. Wanting to put your lips to his jawline and trail wet kisses along it, gently sucking at his skin. Maker, you might end up losing this if you don’t compose yourself.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice hoarse and low.

“For you to lose,” your answer is honest. You want him to break down and give in, just to give you the slightest bit of power.

Mando lets out this sound, a joyful sound you’ve only heard once or twice before but it nearly throws you for a loop. Hearing him laugh, even if it’s quick and low, fills you up with the greatest amount of delight. To see someone who’s always stoic and serious let out a sound of pure pleasure, it makes up for all the times he purposely chooses to get under your skin. All the moments he infuriates you, it all goes away with the sound of his laugh.

At this moment, you’re grateful that his face is covered because you definitely would have crushed your lips together by now. His helmet actually works to your advantage, holding you back from doing the one thing you would have otherwise done by now.

“I’m not touching you,” he whispers. It sounds less like a statement to you and more like a reminder to himself. He’s fighting his urges just as much as you are, but you will continue to fight this until he breaks, he has to break.

“Then don’t.”

All of sudden, you both hear a disturbance coming from the hull. The kid must be getting into trouble down there.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell him, choosing not to wait for Mando to say anything in return before making your way to the ladder of the cockpit. Fighting the urge to take one last look at him before disappearing down the rungs, you head down to the hull and see Grogu rummaging through the various crates placed around the Crest. Once he sees you, he shows you a big toothy grin and runs straight for you, arms stretched out. You bend down and pick him up, holding him close to your chest.

“Hey, kiddo. What trouble are you getting yourself into down here?”

Grogu babbles something at you and you smile in return. A small grumble, something like an animal growling, comes from the baby’s stomach and his ears droop down.

“Hungry, little guy? Let’s see what we got for you.”

Walking down the hull with the kid in your arms, you stop at the small closest Mando keeps his ration packs. There aren’t many packs left, just enough to hold all three of you down until you land on Coruscant. After that, you’ll need to buy some more packs. Grabbing one of the packages and a bowl from one of the shelves, you prop the kid on one of the smaller crates and begin emptying the contents of the pack in the durasteel dish.

It’s a dark green looking blob. Quite frankly, you hate ration packs. They always look like food that’s been mashed together into a jelly bar and even despite the fact that once you add water to it so that it actually looks like food, just the sight of it in its raw form is enough to ruin your appetite. The kid doesn’t care about all that though; he’d eat anything you give him. Back on Sorgan, you had seen him eat a frog whole—just swallowed it without even a second thought. It was impressive and yet totally gross at the same time.

Leaving him on the box momentarily, you walk over to the sink in the privy and let a few droplets of water touch the blob in the bowl. Within seconds, the bar transforms into a small bread roll. It’ll hopefully be enough to tie him down for a few hours.

Passing by the ladder, you call out to Mando. “Hey, I’m about to feed the kid. Do you want to come down for a meal?”

“Not hungry. Thank you,” you hear him answer. He never eats with you two. Given that he needs to take off his helmet in order to feed himself, he chooses to wait until you’re both asleep or nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t stop you from asking each time. Part of it is so that he feels included but mostly you hope that one day he’ll choose to sit with you both. One day, you think to yourself.

When you hand the bowl over to Grogu gently, he takes it with both hands and begins eating the bread like it’s the first meal he’s ever had. Your brows pull tightly together as you watch him devour his food. For such a small creature, he sure eats like a bantha. He could probably eat for a whole day without stopping to catch his breath.

It’ll never seize to amaze you just how strong this little guy is. He’s so tiny and somehow, he possesses a power stronger than you could ever really understand. This is the same kid that saved Mando’s life from a mudhorn. This is the kid that swallowed a whole frog that was half his size. A child this small is somehow a Jedi.

Once he’s done eating, he peers up at you with big, black eyes and coos at you.

“Nah, I’m not hungry right now, kid,” you answer as if you understand what he’s saying to you. Then again��maybe you can understand him.

Ahsoka said she and Grogu could feel each other’s thoughts. You should be able to do the same, right? Granted you have no training in the matter, but you were able to communicate with him once, surely you could do it again.

Your hand reaches out to him and you hook a finger around his hand. He grips around your index and squeezes you tenderly. Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what he could be thinking, what he might be trying to tell you. At first, you don’t hear or see anything—just darkness. A part of you wants to give up, nothing that it was worth a shot anyway, but you choose to press on. Focusing hard on Grogu, you relax the tension in your shoulders and take a deep breath, exhaling through your lips.

By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind…

A woman’s voice fills your mind, but you can’t make out any of her features. Focus, you tell yourself.

You are as its father.

A Mandalorian. She looks different than Mando. Her helmet looks to be made of gold, with horns erecting from the very top. Her armor appeared to be different as well. Unlike Mando’s shiny, chrome beskar, her cuirass is a reddish brown and instead of a cape, she wears a fur coat on her back. Immediately, you got the impression she’s a warrior of her own nature, just as cunning as Mando, but in a swifter, more agile way, unlike Mando’s brash style of battle.

Just as the moment appeared, it vanished, filling your mind with images of sand dunes. Suddenly, you’re back in Mos Eisley. Only this time, you’re much younger, playing on the outskirts of the city with Tye.

--

“Tye, I’m tired,” you whine out to him. He’s running around the sand, punting a ball at you and then taking it away when you opt not to kick it back to him.

“Oh come on, we have to head back soon anyway. Just a little bit longer.”

It’s hard to hide your disappointment. Really, you just want to be inside. Today is such a blazingly hot day, and water is at its peak in scarcity. Most folks will be inside all day, avoiding the scorching heat. Less time outdoors means less water consumed, but Tye never listens to what he’s told. He does whatever he wants and drags you along with him and unfortunately, you have a hard time saying no to him, so you’re almost always roped into his shenanigans.

“Tyyyyyyye,” you drawl out. “I want to go inside! It’s too hot!”

Just as you say that a giant spacecraft enters the atmosphere, covering the entire surrounding area in shadows. You look up at the giant structure in awe. You’ve never seen a spacecraft so grand before, jaw dropping as you watch two smaller vessels appear from the hovering fortress above your heads. They drop down a little less than a click away. By now, Tye is at your side, both of you watching men in white uniforms exit the ships, charging towards your direction. An immediate fear washes over you, grabbing Tye’s wrist and running to hide behind a nearby moisture vaporator. Your heart is racing, and you feel Tye’s own panic coursing through your veins.

“Wh-what’s going on?” He whispers, voice shaking as he speaks.

“I don’t know…”

The men pass you by, not even taking a second to look around them. Their heads stay glued to what’s in front of them, hands gripping onto giant guns you’ve never seen before. Just as fast as they came, they disappear into the city. Screams and shrieks suddenly break out. People scatter, running out of the city walls in mass hysteria. Your legs itch to run, to find your parents, but Tye senses your urgency and grabs your forearm.

“We have to stay.”

“But—”

He whispers your name. “We don’t know who those people are. We’re safer here.”

Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as the screams of the villagers echo through the city walls, causing you to wince. Tye wraps his arms around you, and you embrace each other, weeping silently in each other’s arms, praying to the Maker that these soldiers leave. The sound of Tye repeating, “It’s okay. We’re okay,” echoing in your mind.

It’s only when the sun begins to set that the town becomes quiet. The spacecrafts are gone, leaving no trace that they were even here. Your eyes are swollen from the tears, and you feel overwhelmingly exhausted. Body still shaking, burning off adrenaline and fear. Standing up is difficult, your knees are buckling but the need to see your parents is stronger than the quaking of your legs. You wake Tye up by shaking his shoulder gently.

“They’re gone. We have to head back.”

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms. At first it doesn’t seem like he fully understands you, but when he looks up and doesn’t see the ship from before, he all but jumps up, dusting the sand off his clothes and charging right into the city.

“Tye! Wait up!” You shout after him, but he doesn’t relent. Taking large strides, you attempt to catch up with him, running past weeping elders, hysterical children, and what appears to be dead bodies all around you. Your mind doesn’t allow you to process what you’re seeing, you’re just too focused on catching up with Tye and then finding your parents.

His name being called in the distance stops him dead in his tracks.

“Mama! Papa!” He cries out, pivoting around in hopes to see someone he knows. When you finally manage to catch up to him, his mother appears from the shadows, tears streaming down her face. From the faint streetlights, her cheeks are dark red, and her eyes are just as swollen as you assume yours are.

“Sweetheart!” She shouts as she races to you both, wrapping you up in her arms and squeezing you until the air is all but knocked out of your lungs. It hurts, but you hold on to her anyway, feeling her warm, motherly touch.

“Where’s Papa?” He asks in the crook of his mother’s neck. Tye’s voice is hoarse from crying and yelling, and she attempts to soothe him by gently shushing him.

“It’s okay, son. We’re okay.”

“I have to get home,” you say, pulling away from her grip.

“Honey…”

The look on her face… you’ll never forget it. Tears welling up in her eyes, her jaw slacking because she wants to say something but not knowing how to say it. The pain you see in her green eyes, it’s like she’s just watched a loved one die right in front of her. Fear and anguish hit you in waves, crashing down on you more aggressively with every second that goes by.

“No…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Taking a step away from her, her arm reaches out to you.

“Sweetie…” she tries again.

Shaking your head in panic, you turn on your heel in one swift movement and disappear down one of the quieter streets and make for your home. As you race in the direction of your dwelling, your heart bangs against your ribcage, tears flying down your cheeks. You can’t even see where you’re going due to the water in your eyes, but you keep trekking on. Nothing’s going to stop you. Throat unbearably tight, you can barely let in little breaths as you turn the corner to where you live.

When you reach the street, you stop so suddenly that you almost tumble down on the ground, somehow managing to catch yourself at the last moment, your breathing ridiculously erratic. There’s a horde of adults crowding the front door to where you live. Your feet carry you to them at a painstakingly slow pace. Blood pounding in your ears, you can barely make out what anyone is saying. When someone finally catches sight of you, they rush towards you, dropping down to their knees to meet your eye level.

“Sweetie, we can’t let you go in there.”

“But t-t-that’s my h-ho-me,” you manage to say through shaky breaths.

“I know, but we ca—”

You push passed them before they can finish speaking and dart passed several other people trying to stop you until you squeeze through the half-open door into your house, pressing a button on the control panel by the doorway. The door hisses shut.

There’s only a bit of light offered inside. To your left, you see the table you’d sit at with your parents for supper. The chairs are tucked neatly under the table. You’re not sure if the banging you hear is from someone outside trying to get in, or if it’s your heart thumping against your chest but it doesn’t deter you from searching for your parents.

As you continue to scan the area, there’s a couple of cups lying around on the counter, but other than that, nothing is out of place. Relief begins to settle in but is rapidly replaced by sheer terror when you finally shift your head to the right. Then, you see them.

Your parents lying face down on the floor.

“No!” You cry out, running to them and dropping to your knees to hover over their bodies.

There’s a blaster sized hole in your father’s back, heat still steaming off his wound. Your screams could be heard from the other end of the city, clutching onto their lifeless bodies as you beg for them to wake up.

“Please, wake up. Mama, Papa. P-please!”

Someone pulls you off of them, wrapping their arms around your torso. Your arms flail around, clawing and scratching at whoever’s holding onto you. “Let me go! My parents! Let me go!” Your voice is shrill and hoarse, becoming more hysterical, but they never let go. Your parents become smaller and smaller as you’re carried away from them. The last thing you remember is seeing the door to your home whoosh shut…

Your body jolts, and you’re not on Tatooine, anymore. You’re on the Razor Crest. Grogu sits just a foot away from you, peering up at your shivering body. Somehow, you exposed a memory you had sworn to never remember. After that day, you locked that memory up in a part of your brain and shut it off, choosing never to think about it again. The pain was too much for you to handle. Instead of facing your pain, you always chose to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist. Once again, compartmentalizing your trauma and locking it away for good.

Grogu fusses and when you look down to him, his eyes begin to flutter. Poor thing gets so sleepy whenever he messes with the Force. You pick him up and hold him close to your chest, making your way to Mando’s bunk. As you pass the ladder, the kid fusses and makes grabby hands for the ladder.

“You want Mando?” You ask him, and Grogu babbles in response.

Climbing the ladder with him in your arms is a bit difficult, but you’re able to get to the top without too much of a struggle.

“He wants to be with you,” you tell him.

Mando swivels his chair around to face you. Extending his arms out to you, you hand Grogu over to him and your hands briefly touch. The brushing of your hands suddenly reminds you of the game you were in the middle of playing just before the kid decided to explore the cargo hold.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Turning on your heel, you head down the ladder quickly. How is it that over the course of just a few hours, you could go through so much emotional turmoil? Honestly, you haven’t even been awake for that long, but you’re already wanting to take a nap.

Fuck it, there’s nothing else to go in this hunk of metal, and Mando’s probably busy with the kid, so you decide to let your body rest. Crawling into the little cubby hole and shutting the door closed, you close your eyes and hope your body will allow you some peace of mind.

--

You’re reminded of why you hate naps so much when you wake up. Instead of feeling refreshed, you always end up feeling much worse. First off, you always wake up in a cold sweat and feeling super groggy. Quite frankly, it does the exact opposite of what you hoped a nap would do. Secondly? Mando’s cot is unbearably hard. It shouldn’t be considered a bed; it resembles more like duracrete than anything else. As much as you like finally being able to sleep not sitting up in that kriffing passenger chair, this is another struggle of its own.

Pushing the button on the control panel by the door, it opens with a swift motion. The first thing you clock is that the Crest’s lights are almost all out, making it damn near impossible for you to even see your hand in front of your face. How in the hell is Mando able to walk around here not being able to see a single thing? The second thing you notice is the sound of running water. He must be taking a sanisteam.

To think that just on the other side of that wall, he’s naked and wet? If it were anybody else, you’d strip out of your clothes and join them, but things aren’t that simple with Mando. There are boundaries you wouldn’t dare cross unless he gives you his consent. Rather than frustrate you, it entices you even more. It keeps you wanting more and more, especially because he can’t just give you everything you want, whenever you want. No, you have to work for it.

Realizing that now you’re basically just standing outside the fresher like a creep, you head up to the cockpit in search of the kid. Just like you suspected, he’s sound asleep in one of the passengers’ chairs, wrapped up in what looks to be Mando’s cape. The thought of Mando taking off his cape to wrap Grogu up makes you stupidly giddy.

Treading carefully as to not make any noise to wake him up, you tiptoe back to the ladder and shut the cockpit door, your feet barely touching the rungs as you descend back down to the hull.

Something in your stomach growls, and you’re suddenly reminded that you haven’t eaten since… yesterday? Kriff, has it really been that long since your last meal? You head over to the pantry where the packs are kept, extending your arms out in front of you so you don’t bang into anything on your way there, and grab the first pack your hand touches, not having a preference as to what you’ll be eating today—tonight? You don’t even know what time of the day it is. Time in hyperspace can be difficult to keep track of. The only way you’d know what time it is is if you checked the control panel back up in the cockpit and right now, it’s just not worth the trip.

The pack itself feels sloshy in your hands; it’s probably some kind soup. Reaching into the closet again, your hand searches for a bowl to put your meal in.

Mando will be out of the fresher at any moment now, given that the water’s been turned off for a minute or two. The door to the fresher wooshes open and out of reflex, you shut your eyes but are quickly reminded that the hull is so faintly lit that even with your eyes open you wouldn’t be able to see him, but just to be safe, you announce your presence.

“I heard you,” is all you hear back.

“Can you turn the lights on a little bit more? I can barely see a thing and I really don’t feel like dropping my soup all over your ship.”

He doesn’t answer but within seconds the Crest transforms from a dark abyss to a twinkling, starry night. Not unlike the ones you’d spend hours staring at with Tye in the sand dunes during your teenage years.

Your head spins to your left, selfishly hoping to catch a sight of Mando, and Maker do your eyes latch onto him.

He’s not wearing a shirt, first of all. This is the most of his skin that you’ve ever seen before. The warm lights flickering off his back accentuates the curves of his muscles, concaving in certain areas and then protruding in others, outlining every bit of toned tissue. You can vaguely make out a few water droplets trailing down his golden skin, and it’s seriously taking all the self-control you have not to close the gap between you both and lick them off his back. An ache begins to build in the apex of your thighs, and you start to rub your legs together in an effort to alleviate some of the heat stirring inside you. Still wearing the kriffing helmet, though.

The second thing you notice is the vast amount of scarring on his skin. Each scar representing a different battle. You could probably lay him flat on his stomach, and his back would appear like a visual biography of his life, each mark giving you an understanding into his past, and the tests and trials he’s had to overcome over the years.

What were you trying to do, again?

Food.

You need food.

“Do you—” you squeak. Pull yourself together. Clearing your throat in hopes your tone will go back down to its normal octave, you repeat yourself. “Do you want any soup?”

“No t—” he begins to say but you cut him off before he can finish. You knew he’d say he wasn’t hungry.

“Have you eaten today?” Your eyes stay glued to the bowl in front of you. You’re certain that if you so much as looked at him again, you’d forget about the damned soup and pounce on him like loth cat.

“No.”

“Then you’re eating.”

Taking a second bowl from the shelf, you divide the soup evenly between both cups and begin making your way over to Mando, keeping your head down in the off chance he’s still not wearing a shirt, you don’t want to seem like you’re gawking at him.

“You can look,” he clarifies, noting the way you refuse to look up from ground.

When your eyes finally shift from the ground to look at him, he’s now wearing a black long-sleeved tunic that hugs his figure in ways that should be illegal. Your jaw is practically hanging and swallowing the lump in your throat causes a sound somewhere close to a moan to expel from your mouth, but you’re quick enough to stifle it with a cough.

As you hand him the bowl of soup, you’re feeling incredibly shy for some reason, your hand extending out and trembling as he takes it from you.

“I’ll eat in the cockpit to give you some privacy,” you tell him as you put your hand on the railing.

“No,” he says immediately, grabbing your forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay.”

Lips curling upwards into a smile, you end up biting down on your bottom lip to keep the smile from growing and growing as you replay that in your mind.

Stay.

Moving away from the ladder, Mando pulls out one of the smaller crates and seats himself down on it. As you begin to look around for another box you could sit on yourself, he watches you closely.

“You can sit here, if you want.”

“Oh, okay.”

Once you’re seated, you begin to take small sips of your soup. Mando reaches over to where his vambrace is—scattered somewhere on another crate and presses a button on it. The Crest’s lights fade even more, leaving you both in almost complete darkness.

A muffled hiss fills the air, and you hear beskar touch the durasteel ground. You eat in silence for a few minutes, hearing only each other’s sips as you continue to fill your bellies with food. It’s incredibly domestic. A Mandalorian and a…well you’re not really sure what you should label yourself as, but you’ll stick with smuggler for now; the two of you eating together like an actual couple—even if that’s far from what your relationship actually is.

“No amour?” You decide to ask, trying to make a bit of small talk in the pitch-black abyss.

“Someone told me I had to ‘loosen up’,” he jests, knocking his elbow against your arm. Maker, you’ll never get tired of hearing that unmodulated voice of his. Something as simple of a voice shouldn’t make you feel the way it does. For a man who kills for a living, he speaks with such a gentle intonation.

It’s such a juxtaposition, really. In full body armor, Mando is definitely one of the most feared hunters in the galaxy. He’ll kill if something threatens his life or the kid’s life. Impossible to read, impossible to predict. But right now? He’s the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him. No helmet, no amour. His guard is as down as you’ve ever seen and is willing himself to be naked with you, even if he’s still fully clothed. How you were able to find yourself in this situation is something you might never be able to fully understand, but it is truly the greatest gift you could have ever been given.

“I’m sorry about before,” you whispers, feeling guilty about how you approached the question about his helmet. “I didn’t mean to pressure you about your Creed.”

It’s not fair for you to come down so hard on him. You might not understand why he chooses to live his life with such restrictions, but it really isn’t any of your business.

“It’s fine.”

You still feel angry with yourself for acting the way you did, but if Mando says it’s fine, the last thing you’ll do is continue your self-loathing and make him feel uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Taking the last sip of soup and feeling satisfied with your meal, you push yourself to your feet. “Are you finished?” you ask him.

“Yes, thank you.”

You search aimlessly in the dark for a moment in search of his dish and accidentally knock the bowl right out of his hand, hearing it tumble on the ground.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse, dropping to your knees in search for it. While frantically searching for the dish, you feel his hand caress the small of your back, sending shivers through your spine.

You’re starting to feel pretty flustered, the fact that you’re both in the darkness doesn’t help. There’s no way of anticipating what could happen and that’s exhilarating and unnerving. Of course, you eventually find the bowl and Mando’s hand disappears from your back once you get back on your feet.

Walking over to the pantry where the ration packs are, you place the bowls on the shelf, making a mental reminder to wash them later. Just as you’re about to turn around and head back to where you think Mando is, you suddenly feel a presence behind you. Two hands grip onto either side of your hips and he presses his body against yours, pushing you right up against the little closet. A moan escapes your lips without even realizing it, and you can feel his hot breath tickle the crook of your neck.

“I’ve wanted to touch you all fucking day,” he growls in your ear.

Holy Maker, the heat in your stomach is somehow already becoming too much. You’re basically panting, the blood in your ears is almost deafening.

“I’ve been watching the way you’re walking. Did I hurt you? Do you still feel me?”

“Stars,” you breathe out.

Mando presses his lips to your skin, sending shockwaves through your entire core. You can feel his stubble prick your neck and it’s everything you didn’t know you craved. It feels deliciously rough.

Your hands brace themselves against the door, it’s the only way you can keep yourself upright. Knees already buckling, feeling the heat pooling from your cunt and drenching your underwear with slick. One of his hands begin to trail away from your hip and trace the waistband to your trousers. Instead of teasing you though, his hand wastes no time pushing passed your pants and panties, finding his way down to your cunt and cupping it with such force you jerk forwards, groaning as his hand finds your clit.

“Already so wet for me.”

Fingers leaving your bud, he slides them between your folds, gathering your slick on his calloused fingertips and then he’s shoving a thick finger deep inside you. His free hand flies to your throat, applying slight pressure with his thumb and index on that sweet spot underneath your jawline.

“Fuck,” you cry out brokenly. It doesn’t fill you up nearly as much as his cock does, but the way he moves inside of you, hitting that spot inside you no one has ever touched, marking it as his, causes you to see fucking stars.

Mando nips at your neck, alternating between sloppy kisses and bites hard enough to cause bruises, you can already feel an orgasm stirring inside you. You clench around his digit, feeling yourself climb higher and higher.

“Are you already close?” He mutters in between kisses and nibbles.

“Shit, fuck I-I think so.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his soft, damp locks and pulling hard, causing Mando to groan in your ear and buck his hips into yours. You can feel the outline of his rock-hard rock against your ass, and you grind into him, feeling his length burrow between your cheeks. You’re so close to your climax already.

Without missing a beat, he pulls out of you and his hand disappears from between your thighs.

“W-why?”

Grabbing your hips, he flips you around to face him.

“Up,” he instructs.

You linger there for a moment, unsure of what he’s asking you to do. When you don’t move, his hands grab onto your waist and lift you off the ground without so much of a groan. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms cross around the back of his neck, your head leaning on his shoulder. He walks over to the little bunk in the corner of the hull and lowers you onto the mattress gently, being mindful not to hit your head on the small doorway.

Feeling your heart pound against your ribcage, the thrill of not being able to see him at all and not having a clue as to what he’ll do next, it’s incredibly sensual. Your legs unwrap themselves from his waist and dangle off the edge of the cot. His hands trail up to the waistband of your pants and tugs them down off your ass. Lifting your hips up to help him, he takes them—along with your underwear, off and you hear them thump to the floor.

Hands returning to your skin, he hooks thems under your calves and lifts them up so your bent at the knees, feet resting on the edge of the bunk.

The anticipation is getting to you. He continues to take his agonizingly sweet time running the tips of fingers on your naked skin, causing you to shiver and goosebumps to form on your skin. Lifting one of your legs and placing it over his shoulders, he peppers kisses from your ankle all the way to your inner thigh and repeats the same taunt with the other leg. Both of them now resting on his shoulders, he drops to his knees in front of you. Suddenly feeling nervous, you try to close your legs and end up squeezing his head by accident.

“Shit, sorry,” you whisper, propping yourself on your elbows.

“Shhh,” he hushes, placing a large hand on your sternum and pushing you back down on the cot gingerly, and then his lips are on your skin again, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites all over your inner thighs, slowly getting closer to your throbbing pussy but never getting close enough to relieve the pressure building.

“Mando, please,” you whimper.

“Do I have to gag you?”

Shit… How is he able to make that sound so fucking hot?

“I’m going to take care of you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?” His voice is gentle but commanding.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Good girl.”

His tongue glides over your clit and there’s no controlling the moan that rips through you. Pulling away immediately, Mando stands up and presses his body into yours, his mouth merely inches away from yours, his large hand cupping just underneath your jaw.

“What did I say, pretty girl?”

You can feel his hot breath on your lips. If you just moved even the littlest bit forward, your lips would meet his. Licking your lips, you wrench your eyes shut to keep you from closing the gap.

“To be quiet,” you manage to say through ragged breaths.

“So be quiet,” he hisses, feeling his teeth sink into your bottom lip for just a second and then his weight is off you, returning to your thighs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned over his shoulders. Now, he wastes no time lapping you up, flicking your clit with his tongue with such a mind-blowing rhythm you have to throw your arm over your mouth and bite down on your skin to keep from making any noise. Mando never relents, developing the perfect torture. He plays with your bud then practically shoves his entire fucking face in your cunt, pushing his tongue inside you as far as it can go. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to bubble up to the surface, threatening to burst. It’s all too much, your body starts to shake from the sensations.

You’re close, you’re so fucking close. Dropping your arm to your side, your voice hoarse from stifling all your cries, you’re somehow able to find the strength to say, “I’m gonna come.”

“No,” is all he answers.

No?

“W-w-what?”

“Hold it,” he says hastily, then continues his assault on your pussy.

How in kriffing hell are you supposed to hold it? You’re basically already there and he’s denying you it. You can’t hold on; you can’t stop it.

“I c-can’t,” you confess.

And then he stops. His tongue leaves you, his hands leave your skin, and you’re left there on the bed, legs hanging off the cot, chest heaving from being so fucking close and then being denied at the very last second.

“What the fuck?” You ask breathlessly, a hint of anger but mostly disappointment in your tone.

You hear him make a noise and then something wet trickles down your clit down to your entrance. It’s…sticky and warm. Did he just spit on you?

Lifting your legs back up and letting your feet balance on the very edge of the bunk, his cock rubs against you, angling the tip of himself to slide between your folds, mixing your slick, his spit and precome all over his length and you. Mando continues to tease you, lining himself up with your entrance but never sheathing himself inside you. It’s driving you fucking insane, even angling your hips whenever he does, hoping he’ll lose his self-control and plunge into you, but it only spurs him on. He knows how much it’s annoying you and he’s fucking thriving on it.

“If you don’t start fucking me soon…” you warn.

Mando actually laughs at you, like this is all a big joke to him. Anger begins to mix with your arousal, this is maddening. Why won’t he just fuck you already?

All of a sudden, he slams into you with so much power, you actually slide up the cot, and you wail feeling so fucking full and tight, your cry filling the small space you’re in. You’re still sore from the night before and feeling him stretch your walls again is almost unbearable, but it feels too fucking good. You’ll take every fucking inch of him without a single complaint. Then, just as your pussy begins to acclimate to him, he pulls out, hiking your shirt up just enough for him to grab onto your naked waist and pulling you back down closer to him.

“Mando!”

He leans over you once again, a hand cradles the back of your head while his thumb rubs your cheek tenderly. “If this gets to be too much, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Letting out a deep breath through your lips, you nod.

“Words.”

“I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Good.”

Thrusting his hips against you, his cock continues to grind along your slit, making you dizzy from both the lack of touch and the taunting of his cock against you.

“Maker, you’re so fucking wet. You sure you didn’t come?”

Words aren’t something you’re capable of forming so you’re stuck resorting to answering him with broken sobs. Practically writhing from all the overstimulation and lack of, from him toying with you, the pressure in your cunt actually fucking hurts, you’re nearly begging for some release. Adding onto the fact that you can’t see a fucking thing, it heightens all your other senses. They compensate for your lack of vision; everything feels so much more intense than you ever could have imagined.

No one could ever drive you to the brink of madness and pull you back in at the last second. No one could possibly make you feel so satisfied yet deprived. You’re convinced you’ve traveled the galaxy in search of him, that your soul was missing a piece so small, you didn’t even know it was missing until Mando filled that void. He’s etched into your skin, your bones, your veins. Every nerve ending tissue has been electrified by this enigma of a man. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill those who’d try to come between him and his clan.

Kriff, you’re drained already. He hasn’t even begun to fuck you, but waves of exhaustion are coming over you. Mando’s still fucking teasing you, only ever prodding the tip of himself inside you and then pulling away before he can truly fill you up.

He said if this became too much for you to handle, all you had to do was say the word and he’d stop. You’re starting to consider it; you don’t think you can handle much more of the slow torture he’s inflicting.

Just as your jaw slackens, he slams into you in a sift motion, fully immersing himself inside your swollen walls.

“Fuck!” You pant out, wrenching your eyes shut and feeling tears trinkle down your cheeks. Mando doesn’t move one bit, just sits inside you like he’s waiting for you to adjust yourself to the size of him.

“Shit, you’re tight. Gonna train that pretty cunt of yours to mold to my cock,” he grits out. Big hands hold you down by the waist, and he ever so slooooowly eases out of you only to ram into you again, all the way to the hilt. You’re seeing stars, every move, every thrust bringing you closer to euphoria. The only thing your mind can process is how fucking amazing it feels to be clenched around his cock. It’s mind bending, it’s intoxicating, you’ll never get used to the way he fucking tortures you.

He develops a downright brutal pace, pulling out just enough for his tip to pierce your walls and then pounding into you, growling every time he touches your cervix. Once he’s fully immersed inside you, he bucks his hips and practically jackhammers his cock inside you. A sheen of sweat covering both your bodies causes the sound of skin slapping against skin to sound so wet and fucking obscene. Still pounding into you, Mando’s hands leave your waist to grab under your thighs, lifting them up to hang off his shoulders. Pushing down on the backs of your thighs, he practically bends you in half at the knees, an arm on either side of your head, and then begins a pace so fast and brutal, you’re sure you’ll be sore for weeks. The spot he’s hitting right now is one you didn’t think was even possible. It knocks all the air out of your lungs, you can’t even make a goddamn sound. Your throat is bone dry, and whatever pathetic sounds that escape you are barely audible and breathless.

“Stars, you feel fucking amazing,” he mutters in your ear, and then he’s sucking at your neck, bruising the skin.

Mouth agape, you’re so fucking close to coming, a part of you doesn’t even want to tell him how close you are in case he stops. You don’t think you could physically handle it if he denied you again.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how much fucking noise your little cunt is making?”

On a normal day, Mando says as little as possible, giving you a quick sentence in response or even a one-word answer, but when he’s balls deep inside you, he can’t seem to shut up. He turns into a blabbering mess, offering you praise after praise like it’s a fucking prayer. Mando makes a note of everything. He comments on your gushing pussy, how your walls clench around him as you get closer and closer to your orgasm, how no one will ever touch you again.

How you’re his.

And you? You can barely throw two words together. You’re on the brink of losing your goddamn mind. Is this what being on spice is like? Feeling a sense of euphoria that hits you wave after wave, each one stronger and more intense than the last, teetering the line between sanity and insanity.

“…mine,” you hear him snarl. Reality doesn’t even feel real anymore, you can barely make out what he’s saying to you.

Something like a whimper slips through your parted lips.

“Now, come for me.”

He barely finishes speaking before your orgasm tears right through you. It begins deep inside you and is quickly shattering the earth around you. Crying out so loud Mando has to slap his hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds expelling from your lips. He continues to pound into your pussy, riding out the ripples of your climax, not relenting even for one moment. There isn’t any fucking air in your lungs—Mando’s weight is still pressing you into the cot and your climax is so strong, your chest is way passed heaving now.

You’ll be chasing this high for the rest of your life, the feeling of Mando unleashing his feral instincts on you, and you just helplessly letting him take control of you—it’s unlike anything you ever could have imagined.

“Good girl,” he praises. When you don’t immediately answer, still in a haze from the mind-shattering orgasm that just expelled out of you, Mando stills, cupping your face with his hand and murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Your lips part, and your brain desperately tries to find any word that might help him understand that you’re okay and also anything but okay. Only being able to breathe in quick, sharp breaths, Mando places a kiss on your jaw and repeats in the gentlest tone you’ve ever heard him speak, “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking your head frantically, you attempt to moisten your throat by swallowing, and it gives you enough to answer, “I’m okay.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He reiterates.

“No,” you croak.

“Are you sure?” Stars, how can he be so relentless in the way he fucks you and switch into a nurturer so quickly?

“Mmm. Please f-fuck me,” you mewl against him.

His cock twitches at your plea, and he obliges. In an effort to help you climb down from the overstimulation, he eases in and out of you at a deliciously hard, but slow pace, and then he does something you couldn’t have been prepared for. Your lips are slightly parted, letting in little bursts of air to help calm your breathing, and suddenly, you feel wet, soft lips clash onto yours. Instinctively, you yelp into his mouth from the unexpected touch, but you quickly acclimate to it, feeling your lips move on his. It’s a little awkward at first, you get the impression Mando hasn’t kissed many people in his life, because your teeth end up clashing together a few times. He fucking giggles into your mouth and you all but melt into the cot. His tongue slips passed your lips and meets yours and you can taste yourself and broth on his tongue. Your hands find their way to his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, pressing your lips even deeper on his. Mando moans low in his throat and you can feel the vibrations ripple in your own mouth.

He makes to pull away, but you keep his lips locked on yours, using your hands to keep him where you want him. He gives in without hesitation, letting you take control of the kiss as he continues to ram into you. The dreams you’ve had of this moment, the moment you’d feel his mouth on yours doesn’t even come close to the feeling of it happening to you right now. It all makes sense now. Every kiss you’ve had previously was just practice for this. It was all just preparing you for this defining moment, the moment you’d finally be able to break through Mando’s heavily guarded walls. Every smack of your lips, every flick your tongues, every broken moan in each other’s throats, they’re all just feats breaking down the duracrete barrier that he’s forced himself to build over the years.

Bodies intertwined, every part of yourselves wrapped up in the other, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, and you suppose that’s how this is was always supposed to be. Each of you were missing the same piece— the inability to be perceived as anything but a person of strong will. Believing that vulnerability was a weakness, instead of something that should be treasured, and without knowing it, your paths crossed and challenged every part of your identity.

Foundling, Mandalorian, bounty hunter, father.

Orphan, mechanic, smuggler, Jedi.

Those shouldn’t mix together as perfectly as they do, but stars, does it feel like everything finally makes sense.

A second orgasm begins to brew in your stomach, but you don’t dare pull away from Mando’s lips. You’ll never pull away until he forces himself off of you.

He leaves your lips for just a moment, panting and his own chest heaving against yours. “Maker, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Shhh,” Tugging desperately at his hair, you close the small gap between you and slosh your mouths together. You both whimper brokenly on each other’s lips, and Mando slams into you three more times before his hips still, feeling his cock pump his seed into your soaking pussy. Just as he begins to come, your second climax reaches its peak and crashes into you. His hands are back on your waist, digging his fingernails into your skin. Whatever moans you both cry out are muffled by each other’s’ mouths, catching the sound and swallowing it, burying it deep inside one another.

When you come start to come down from your climaxes, Mando drops his head to the crook of your neck, burying his face into your skin and pressing sloppy, chaste kisses right where your jaw meets your neck.

“I—” You attempt to speak, but your vocal cords are so raw, it hurts even just making a sound. You’re still practically bent in half, and your legs are burning up. Resorting to stir around hoping he’ll get the message, Mando pulls off of you, using both his hands to very gently bring them down his shoulders, one by one, once again giving each of your inner thighs some tender pecks. Pulling out of you, his come seeps out of your completely worn out slit. He peppers a few kisses along your waist, and then you hear his footsteps retreat.

“Where—” You begin to say, making to slowly prop yourself on your elbows.

“I’m still here,” he assures you.

You can hear him moving things around, and you seriously wish there was some kind of light allowing you to see what he’s doing but given that your eyes have gotten used to being in complete darkness, you’re sure you’d be blinded by even the smallest amount of light right now.

A few minutes go by and then you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you down the cot. Once he feels like your head won’t hit the top of the bunk, he lifts you off your feet, wrapping his arms around your back, and in turn you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you for a couple steps and then brings you down onto what you expect will be the cold ground. Instead, you feel cotton on your back as he lowers you down.

“Where did you—?”

“I have a couple of extra capes in case one gets too battered,” he says, answering your question before you can finish asking it.

As soon as your head touches the ground, you feel your eyelids shut, exhaustion overpowering you. Turning over on your side and hiking up one of your legs up so that your knee lines up with your chest, you don’t even care that your own slick and his seed is practically dripping down your legs. You don’t care that you’re still naked from the waist down. The only thing you care about is falling asleep, preferably in Mando’s arms.

“Don’t sleep yet. Need to clean you up,”

“Mmm,” you protest. “Later.”

Mando chuckles lightly and then he’s wiping the slick off your legs and entrance with what feels like… a pair of trousers.

“Are you using my pants to clean that up?”

“It’s the first thing I grabbed. I’ll wash it.”

“Mmm, you better,” you mumble into your arm.

Now, you’re starting to slip in and out of consciousness, fatigue taking you over. Mando rummages around the hull for a bit longer, and then joins you on the floor, throwing what you assume is another cape, over your half naked body. You don’t even have the energy to move your body over towards his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re both still close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other’s skin.

“Hey, Mando?”

“Yes?”

“I won.”

Things are quiet for a few minutes after that, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when his velvety smooth voice breaks through the silence of the Crest.

“Blue,” his voice is low and barely audible.

“Mmm?” You mumble, desperately trying to stay awake.

“I…like the color blue.”

Okay, now that puts a stupid, hazy smile on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Any particular shade of blue? Bright… dark?” You may be barely conscious, but you hang onto every word he says.

“I guess… dark.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “Why do you like that color?”

He lets out a deep breath, like he’s about to confess something to you that he hasn’t told anyone else. As if in this very moment, he’s about to give himself to you completely. “The Mandalorians that saved me from that battle droid in my village. Their armor was blue.”

Mando doesn’t elaborate any further, but he doesn’t have to. Feeling your heart tighten in your chest, you imagine what a young Mando must have been feeling when that droid pointed its guns at him. How he must have been utterly terrified and convinced that he was about to die. And then to be saved at the last moment. Seeing these warriors in blue armor coming to rescue him, to save his village from an even worse massacre. They were his saviors, it only makes sense that after all these years, that color would bring him solace and comfort.

It’s quite ironic, actually. Blues have the reputation of representing sadness or pain and you too have been accustomed to associating blue with your own trauma, and then here comes Mando.

The color symbolizes the exact opposite of what its known for. To him, it brings relief and reminds him of being saved; representing the beginning of a new life that he’s exemplified through and through. It’s a beautiful confession, and you’ll forever be searching for him in all the shades of blue that the galaxy has to offer.

Two opposites.

Yellow and blue.

One representing happiness and light. The other representing sadness and melancholy. Blend those two together and you create the fiercest of combinations. A beautiful balance of both extremes.

And when you think about it, what color does blue and yellow make?

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 25//

(Masterlist)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia, @fantasyshadowhunters) *bold tags don't work!

Thank you all so much for your patience during ACONAS's hiatus! I hope you all enjoy this update! Chapter 26 will be coming on Monday, May 24th to keep in line with my regular posting schedule!

Sending all you beautiful readers love and healing! ❤️

-Rhysand-

I noticed the change in my mate almost immediately after her period of nesting had lasted a full week. The change was subtle at first; beginning after a long afternoon of Feyre rearranging clothes and ordering my brothers and I to move around the furniture in the nursery no less than ten times that day alone, then choosing to spend the rest of the evening walking the gardens with Elain. It was there, watching from the library window, that I felt the call in my blood—the call that urged me to find a sanctuary for my mate. Months ago, after the birth of his daughter, Kallias had warned me that this instinct would come. As mated fae males, the compulsions we felt in regard to our mates always traced back to the beasts our ancestors were and became especially prominent when they were with child. I had noted as much the minute I scented my offspring present in Feyre's womb, and though I had not been fully aware of her pregnancy until she was, I had instinctually known and formed a new attachment to her—to our son. Like the mating bond, the ties I formed with my unborn child were just as strong and prominent; however silent. I could sense those occasional glimmers that Feyre felt; had even felt that warning tug when they had been in trouble during the attack on Velaris. However, this tug, this preternatural warning, was different—stronger than before.

He was ready. Sebastian was ready to enter the world.

XXX

-Feyre-

"It's time, my love," Rhys purred in my ear as I stared out into the gardens, sitting on the cushioned loveseat on our balcony.

Once I had returned from my earlier walk with Elain, warm and content despite the late autumn chill—thanks to my mates magic warming the grounds, I chose to skip dinner. Somehow finding it more appealing to retreat to the privacy of my bedroom when I realized I had no appetite at all. While that should've alarmed me, my feelings of content remained as I changed into the comfiest clothes I could find; the softest pair of leggings I owned and a long-sleeved oversized tunic that was large enough to fit over my large belly comfortably. It wasn't long after I had found my seat on the balcony that Rhys was at my ear with a warm mug of tea in hand. I took it from him gratefully and relished in the warmth enveloping my face as I smiled at him in return.

"Time for what?" I asked softly, resting a hand on the apex of my belly.

He kneeled in front of me, hands holding either side of my belly as those star-flecked violet eyes looked into mine meaningfully. "For us to retreat to the Cabin," came his equally soft response.

My heart stuttered for a second as I realized what this meant, but instead of feeling the panic I thought I ought to have, I nodded slowly—an all too familiar glimmer pulsing between my mate and I, between that bond that existed between the three of us and loosed a calm exhale.

"Should we tell the others?" I quietly asked.

Rhys shook his head as he again stood, summoning those dark and beautiful Illyrian wings from the shadows. "I already told them, while you were up here getting comfortable," he said with a warm smile. "They expected as much, and they know how...sensitive this is, so they aren't expecting any heartfelt goodbyes."

I nodded, again surprised from the lack of emotion I felt at that sentiment; that I had no real urge to even say goodbye and be showered with well wishes from our family. Suddenly, I registered what was happening; my diffident state had finally arrived. It was such a strange and foreign feeling as the full weight of what was occurring naturally in my body overcame me. While part of me wanted to feel nervous and be comforted by our loved ones, all I could do was look at my mate and felt all the reassurance I needed.

Finishing my tea, I set the mug aside and allowed Rhys to help me to my feet; a small laugh escaping my lips at the effort it took to ease me upright and returned my stare into those violet eyes.

"Let's go," I whispered.

It was all he needed to hear before he lifted me into his arms with heartbreaking ease and took to the skies. I closed my eyes as the wind whipped through my hair, relishing in the cool breeze as I rested my head against Rhys's shoulder; one hand looped around his shoulders and the other caressing my belly. In spite of the awareness of what was to come looming in the back of my mind—the pain I would soon endure, my trepidation was nearly nonexistent.

The healer and our midwife had warned that my withdrawn state could last anywhere from a few hours to a few days before I officially went into labor, but some innate part of me felt that this notion wouldn't drag on for long at all. Sebastian had dropped into his head down position weeks ago and had calmed considerably since my period of nesting began. While his lack of movement had alarmed Rhys and I at first, Madja and the midwife assured that this was also normal. Our youngling, our son, was preparing himself for arrival. His loving glimmer still remained and pulsed through our bond, letting his father and I know that he was there, and that he was just as ready as we were to meet him.

As soon as we touched down to the front steps leading up to the Cabin, I let down my mental shields to Rhys, letting him read my thoughts as he carried me inside. His gentle kiss to my forehead was his only response until we were within the safe walls of the Cabin, the fireplace immediately springing to life as we entered the small living area and he set me on the couch. He came to kneel in front of me as he had earlier, the starlight in his eyes shimmering as they met mine again.

"However long this does last, at least we know we won't be leaving this Cabin until our son is born," Rhys said, a hand coming to stroke my belly gently.

I loosed a long breath as I nodded, my hand joining his. "The next time we go back to the estate...we'll have a baby," I mused as I watched our hands continue to caress the expanse of my stomach.

Our son, our baby Sebastian was just underneath layers of skin and muscle, lying in wait and ready to be born in what could be hours or days. The process would be grueling and long...but that intuitive and serene sense told me that I was prepared, that I could do this.

"You can," Rhysand interjected quietly; my mental shields still left down for him, "and I will be at your side through every second of it."

I gave him a slow smile in return, bringing my hand to touch his face gently. "I have no doubt about that, Rhysand," I said softly.

He kissed my palm before moving from his kneeled position to a seated one beside me, his hand lingering on my belly.

Will you tell me what happens in the Night Court when an heir is born now? I asked through the bond.

Rhys's chuckle sent a warm shudder down the bond as he pressed another kiss to my brow. "You'll find out soon enough, my love," he answered aloud.

Prick.

XXX

-Rhysand-

The labor pains began the next morning.

Only an hour after our arrival at the Cabin the night before, my mate had fallen into a deep slumber while we lingered together in the sitting area. I carried her to bed not long after, keeping a watchful eye on her during the night and sending as many updates as possible to our awaiting family in Velaris. After Mor's persistent "check-in's" every hour, at Cassian's insistence she claimed, I decided to communicate mind-to-mind with Az; who's ever-present composed demeanor was always a comfort no matter the situation, even as I could sense his underlying worry for his High Lady. However, in between the few hours of sleep I allowed myself through the night, I updated and reassured him of Feyre's condition. But, when my mate awoke with a furrowed brow and a pained expression, I sent a direct order for him to send for the midwife and healer.

XXX

-Feyre-

The labor pains came in waves.

When I first awoke from the most tranquil state of sleep I had ever found for the duration of my pregnancy, the muscle contractions in my lower abdomen had felt like the twinges of pain I experienced during my previous cycles—uncomfortable and excruciating, but in the last decade I had learned different techniques in order to cope, such as curling up in a certain position on my side or alternating between heating and cooling blankets laid across my abdomen and back. Like the cramps associated with my cycles, these contractions pulsed and throbbed through my lower body, ripping across my back, stomach, and thighs, but were thankfully manageable with Rhysand's help. The minute a groan escaped my lips, Rhys sprang into action, sitting on his knees beside me and helping me sit upright. He let me squeeze his hand and led me through the controlled breathing exercises the midwife had shown us in preparation for this moment, and for the first few hours they were completely doable.

The tightening would build and build, washing over my body in a flood; my deep and cleansing breaths pushing them back down into nothing...until it all happened again minutes later. From the time the first wave consumed me and dissipated, a minute had barely gone by, and Rhys was still at my ear whispering terms of endearment and encouragement until Madja and our midwife arrived. The duo immediately began setting up our space with the supplies needed for the duration of my labor, and I watched them in a trance. Thanks to the healer and midwife's many lectures leading up to this event, I knew that part of me would be so focused on making it through this arduous process that the rest of the world would melt away. However, there was still a small part of me—perhaps the part tethered to the bond I shared with my mate, that was acutely aware of everything that was happening.

It was all so...primal. As the hours passed, my body continued to endure the waves of contractions and pain that continued to surge, mount, and flood my entire being. I knew what was happening, and despite the pain affecting my innermost being, that innate female shouldered on. Meanwhile, a tiny part of my consciousness watched from a distance at the bridge that connected me to my mate. It was that part of my psyche, the only part unaffected by the unadulterated anguish brought on contraction after contraction, that could hear Rhysand's words; that could register them and find the encouragement I needed in order to push past pain after insurmountable pain.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre's cries and shouts of agony were truly the worst form of torment I had ever withstood in the centuries I had been alive. For every pulse of pain that washed over her body, I wished with every fiber of my being that I could take it away. Despite knowing that I could was easily the hardest part in watching her suffer, but my mate had made me vow months in advance not to.

"Promise me you won't use your daemati abilities to ease my pain," Feyre had said softly.

It had still been fairly early in her pregnancy when she uttered those words; when we had taken a few days to ourselves in this very Cabin and whispered words of comfort and reassured each other that we would be different from our own parents. I had just promised my mate of the outstanding mother she would become for our son, and she assured me the same—dissuading any insecurities either of us had for our ability to be good parents. My forehead was still pressed against hers, eyes imploring as she stared at me meaningfully.

I raised my head, my gaze leveling with those stunning blue-grey eyes as I asked, "Are you sure, Feyre? The pain will be...considerable."

Kallias warned me as much in his letters following Eira's birth. While the experience had passed in a blur, those hours leading up to his daughter's birth had tortured a once vivacious and bright female. If the pains of labor could bring down even Viviane, I knew the same would be true for my mate.

Feyre simply nodded. "If Viviane could do it, if your mother could do it, then so can I," she insisted.

My gaze had softened as I cupped her face gently. "I have no doubt that you can do it Feyre, darling, but if I could make it easier for you-"

"No," she repeated. "Females have been doing it for centuries without any kind of pain relief, and as High Lady of the Night Court, I've more than proven I can handle this as well."

I brushed my thumb along her cheek gently as I nodded in agreement. While every feral instinct in me protested the allowance of my mates suffering, I shoved those intolerant compulsions away. This was Feyre's choice, she was the one carrying my child and would ultimately bring him into the world, so it was her decision on how she wanted to accomplish that task. My job now, as Kallias had outlined to me from his own account, was to support my mate through the ordeal.

"As my High Lady wishes," I purred before pressing another reassuring kiss to her brow.

Her returning smile was bright, those blue-grey eyes shimmering with adoration before either of us noticed the new tattoo forming in the shape of three small stars on both of our right pinky fingers. A small laugh rumbled in my chest as we both watched the stars take shape and solidify on our skin—evidence of our new promise.

"I must say, Feyre darling, if the centuries we have together are filled with more and more oaths between us, I may run out of skin," I teased.

My beautiful, perfect, mate only laughed, the sound resounding through our bond; its melody causing Sebastian's glimmer of delight to thrum between us a moment later.

XXX

-Feyre-

Rhys's was the only voice I could hear over my misery, and during those couple precious moments of respite in between surges of hurt. I was vaguely aware of my own howls of agony as my mate continued to coach me through each breathing exercise; guiding me back to calmer and more controlled breaths whenever they turned into angry or pain-filled sobs. I could hardly keep track of how much time had passed, or anything at all for that matter; my mind too focused on getting me to the end of each earth-shattering contraction. That innate part of me left on the bridge of my bond couldn't tell if the ground beneath me was actually trembling or not, and I was too exhausted to actually ask whenever the conscious part of my being was alert to my present surroundings.

There were slivers of minutes when I was able to hear Madja and the midwife, mostly talking to Rhys and offering advice; one suggestion being to actually get me out of bed and walking around the space of the Cabin. From what I could actually discern of the conversation the older females were having with my mate, they explained that any movement might help things along—staying idle and writhing in pain while lying in bed would apparently only prolong my suffering. So, while I was still aware, Rhys helped me out of bed; one arm wrapped around my back to keep me supported, and his free hand gripping mine. I kept my other on my hip, eyes closed as I shuffled out of the small bedroom with his help.

I could hear Rhys's voice again in my ear, full of nothing but love and support, as I felt the beginnings of the stabbing pain return. "You're doing so well, my love," he said softly.

I yearned for the peace the timbre of his voice once offered me, clung to the shreds of it as the next contraction sent me from my feet onto all fours on the ground beneath me. I could only feel Rhysand's hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles as I howled in pain, my groans staying loud as I followed the patterned breathing as best as I could. Somehow, this position—being on my hands and knees, made the contractions easier to cope with. Remembering the midwife's explanation that labor was such an exacting primal act in itself, that instinctual female in me realized that in order to carry on for the duration of this process I would need to follow whatever natural tendency wanted to take control.

Once the pain finally began to ebb away and my breathing regulated, I felt Rhys's hands try to lift me up. I shook my head immediately.

"No," I rasped. "This feels good," I said as I turned my head to meet his starlit gaze.

He nodded in return, hands resuming the comforting circles he made on my back whilst the magic of the Cabin supplied a plush blanket underneath me—to keep my bare hands and knees from being pressed to the hardwood floors. I realized then that my loose nighttime shift was the only piece of clothing I donned. Sometime between waking and now, Rhys must've used his magic to change me into simpler clothing.

"You won't be needing much else for this process," came the midwife's voice from behind my place on the floor in the middle of the sitting room; probably guessing my thoughts as I looked over my attire.

I raised my weary gaze to her, both her and Madja offering a kind smile in return as they sat on the settee across from me. "We've been performing hourly pelvic exams in order to check your progression in between contractions," the healer explained.

I nodded, vaguely remembering their voices explaining what they were doing and when during the few moments of alertness I had been granted thus far. Another part of me recalling the crucial details the midwife had previously explained to my mate and me. In order to reach the final stage of labor, the pushing stage, the opening of my womb had to reach a certain level of thinning out and my bag of waters hosting the baby would have to burst in order for him to pass through and officially enter the world.

"You're about halfway there," Rhys said, answering my unasked question.

"Of course, when the time comes, you'll feel that preternatural urge to begin pushing, which is a tall-tale sign for the final stage of delivery to occur," the midwife explained.

"How long has it been?" I asked, my voice hoarse from my earlier groans.

"Hours," Madja answered, waving a nonchalant hand. "The timing doesn't matter, so long as you and your youngling continue to tolerate the process well, there isn't anything to worry about."

"Which you are," the midwife added. "Doing well, I mean."

"You're doing brilliantly, Feyre darling," Rhys repeated, pressing a kiss to the side of my temple as he continued working those reposeful circles on my back.

I could only offer a brief smile in return before another gut-wrenching wave overwhelmed me once again.

XXX

-Rhysand-

There seemed to be no end to Feyre's suffering as pain continued to seize her body, the intervals of contractions growing shorter and shorter as the hours continued to pass. Still, in spite of my heart shattering every time the Cabin was filled with her agonizing wails, part of me watched my mate in admiration as she fought her way through the excruciating convulsions and followed whatever insights her body called her to do in order to manage each one. We switched from her position on the floor, to walking around the small space of the Cabin, leaning against walls and different pieces of furniture for support as the contractions persisted; the midwife and healer checking her progression with pelvic exams at every mark of the hour. The day was now transitioning into early evening, and the contractions were starting to last longer—to the point where Feyre could hardly speak, or barely register anything at all as she endured them. During those pain-free intervals, she was able to nod in acknowledgement at whatever few words were spoken to her, engage in brief conversation, or give a simple shake of her head when she wanted to continue moving around the room or into a new relieving position.

The stronger the contractions grew, so did Feyre's reaction to them. She still whimpered in pain, her groans nearly coming out as growls as she battled to keep pace with the breathing exercises I coached her through. But with my focus kept solely on my mate, I hadn't realized I was no longer updating Azriel until I felt a gentle plea from Mor. Feyre had just undergone another contraction when I heard Mor's timid entreatment. Apparently, my mate's roars of pain had been so profound, that they had shook the expanse of mountains across our court. I had been too engrossed with guiding Feyre's breathing to notice, but our family back in Velaris had. They knew it was a sign of things advancing; that the next heir of the Night Court would soon make his entrance. So, I updated them as quickly as possible, promising that my next update would come when Sebastian did, and turned my attention back onto Feyre.

XXX

-Feyre-

Somehow my journey around the Cabin had come full circle, and I ended up on all fours on the cushioned bed in the bedroom. In the time my last contraction ebbed away, and I found Rhysand's violet eyes to offer a bleary-eyed appreciative smile, I felt my body shift. Still panting and recovering the breath I had used during the last contraction, I gripped Rhys's hand, silently asking him to help me upright. He obeyed, and I leaned back against his chest for support as I rested on my knees with a sigh of relief...my eyes widening a second later when I felt a gush of water burst between my legs.

My head snapped in the direction of the mess now spreading on the once clean sheets of the bed before Rhys helped me off and back onto my feet, the magic of the house changing the sheets without a second thought. I stared wide-eyed at my mate, but he only smiled warmly in return before pressing a kiss to my brow.

"M-My...bag of waters broke," I said, still astonished.

He nodded. "Just like the midwife told us it would," he added, rubbing my back in reassuring strokes.

My hands held my stomach, suddenly feeling lighter at the loss of fluid that had built up over the last several months. "T-This is really happening, Rhys," I whispered, knowing this moment of clarity would soon pass as the next contraction started to edge back in.

"You're doing it, Feyre," he said with another kiss to my brow. "It's almost over."

I didn't have enough time to respond before the full weight of the contraction hit in an entirely different way than I had previously felt. Rhys helped me back onto the edge of the bed, and I gripped his hand hard as the pain began to mount and surge through me—a newfound pressure building at the base of my pelvis alongside with it, and my breaths came in fuller and deeper rasps. Madja and the healer, who had remained in another room of the Cabin to allow Rhys and me some privacy, must've heard the change in my breathing because they entered the room seconds later.

The words exchanged between the older females and my mate seemed far away, barely discernible to me as I closed my eyes in concentration. The painful pressure I felt continued to build, and I realized that preternatural urge to push was here. The groan that slipped through my lips must've been indication enough, because I soon found myself in the center of the bed with Rhys holding me upright and the midwife at my feet as she performed her final pelvic exam.

"It's time, my Lady," the midwife said, as I forced my attention on her. "It's time to start pushing."

My heart shuttered at the words, and I turned wide eyes to my mate, who kept an arm wrapped around my back, allowing me to partially rest against him while I squeezed his free hand.

You can do this, Feyre, darling

His warm voice echoed through the bond, reaching my innermost self left on the bridge between us, and I nodded as I felt the surge of pain return. I groaned as the intense pressure grew stronger, the urge to push becoming forceful by the second, and heard the combined voices of Madja and the midwife quickly instructing me on how to position myself on the bed. With my upper body being supported by Rhys, and my legs drawn up and open, I quickly sucked in a deep breath as the females instructed and bore down in my first push.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre pushed and pushed for what felt like hours, but in reality, I knew it had only been one—judging by the path of vanishing sunlight outside the window that finally gave way to night as it always did; dark orange blending into a mix of magenta and indigo before the all-consuming dark sea of stars swallowed them up and lit up the sky. I was all too familiar with that pattern, had watched it countless times in my lifetime, but had never felt it drag on as long as it had tonight. Perhaps Feyre's continued screams of anguish as she pushed were the reason why it felt so prolonged now, but I forced myself not to linger on watching it as I honed in on my mate.

She slumped against my chest, exhausted and spent after offering another hard push, and I dabbed at her brow and neck with a cool, damp cloth. I lost track of how many she had done but kept a brave face as I encouraged her further. She was indeed the strongest female I had ever seen in my centuries of life, and I held onto that reverence in order to battle the guilt that raged within me. It was my offspring she had grown in her belly; mine she now choked back tears for as she drew in another deep breath and pushed again, brows sweaty and furrowed in pure concentration, face red with splotches as she growled in pain with her effort.

It was both the most beautiful I had ever seen her, and the most harrowing.

While my chest ached with remorse for seeing my mate in such a state, it was also filled with so much more love and devotion I had ever felt towards her. I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she pushed, silently letting her know how much I loved her in this moment.

XXX

-Feyre-

"I can see the head my lady," Madja cheered as I pushed.

A snarl of agony ripped from my throat; my eyes still clenched in concentration. "Get it out!" I growled without breaking my effort.

"You're nearly there," came the midwife's response.

I groaned, panting heavily as I slumped against Rhys again. He whispered loving words of support as he dabbed at my face and neck to cool me down, and I knew the all-consuming heat I felt had nothing to do with my powers and everything to do with this struggle. Not even the messy bun I had thrown my hair into seemed to cool me down in between my endeavors, so I was grateful when Rhys had begun using a damp washcloth to provide relief—the only kind afforded to me during this ordeal. It was all starting to become too overwhelming to endure for much longer, and I felt my resolve slipping. My eyes met with Rhys's for a brief moment, and instead of offering him a tired half-smile I had done so far, I broke into sobs.

"I can't do this anymore, Rhys," I cried.

His hand squeezed mine, the starlight in his eyes flickering as the hand on my back tightened gently. "You can," he promised. "Sebastian is almost here, Feyre, just imagine our little Bash here at last,"

I sobbed at the thought, the images of my baby I had been dreaming of for months flashing through my mind before I felt the devastating pain returned. I cried again, loudly claiming I couldn't do it, and was met with a chorus of voices encouraging me—claiming I could, and would. Deciding not to keep fighting it, I rallied my strength together with another gulp of air and bore down with the hardest push I could offer.

My attempt heralded in another round of voices animatedly telling me to continue, and though I couldn't differentiate the female's voices, I heard one of them tell Rhys to watch as our son's head began to emerge. My eyes were squeezed shut with my effort, so I couldn't see the look on his face, but a yelp of pain emerged from my throat a second later as I felt the strain of my baby's head coming through with the force of my pushing. The midwife quickly told me to take several deep breaths instead, and I did as I was told, gasping aloud when I felt a painful burst.

"The head is out, my lady," the midwife said with a meaningful look as I finally opened my eyes.

I gasped for even breaths, nodding before I looked to Rhys; whose violet eyes were silver lined as they met mine. He had shifted to my side for a better view of our son coming forth, his and Madja's hands holding either side of me, balancing me upright.

"He's so beautiful, Feyre," Rhys said tearfully as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against mine, a tear trailing down the side of his cheek.

I sobbed again, bringing a hand to brush that tear away briefly before grasping his free one as my body yielded to another throbbing contraction. "Just one more big push, my lady, and your babe will be in your arms." Madja promised.

"One more, and you're done," Rhys vowed, repeating the healer's words.

Instead of voicing my agreement, I continued my hold on to Rhys's hand while I gripped my knee with the other and sucked in a quick gasp of air before offering what now had to be the strongest and hardest push my body could muster. My eyes squeezed shut as I fixed all of my attention into this push, near-feral growls emerging from my throat at the unbearable pain that tore through me, my cries drowning out the myriad of voices cheering me on.

Soon, however, all the pain vanished the second I heard the tiniest, most magnificent wail I would ever hear in my entire life.

[mlwritingprompts]

Submitted prompt: Apex- wait, I am a what!?

(You know what I’m 90% certain I got this same ask forever ago and posted it when I got it but I can’t find it so……..) Though I will note that ladybugs aren’t actually apex predators, they are eaten by birds.

AU in which the miraculouses have side effects on their holders if continiously and/or regularly used.

One of them being that the holder’s body will grow stronger, faster, more flexible.

And another one, which is more complicated, is that the holder will slowly gain traits from the animal their miraculouses is based on, but the thing is; this requires a positive bond between the kwami and their partner, else it won’t work at all.

And while Marinette and Tikki are not completely on the same wavelength -as it is impossible to expect a deity whose experience with humans are about fighting to protect the world (or supposedly doing so) to have the same perspectie of a teenager who is starting to embark the journey that is the teenager’s life- they care about each other and have a lot of trust towards each other.

And that relationship affects Marinette’s powers as Ladybug and how her thoughts work sometimes, but the process is too slow and subtle for Marinette to realize at the start.

Slowly and gradually, her Ladybug suit changes, gaining what seemed to be a protective armor, the dots and colors change to give her a more predatory and deadly appearance.

Even her face as Ladybug slowly changes as lines of black and red spread across her face, and her eyes gradualy turn red, making her face more intimidating.

The process is so subtle that she doesn’t even realize as her Ladybug form is starting to sprout wings and even an extra set of black-red arms, and it’s only after she watches the footages or hears the gossip about how different Ladybug’s design is becoming that she finds out how different her current superhero outfit is from her initial one.

When she asks Tikki, the kwami simply states that it’s due to their bond, which Marinette is happy for, believing that this means that Tikki and her have a truly wonderful friendship.

On the civilian side, Marinette’s body grows stronger, faster, and slightly more muscular as she keeps burning calories fighting akumas, and slowly, she gets a much more healthier figure, and it’s a slow realization that she is no longer the easily tired girl she was from few months ago.

Mentally-wise though, it was actually even more difficult to see the changes thanks to them being born from her own mentality mixed by the Ladybug traits, and they caused the biggest changes to Marinette’s life.

She didn’t realize that every time she saw something immoral, her rage was slowly increasing, she didn’t realize that at some point she was thinking of destroying the source of nuisance or taking away their source of power if she could not deal with them physically.

She didn’t realize when she started to eat even the bones of the chicken in her food if they were there.

Marinette didn’t even realize how quickly she was disliking Adrien’s constant defending of Chloe, as she slowly deemed him to be a hopeless case and she finally stopped having any romantic feelings for him. He either couldn’t comprehend how awful Chloe was, or he did, uet he kept defending her. Either way, her insticts told her he will only cause trouble to her and those she cared about if she kept trying to confess to him. She stopped loving hi after nearly five months of constantly trying to understand him. And she doesn’t really regret that.

What actually makes her realize though, is a normal day in which after more than half-a year after her dabut as Ladybug, she was casually talking with the girls of her class as they were going to visit Juleka at her house-boat, until someone bumped into Mylene, causing her to fall.

And it took few more seconds for the group to realize that her bag is nowhere in sight, causing them to shout in shock.

Marinette though, had looked directly at the possible direction of the theif, and with a single “I will try to catch them”, she promptly left the girls and ran to find that theif.

The world slowed down in her eyes as she looked around as she ran, and she managed to see a bag that looked the same as Mylene’s, and with that she dashed.

A sense of thrill entered her mind, and without knowing, her mouth took the form of a predatory smile as the theif saw her and sped up in panic.

Marinette didn’t think. She just moved, an extremely strong emotion engulfed her as she looked at her prey.

She easily managed to catch up to them, and quickly, she caught them, and happily, she widely opened her mouth…

And was promptly stopped with the look of utter horror the theif was having.

The look of horror that she saw people having when they got attacked by Akumas.

That sight stopped her, putting a sense of dread in her stomach, and in her quickly rising panic, she onlyhad enough sense to take Mylene’s bag and get away from there.

—-

“Tikki, what was that!?”

Marinette asked after she returned home, still confused and horrified at what she nearly did.

The kwami looked at her for a while before she talked.

“You wanted to protect your friends.”

That answer… didn’t help.

It didn’t explain why she was so excited as she was hunting that theif.

“The miraculous helped you do that. So don’t worry about it!”

Tikki casually stated, and Marinette had a feeling that she really did not realize how different Tikki was from her since she lived for eons.

“After all, it’s not the first time one of my holders accepted becoming an apex predator to protect their subjects.”

Tikki’s voice sounded as if she was used to saying this, as if she said it countless times.

And Marinette was sure the kwami did repeat this talk countles times.

She looked at Tikki’s innocent looking form, as Tikki opened her mouth one more time, and what she said now sent shivers  down her spine.

“After all, there isn’t any real difference between ladybugs and humans.”

Tikki smiled sweetly.

“Both of them are predators after all.”

[findopulencerp]

                                          𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖆 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖘

appears as though she was born 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞-𝖔𝖓𝖊 years ago but is actually 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞-𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊, she is a 𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖓 who lives in 𝖇𝖔𝖜𝖉𝖊𝖓 as a 𝖊𝖝𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖙 𝖘𝖚𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖑'𝖘, and she is in 𝖓𝖔 𝖕𝖔𝖉. she looks an awful lot like 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖟.

“Always seeking, each moment fleeting; this is where my soul will rest.”

Rosalia was born just off the coast of Veracruz, Mexico. However, her birth mother had no interest in raising her. As a child she would get help from school friends, family and teachers. But once you reach a certain age, people stop helping and just expect you to know what to do. She was pretty much homeless by the age of eighteen, and tried everything to make enough to live off of, busing tables, serving, you name it. But, eventually, it just wasn’t enough. So, she got creative with ways she could make money and found herself working as an exotic dancer at a local club.  

After being close to death from an overdose, she was twenty-one when she was turned by a pretty big pod of seven sirens. Even though they turned her, they did it to save her life. She was completely in shock that anyone would care enough to save her life or even wanted her in their family. Her siren mother taught her to never trust outsiders, because they just didn’t understand their kind. So, she learned how to fend for herself, find food, shelter and manipulate outsiders for desired goods very quickly. It was very dangerous, but her mother insisted that it would help her become a strong siren one day. There were many days spent with family and other friendly pods, but Rosalia’s favorite thing was to go out by herself and swim with the nearby orcas, and on occasions, dolphins. She was always fascinated with how friendly these apex predators were. This was her second chance at life and it was filled with peace, happiness and compassion-- things she never experienced before. 

However, this healthy lifestyle was quickly stolen from her when she was taken by a group of US human scientists. It was a violent scene as Rosalia cried for help while these men circled her and brought her aboard their ship. The brunette refused to give up and persisted to scream for help and fight back. However, it was useless once a man struck her with the end of a harpoon gun, causing the loss of her sight. 

For years she was a test subject at a secret US military facility. She was held prisoner and was worth nothing more than a lab rat to these men. They performed forced surgeries and tested pharmaceutical drugs on her, among other things. She wanted to die. For years, she longed for her family but after a while it seemed like she would never leave this hell hole. especially if she couldn’t see. 

It wasn’t until she developed the skill of echolocation. She had heard of other sirens gaining this trait but her father always made it seem like it was a myth. She waited a few months, until she really grasped the understanding of the layout of the test facility before she made her move. Her experience has left her heartless for others and humans especially. Now she moves from small town to small town until she feels she’s found a safe place. 

“what power did she attain when settling in opulence?”

Once moving to Opulence, Rosalia was gifted the power to Telereceive. She noticed only days after she settled into the town, getting to know the sidewalks and businesses, where she kept hearing voices in her head. It turned out, those voices weren’t coming from her own thoughts but the ones who came into close proximity with her. She still hasn’t gotten used to it and still works to get it under control—because as amazing as it sounds, its painful at times.

this character is... retired.

[sigritandtheelves]

(III) Three Iterations of a Birth (and Death)

Part Three: Fantasy

PG-13 | 2.2k wds | s8 AU (diverges after “Alone”)

Summary: This time he gets it right.

A/N: It’s finally done! Part One, Tragedy, is here but you don’t need to read it if you hate pain (character death warning) and Part Two is here, which is angsty but ends well. This one is happy, but I hope not tooth-achingly sweet. Just a better version of things, and fulfilling this (very old) prompt:

I hope you like it, anon!

_+_

“Mulder, you should know something.”

She sat on his couch with hands on her round belly, wore a tank dress and complained of the heat. Her feet, white-sneakered, rested on his coffee table. He handed her a glass of water and sat beside her.

“What’s that?” He turned to her, elbow propped on the back of the couch and watched her sip. She’d been smiling for much of today, tucked beside him and flirting gently at Layla Harrison’s bedside, demanding they stop for Mexican food on their ride back from the hospital. He sensed, though, a seriousness in her tone now. A small fold appeared between her brows.

“Not long before we found you, I had a procedure done by doctors that I thought I couldn’t trust.” She glanced at him briefly. “An amniocentesis.” Her fingers twitched against the side of her sweating glass, and she leaned forward to set it on the table. When she struggled to reach, Mulder took it from her and placed it on a coaster. “Thank you,” she said.

He nodded, but his heart was pounding, his face stilled and pinched in that look of panic. “An amniocentesis?”

“Yeah,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I wanted to run a PCR on the baby.”

So it was time, then. He’d waited for this conversation, felt it hovering like a thundercloud around them for weeks while they tiptoed around every mention of her pregnancy. Mulder swallowed hard. “And did you?”

She hesitated, eyes fixed on her knees. “I didn’t run it myself.” He watched her fingers fidget at the apex of her belly.

“But someone did.”

“Yeah.”

Mulder felt like yelling, like plugging his ears or running into another room. He didn’t think he wanted to know this, but he was also desperate for the information. “And?”

Scully took a deep breath. “Entirely human,” she said, then lower so he almost couldn’t hear, “and yours.”

Mulder chewed at his bottom lip and stared at her hands, still grazing the taut fabric over her belly. His child. He thought of her holding that baby in Oregon, of tiny Matthew’s fuzz-covered head in San Diego. His mind touched on the thought of an infant in his own arms, then shied away. He’d already watched one child of hers sicken and die; neither of them could bear that again.

But she’d also said entirely human.

“The results were clear?”

“99.9%,” she said. “But like I said, I didn’t run it myself, and I was so scared.” Her eyes lifted to meet his now, and they were round, wet. “I wanted to believe it, but how could I be sure? How could I trust anyone, Mulder?”

He saw her small and afraid, facing months of uncertainty. He saw these same wide and tearful eyes wanting to believe the results of a PCR test. He saw how much she needed him to believe with her: that this was only a normal child and theirs alone. He reached out a hand to take hers and she squeezed it hard.

“Why would they lie about that?” He whispered. He ran a thumb over her tense knuckles while a tear slipped away from the corner of her eye to trail down the side of her face.

She shook her head. “What if they want me complacent? What if they’re in the hospital when it’s time… when he’s born?”

He again. Their son.

Scully was staring at the ceiling now, willing her tears back into her eyes, trying to steel herself against these possibilities, as she must have done for months. Mulder sensed there was more she wasn’t telling him, so he lifted her fingers to kiss them. “What changed? You said you thought you couldn’t trust it, but you believe the test now?”

She held her breath for a moment’s hesitation before she whispered, “Yes.”

“Why?”

She looked at him. “I did another one. I mean I… I worked with my doctor and I ran the tests myself.”

“Scully.” Not quite chastising, but there was worry in his voice: a risky procedure, now run twice in an already complicated pregnancy. When had she done this?

“The results were the same.” There was something desperate in her eyes now. “He’s yours, Mulder.” Quickly she amended, “If you want him to be.”

—

It wasn’t because of what she’d told him, he thought, but because they’d finally talked about it at all. He kissed her on his couch and she clung to him, fierce and needy, arms tight around his back and face buried in his chest.

He pressed a palm to her belly between them and said, “Stay.”

She nodded, hot breath on his collarbone.

The earth and flower smell of her scalp under his nose made him think of their last night in Bellefleur: regret and sadness, but also the depth of love he’d felt while wrapped around her then. This, right now, was the so much more. Her body on his mattress, her cheek on his shoulder, marked the first time he thought to himself that maybe he was healing, that they both were.

Before she fell asleep she ran a finger down the center scar of his chest and whispered, “You said stay,” then kissed the thickened skin of it. “But Mulder you need to stay.” Her eyes were two small pricks of light in the darkened room that spoke to him of a deep uncertainty, of real fear.

He gathered her whole self to him in both arms, knee hooked over her hip, and said, “I know.” He held his lips to the crown of her head and whispered, “Scully I’m not going anywhere.”

—

“You’re really sure?” She asked him, face in that half-crumpled furrow of disbelief. She wore maternity jeans and what must have been one of his own pilfered button-downs.

“Yes!” He said. “Now watch out!”

She stepped aside as he carried a cardboard box—seven books and roughly fifteen t-shirts (he wasn’t good at packing)—through her doorway.

It made sense. She had that second bedroom already.

—

A different night and very late, after two, he sensed her tension: a strained quickness to her breathing beside him. She was facing away, trying to hide it. Mulder curled his palm over her hip and asked low, “What is it?”

She stiffened. “I’m okay,” she said, but he knew her. He tapped two knuckles on her hip bone.

“Scully.”

A long sigh: a concession, an opening up because they were doing this right, now. “I’m worried.”

He nodded, careful. “About me?”

She shook her head and was quiet for a moment. Then, “I spent my whole life thinking medicine was good, that its whole purpose was to make lives better, safer, longer…” She shifted so her back pressed against his chest and he slipped his left arm fully around her. “But after everything we’ve seen, everything that’s happened to me… I just don’t know that I can trust doctors anymore.”

Mulder tucked his nose in that place between her neck and shoulder. They had taken her faith even in this, shucked her convictions in the good of medicine. The meddling hands of whatever forces they were up against reached down and out into every institution she’d once trusted. “Even your new doctor?”

She shrugged.

He let his hand slip down, covering as much of her round abdomen as he could. He loved touching her this way now, feeling the little knees and feet press outward, the subtle hiccups that came in the evenings. “What can we do?”

She covered his hand with her own and guided it to a place where some small limb pushed toward the outside world. He drew a small circle around it with his index finger and kissed her ear.

“What if we went away? Maybe…” She swallowed. “Maybe some little town in West Virginia or Ohio with a birth center? We could use different names and maybe my mom could come with us and we could just… disappear for a little bit? Until he’s born.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.”

“Since the first amnio. Since I realized Parenti was bad.” Her voice wavered—there were tears in it now. “I thought I’d have to do it alone.”

Mulder shook his head, heart breaking for her—that this was her secret, her worst fear. “You won’t be alone, Scully, I promise. We can do that. We can go. Let’s do that.”

—

In the mountains of West Virginia, a place called Willowdale that sounded beautiful and safe, they were Kate and Richard Mulvey for two and a half weeks. They made quiet preparations in a rented vacation cottage, paid for in cash to a widow named Ruth. Maggie took no pseudonym, put her name on nothing, and stayed with them in the second small bedroom. She was a steadying maternal presence bearing folded blankets and cloth diapers, years of accumulated knowledge, and endless gratitude for being asked to come.

Scully had been having little contractions off and on for days until, on a Sunday afternoon in late May, they gripped her hard, forcing her to bend over the kitchen table and bite her lips together. “Mulder,” she whimpered, voice high, and he was beside her in a second.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re ready. We’re ready,” he told them both, willing it to be true.

The birth center was small and quiet, more like a house, and it kept its medical secrets hidden: beeping machines inside cabinets, monitors and needles and IV bags tucked away in drawers and closets, just in case.

Their baby was born in what looked like a farmhouse bedroom: soft light and calm music, yellow flowers on the curtains. Maggie took photos and offered her daughter sips of water, encouraging smiles. Mulder, who had killed with his own hands, who had chased monsters through dark streets with a gun, felt a different kind of wild adrenaline now, watching his partner rock her hips to some rhythm he couldn’t know. It was the anxiety of powerlessness: her body did this. It was she who had to make it happen. He could only wait and hold her hand.

There was a tub. Of course Scully wanted a tub. She sank into the warm water and groaned a sound older than time. When the intensity passed she said, “It feels good. The water feels good,” and then after that she couldn’t speak.

Blood in the water worried him, but the midwife assured him it was fine. “Your baby’s coming,” she said. In a mirror angled between Scully’s knees, he saw the baby’s head emerge.

Scully held him first, lifted him herself from her own body through the water and into her arms, sobbing with relief while he turned from purple to pink and the midwife helped her cover him in a blanket. When the umbilical cord went soft and white, Mulder, still dazed, still not quite believing, separated mother and child at last.

“That’s good,” the midwife said. “Now you can hold him.”

The infant, wrapped and red, was pressed into his arms so Dana could stand, pass the placenta, dry off. Mulder looked down at the impossible face of his son and realized that something, for once, had gone terribly right. They had done this. In spite of everything, he found himself part of a family.

“Let me see.” He heard Maggie’s voice and she was smiling. She took their picture, he with the baby—a nervous father’s first moments—and came to touch her grandchild. “He’s perfect.”

“Yeah,” Mulder croaked.

Scully appeared beside him in the terrycloth robe she’d brought from home, eyes wild with euphoric relief, smiling like he hadn’t seen in far too long. She put one hand on the baby’s head, the other on his shoulder. “You’re both here,” she sniffled.

Mulder, catching her euphoria, bent and kissed her hard and open-mouthed, right in front of her mother.

—

Back in their apartment (theirs now), the Gunmen brought gifts and marveled at the boy child who was ordinary, yet no less miraculous. Mulder showed him off, chest puffed out in fatherly pride. William, they called him, who weighed nearly ten pounds already and had no hair to speak of.

“You are one lucky sonofabitch,” Frohike told him, wiggling his fingers in front of the child’s eyes.

Luck was part of it, Mulder knew. Things could have been so different, both better and worse. There was a universe of infinite variations in path, in outcome, in seemingly fated misstep. What if there was only one choice? Scully had asked him once, and he’d contemplated all the possible errors that might have held them apart. He wanted to believe it were fate or luck, but he knew there was also choice. He would need to choose this path, not just now, but every day. It seemed so clear, so easy.

Mulder kissed the invisible fuzz on William’s head and nodded. “More than lucky,” he said.

When the boys left, he bounced his son into the kitchen where Scully was pouring iced tea into two tall glasses. She smiled at them, bright as sunshine.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said to her. “You give this guy some lunch, and I’ll make some for you, hmm?”

Her smile widened and she reached her arms out for the baby, who fussed when he sensed an approaching meal. “Sounds good,” she told him, tugging already at the neckline of her shirt. “Get in there and make me a sandwich.”

Mulder laughed. He felt suddenly whole and warm, taken by a need to touch her. Before they were out of reach, he threw one arm around Scully’s shoulders and bent to kiss her neck: a noisy smack just below her ear. “Yes ma’am,” he murmured. He let her go and watched them settle on the couch.

— end —

[1kook]

baecation

Jeon Jeongguk x (F) Reader

summary⥗“Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart. tags⥗richboy!jk, -3 knowledge of how vacations work, domestic love!!!, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, fingering, jk’s white ass cheeks mention wc⥗5.9k u ever randomly get inspired for the first time in 2 months and write a whole fic in one night anyway enjoy

There were many perks to dating the heir of your city’s top conglomerate, the endless showering of gifts being one of them, but your favorite thing about your boyfriend wasn’t his overflowing pockets or his secure future, but the lovesick look in his eyes when you told him how much you loved him.

Jeongguk was an enigma.

He was born to be the stereotypical rich boy that authors of teen fiction could only dream of, his looks suitable for magazine covers and his brains destined for top-notch universities. His bloodline was carefully crafted by generations before him, every marriage carefully planned and executed with the ultimate goal to preserve their place in society as apex predators. In fact, Jeongguk’s entire life had been one big script his family had carefully pushed him along, from the fencing classes he took to the hiring of the nation’s best nannies to care for him, all subtle enough for him to not complain but demanding enough that he knew what was going on.

The only thing they hadn’t planned in Jeongguk’s life was him meeting you.

They had never planned for him to meet some middle-class girl, who was definitely not an heiress to any particular company or celebrity of any level, just some random girl he had accidentally bumped into leaving a charity event at the local community park. They hadn’t planned for his long, gangly arms to knock your phone out of your hand, or send it tumbling into the lake as you both watched on in horror. It was only after the quiet plop of water registered in both your ears that you had whirled on him, half of you in shock and the other in fury.

Jeongguk was, as previously stated, handed everything on a silver platter. His parents hardly bothered with teaching him how to do things. He barely understood how to work a washing machine, because all of that was done for him by other people. At the moment, he didn’t have to bother with taking an entrance exam to the best university this side of the country because he knew his parents would pay for the entire thing out of pocket. He especially didn’t ever have to worry about what to do when random girls scolded him in public sight, because frankly, it would never happen.

Yet here he was, completely startled as you told him to watch where he was going, and to learn how to apologize to people when you’ve done something wrong. He’d never had someone of a lower status than him treat him so aggressively before, and when you pause to catch your breath all he can stumble out is that he’ll replace your phone, he’ll even buy you the best model, what was your number so his people could reach out to you again?

The last sentence has you groaning in frustration, as you pointed furiously towards the lake, because how on earth was he supposed to contact you when your phone was 20 feet below surface level?!

After another fifteen minutes of you continuing your verbal rampage against him, the entirety of it which he’d spent fending off his security guard and his assistant (both who’d been appalled that he’d willingly let this peasant swear and curse at him) as he stared at you in awe.

When you finally calmed down and he’d offered to take you to the Starbucks across the street to figure out the details of your phone replacement, he’s surprised to find out your normal disposition is nothing like the one you’d first shown him. In fact, you’re rather sheepish and embarrassed at the coffee shop, albeit still a little upset with him for trashing your phone.

After you’ve finished nailing out the little details of your phone replacement, which included you hesitantly giving him your address, he leaves right away. He’s sad to leave so soon, having become completely enthralled with your entire being in the thirty minutes he’s come to know you, that he finds himself hopelessly staring out of the backseat of the Benz as he travels back to his upscale apartment in the heart of the city. He hopes you don’t forget him so soon.

To say you’re surprised to see a package on your doorstep the next morning is an understatement. You remember every online purchase you make, and if memory serves you right, you hadn’t made one in the past month to warrant its arrival today. After glancing down both ends of your hall, you tug the mystery package inside.

In hindsight you probably should have been more cautious of the entire situation, but part of you was extremely curious to see what brought this surprise on. After tugging the tape off and shuffling through the packing peanuts you’re met with a sleek box for the hottest and most expensive phone right now, a pink bow carefully tied around to secure a note.

One of our guard’s fished around the lake for the phone I misplaced and managed to retrieve the memory card. I hope you won’t mind the new contact I added.

Best,

Jeon Jeongguk

And thus was the start of your love story.

-

You’re wondering if Jeongguk’s sudden idea was truly a spur of the moment epiphany or another ploy for him to get out of going to the ball his father had planned at the end of this month. You’ve come to learn in the last two years that despite his perfect boy aura, he was quite the impulsive shithead. Eitherway, you know he would have invited you to wherever he was going, and if he hadn’t, his mother would have shipped you a gown from her favorite designer and asked you to drag him there.

As it stands, it’s not a fancy ball you’re preparing for this time around, but a luxurious spring break in the Bahamas, away from school and family and anything to ruin your mood for the next week. You’d just finished your midterms when he bursts into your dorm room, demanding you pack your bags, baby, we’re going to the beach! Evidently, it was not the local beach you were going to. No, the ‘beach’ Jeongguk had referred to was one he conveniently forgot to mention was an entire plane ride away. It wasn’t until he returned later that same day to usher you off to the airport that he realizes how sorely under packed you are.

So now here you were, frantically cramming a week’s worth of cute, summer-y clothes into the only suitcase you own, running back and forth from your closet to the suitcase to the desk where you kept all your beauty products and shower essentials, while your boyfriend ate one of your granola bars on your bed.

“You better not get any crumbs on the bed, you know I hate finding them later,” you scold, not even bothering to look at him as you stuff all your makeup into a small bag.

Jeongguk snorts. “You won’t even be sleeping here for a week, babe,” he says, voice calm and relaxed in the way only someone who’s already done packing can be. The only consolation to your current state was that Jeongguk had booked his family’s private jet, so you really couldn’t be late to a flight only the two of you would be on.

You turn around with a hand on your hip, giving him the same unimpressed look you always do when he’s being unreasonable. “I’m sure the mice you’re attracting will keep it warm for me.” He rolls his eyes, finishing off his snack and then making a big show of patting down your creaky mattress to rid it of any granola crumbs.

He’s settled back into the bed when he speaks again. “Take the orange crop top you bought from Forever 21 last month, it makes your boobs looks amazing.”

You tuck your socks and undergarments against the suitcase’s inner pocket. “Oh right, ‘cause that’s a priority right now.” You don’t wanna tell him it’s already folded against your other clothes because you, too, think it makes your boobs look amazing.

You hear the rustling of the bed sheets once more, before you see his long legs come to a rest around you, arms wrapping around your waist to watch you ruffle through the clothing you already have. “Not my fault my girl’s got a nice set on her.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you beg, reaching over to your pile of haphazardly thrown shorts and skirts to fold some more into your luggage. You’re careful of not moving far enough away that his arms would dislodge from their embrace. “We could have been halfway to the Bahamas right now if someone bothered to plan things ahead of time and not last minute as a means to get out of a charity ball.”

Jeongguk groans, letting his head fall forward to rest against your back, his soft breath leaving your back warm through your t-shirt. “Can’t a guy just steal his girlfriend away to the Bahamas for a week to avoid the overwhelming stress of life, and maybe choke on some exotic shrimp while she chokes on his di—”

“Get off of me, you pervert!”

The second you step foot on the archipelago that is the gem of the resort world, it’s about seven thousand degrees hotter than it was back home, and the sweat on the back of your neck can attest to that. The jet ride here had been pretty fun, it being your first experience flying private, but also flying in general. Jeongguk had kept you entertained both on the take off and landing, lips kissing down every inch of your neck with a promise for more later.

Well, it was later now, and the need to be sated was still present, something you’re not quite sure your boyfriend was aware of. Jeongguk was like that. Forgetful as fuck. The only reason he ever got anything done was because he had that assistant of his practically glued to his hip at every moment of the day, breathing down his neck every task he needed to complete. If it was up to Jeongguk, and Jeongguk alone, things would get done at a very slow pace.

But you were nothing like your boyfriend, and you suppose it’s why you two go together so well. While he put things to the side, you needed everything to be done right away and fast. Which is why you find yourself pulling him away from the scuba diving kiosk in an effort to check into your high-end cottage away from all the tourist hub.

“Babeee,” he whines, almost forgetting his luggage for the nth time, not used to actually having to haul his things by himself. “We could have seen the reef! You know, where all the fish are at? Where Nemo lives.”

“Uh huh, that’s nice,” you say, finding the driver Jeongguk’s assistant (bless his uptight, perfectionist ass) had booked for your arrival. “But we need to check in first and make sure our rental is all good.”

He seems miffed about the fact people actually have to do that, and had it not been his status as a trust-fund baby funding this entire trip, you would have liked to sock him right in the nose. But he’s your boyfriend and you’re used to his somewhat clueless ways by now, so you let it go.

You don’t know what you expected his assistant to rent out for you guys, but it certainly wasn’t the swanky beach house your driver pulls up to. It’s carefully secluded from the other houses around it, a high hedge-turned-fence surrounding the private yard. It hides a decent sized pool, a few lawn-chairs, and a hot tub from the public beach down below. The house itself is marvelous, complete with multiple bedrooms, two baths, and the most luxurious kitchen you’ve ever seen in a beach house.

“Oh,” you say upon stepping out of the car, mouth agape as you take in the sight of your accommodation for the next few days.

A pair of hands snake around your waist before carefully coming to rest above your navel. Jeongguk presses a gentle kiss to your temple, murmuring, “all for you, princess.” The waves crashing against the beach below are miniscule compared to the sudden blossoming of warmth in your chest.

“Shut up,” you shyly whine, turning around to envelope him in your arms. Your need for him and his body fades at the breathtaking sight behind you, and you find yourself forgetting about it completely as you venture around the house.

It’s the same day when you decide to go out into the yard and tan for a bit. Jeongguk had went in for a nap, a little tired from keeping you entertained on the long flight, because he’d stayed awake even when you fell asleep just in case you woke up scared. You don’t try to discourage him, watching him snuggle into the king mattress as you shuffle around for your bikini.

You’re absentmindedly applying another layer of sunscreen to your face, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head. You’re completely enveloped by thoughts of your boyfriend, of how he could have easily ran off to the Bahamas alone (he went to Moscow last November on a trip to ‘find himself’), but he’d elected to whisk you off with him.

You tuck your AirPods—another gift from him—into your ears before finally settling into the comfort of a lounge chair, the sun’s rays beating down on you full force. It feels wonderful being away from everything you know with the comfort of returning. You’d always dreamt of visiting such places as a teenager, the presence of a lover or not, but now you truly got to live out those fantasies with Jeongguk.

He was a dream.

It’s about thirty minutes into your session when you register the sound of the sliding door, and you crack one eye open to see your refreshed boyfriend wandering into the backyard in a pair of swimming trunks and a goofy look on his face. “Oh, pardon me, I didn’t know such women came to the public pool,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, not that he sees through the shades protecting you. “Don’t you dare try to roleplay with me, weirdo.”

He cackles, before somersaulting into the pool, and you find yourself squealing at the splash he makes. He disappears for a second under the water, but then pops back up at the ledge closest to you. “Come on, don’t be a pussy. Play along and maybe we’ll go to the spa tomorrow morning,” he offers.

“Fine.” You decide to join him, but not because the spa.

Jeongguk laughs at your petulant tone of voice, before sprawling out to float across the surface of the pool. “Great, so here’s what I was thinking. Me, the rich middle-aged husband coming here strictly for business. And you, the shy darling relaxing by the pool with her girlfriends who are all pushing her to go talk to me.”

“Sounds perfect, except for the part where I’m actually the sly minx coming here to scam a rich college boy out of his money, luring him into the most pleasurable sex he’s ever had, before ghosting him for all eternity and leaving him forever waiting for someone like me to come into his life again,” you propose.

Jeongguk blinks. “Wow, that sounded so realistic. You’re either really good at this, or… I should be worried,” he playfully accuses, before throwing over a gesture that says im watching you. You laugh.

“Just keep swimming, rich boy.”

He does as you tell him, playing in the water as you tune back into the music drifting into your ears. You’re about done tanning the front side of your body, and flip over to make sure your backside catches the rays as well. You set your sunglasses off to the side, and when you look back for them they’re adorning Jeongguk’s silly face as he doggy paddles around the donut floaty he found.

“Untie your top, dumby. Unless you want those ugly tan lines,” Jeongguk calls out in that brash tone of his. You flip him the bird, before sitting up in a very Ariel-esque pose to glance around your private yard.

As if sensing your hesitation, Jeongguk paddles over to your side, leveling you with an unimpressed look. “These bushes are as tall as a door, and there’s no one around for the next half mile, babe. Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.”

He truly knew the way to your heart.

You untie the knots at your back and your neck, carefully laying back down to get that perfect tan Jeongguk was talking about. Admittedly, you do feel a bit better knowing you won’t return home with noticeable tan lines, and that much is enough to have your topless self blissfully relaxing.

Your soundtrack is the playlist you had collected on the plane ride, occasionally joined by the splashing Jeongguk makes as he moves around the pool, and before you know it, your timer is ringing to let you know it’s time to flip over again. This time, you’re less hesitant about shedding your top, breasts bare to the sky as you throw the top over your eyes (guess where your sunglasses still where).

You hear a wolf whistle from the other side of the yard, and catch sight of Jeongguk sitting at the edge of the pool. His skin is glistening from the water, the sun enveloping him in its warmth. He’d been outside for a shorter time than you but somehow he’d accumulated a darker color faster. The sun loved him like no other. He’s pushing himself to his feet when he catches your gaze, mischievous smirk twisting his features as he rounds the pool.

“Didn’t know this was a nude beach,” he says, and you curse your body for the way it reacts to the sight of his messy hair and tone abdomen. Your nipples harden embarrassingly and you can’t even hide them.

“Tired already?” You muse instead, hoping he doesn’t comment on the state of your breasts. “Tired after a plane ride, tired after swimming. Didn’t know I was dating an old man.”

“Har har,” he says in a monotone voice, and you can’t help the curl of a smile at beating him at his own playful ways. He stops in front of you, and your expression is knocked clean off when the water droplets clinging to his body fall onto your warm skin.

“Jeongguk!” You whine, pushing him away with your foot in a valiant effort to save yourself from the cold water. If anything, your actions end up bringing your demise as he catches your ankle in his hand.

“Ah ah, princess,” he tuts, bending your leg upward only to place his knee where it once was. He ducks down to tower over you, your continuous squealing only bringing an evil smile to his face. “What did we say about tan lines?”

You push him away, groaning in defeat as his hair drips even more water onto your skin. “I took the top off, what now?”

He glances down, and for a moment, you’re confused as to what he sees that you don’t. You're only met with the sight of your yellow bikini bottom preserving the last of your dignity.

You scoff. “You’re kidding.”

Much to your chagrin, he’s not.

“You’re on one of the nicest islands in the world, staying in a private home with fences tall enough to stop Bigfoot from looking in, and you’re gonna tan with your bikini bottoms on? You’re ridiculous.”

You shove his shoulder, before resigning yourself to getting soaked by him as he shuffles around to squish you under his weight. “You’re ridiculous for thinking I’d be outside without any clothes on!”

He snorts against your shoulder, long arms moving around until he has one somewhat curled beneath you. “Nah. You are.”

“Don’t start with me, Jeon.”

He shifts again to look you in the eye. “Come on, ___. You’re really gonna get tan lines when you could avoid them?”

You roll yours eyes. “You couldn’t get me to go outside completely naked for a million bucks, baby.” The beginning of a grin curls around his lips. “Don’t even think about it.”

This brings a laugh out of him, before he’s laying back down to kiss your neck. “You’re silly.” All you can really hope for now is that him laying on top of you won’t give you an even worse tan line.

Just when you think he’s given up on his quest to have you completely naked outside, you feel the slightest tug on the tie holding your bikini in place, slapping your hand down on his as if he were a pesky fly. “Fine!” He huffs, rolling off you to jump back into the water. “I hope everyone sees your uneven tan.”

“No one would see a tan line on my coochie, Jeon,” you remind him, flinching when he decides to cannonball into the water right beside you, sprinkling you in another round of water pellets.

He emerges from the clear water a moment later, paddling to the ledge beside you to flick more water your way. “I will,” he retorts. “When I got you bent over tomorrow morning.”

You don’t hesitate to fling your bikini top his way, the yellow fabric smacking him across the face. “In that case, you should take those shorts off, because I certainly don’t wanna have to look at your pasty thighs.”

“You love my milky thighs,” he hums, traversing the length of the pool for his donut floaty again.

“Milky?”

Your tiny quarrel ends there, Jeongguk soon becoming too immersed in competing against himself in a breath-holding contest to bother you any longer. He’s adorable like this, cheeks puffed out like Mrs. Puff every time his head pops out of the water, that you almost forget to flip over when your timer rings again.

It’s in the midst of your repositioning that you dare take a peak beneath your bottoms. Much to your disdain, there is a growing disparity between the skin beneath your swimsuit and the skin around it. Nothing too bad, but if you were to lay out as long as you planned, it’d become embarrassingly noticeable. Your breasts had been saved from any differences thanks to Jeongguk’s early warning, and you begin wondering if shedding your bottoms would inflate his already huge ego.

No matter, you discreetly unknot the ties securing your bottoms, hoping he won’t notice from across the yard as you carefully slip them off.

You make quick work of laying on your stomach again, your ass finally catching some rays after being covered for so long. You won’t lie, there’s an unexpected wave of comfort that comes with being bare outside, your entire body wonderfully enveloped by the sun’s beaming rays. You snuggle into the lounge chair’s cushions as you nearly reach nirvana.

Your blissful state is ruined not even ten minutes later when the sound of Jeongguk’s heavy splashing comes closer and closer. It’s not until you hear the splat of his wet feet against the pavement that you realize you’re in trouble.

There’s a playful smack against your ass, and you yelp in surprise. “Jeon!” You whine, instantly sitting up on your forearms to narrow your eyes at him. He’s flashing you that playful grin of his as he plops down beside you, not even having to ask you to move over because you do so subconsciously

“Knew you’d give in eventually,” he sighs, leaning back on his palms as he tries to catch his breath. You decide to give up on your dreams of having a peaceful tanning session, turning around to face your glistening boyfriend.

“What do you want for lunch?” You ask instead, running a hand through the hair at the nape of your neck, rolling your shoulders around to get some movement back into them. He shrugs, slithering his way up the cushions to squish himself beside you. It’s a tight fit, but he makes it easier by throwing your leg over his middle.

“Probably some good food in the little village a mile from here. Could probably walk there too.” You hum in agreement, snuggling into his side. You’ve long since gotten over the coldness of his skin, cheek pressed against his chest. He’s got a hand on your lower back, partially to hold you close but also to stop you from rolling off the chair.

Right as your snoozing off, so wonderfully warm beneath the sun and comfortable in your birthday suit, you feel a pair of fingers brush against the backside of your thigh, and then ghost over your exposed pussy.

“You’re despicable,” you murmur, tweaking his nipple between your fingers. Jeongguk snickers, shifting you around so you’re mostly on top of him now, your awakened core pressed against his thigh.

“C’mon, princess,” he goads, running a pair of moist fingers along your thigh again, trying to carefully coax you into doing what he wants. Most things, you now realize, tend to go Jeongguk’s way regardless of other factors. “No one’ll hear us out here.”

“But what if someone does,” you point out, always the voice of reason when it comes to Jeongguk’s ideas. “We could get in trouble, Guk. I don’t know…”

“In trouble for what?” Is his smart rebuttal, shuffling beneath you so you can finally feel the swollen cock hiding beneath his swimming trunks. “Enjoying ourselves in our own home? Oh, the terror.” Upon seeing the uncertainty that still clings to your features, he drops the somewhat cocky attitude to press a kiss to your nose. “It’s all good, princess,” he soothes, ducking down to caress the side of your face with his cherried lips. “If anything, I’ll just bribe our way out of any trouble.”

“Ugh,” you groan, melting into him as you finally give in. “I hate when you say that.”

Jeongguk snuffles a laugh against your jaw, maneuvering the two of you around until you’re laid flat against the cushion with him hovering over you. “When I say what?” He teases. “That my wallet is as fat as my cock?”

You roll your eyes, untying the knot he’d done at the front of his shorts. “Get that fat cock of yours out before I change my mind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he complies, setting one foot on the floor to push his shorts down, until you’re met with the sight of his stark thighs. You cackle, and his arrogant smirk is wiped off as he glances down at his two-toned legs.

“What happened to getting the perfect tan?” You sneer, tapping a finger against his muscled thighs. “Don’t tell me your ass is this white, too.”

He huffs in annoyance, before reclaiming his spot between your legs again, tugging you down until your cores are pressed together. “Shut up.” You do as he says, words catching in your throat at the feeling of his engorged cock brushing against your wet folds.

His slips a hand down to languidly toy with your folds, his fingers slightly pruny from all the time he spent in the water. It feels a little weird, but any complaints you may have had are wiped away when he nudges your bud with the tip of his pointer finger. You gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders at the sudden stimulation against your core. “Ohh,” you sigh, eyes rolling backwards.

“Feel good?” He checks, eyes trained on your expressions, lips unconsciously puckering to kiss you, even with your writhing beneath him. You let out a high-pitched mewl, much to your embarrassment, cheeks flushed warm from the sun and his ministrations. You nod belatedly.

He lets his wandering hands carry on, carefully travelling across the entirety of your folds. He knows your body like no other, so familiar with the dips and curves, that it’s impossible for him to not immediately locate your g-spot upon plunging his fingers inside you. “G-Guk!” you cry out, hands falling to grip at his biceps.

He presses a kiss to your throat. “That’s it, baby, lemme hear you,” he murmurs, and subtly presses his cock to the inside of your thigh. “Looked so delicious out here,” he sighs, and it’s as if he’s talking to himself. “Wanted to fuck your pretty little pussy from the second I stepped outside.”

Your back arches beneath him at a particular scissor of his fingers, another whine caught in your throat. “Want you so bad,” you whimper, reaching a hand up to tangle in his dark locks. You use the leverage to pull his lips towards yours, meeting in a frantic crash that has you whining against him even more.

His tongue slips past your lips, subduing yours when you try the same on him, and you almost choke on the excess saliva pooling in your mouth. Right before you can, he pulls back in favor of trapping your lower lip between his teeth. Your eyes flutter open, and you meet his own dark gaze.

“Ready?” He huffs, pulling his fingers out from within you. They’re shiny with your slick, almost as wet as they’d been when he was swimming earlier. You nod, dazed from all the pleasure he was giving you, that you can’t do more but spread your legs for him. He leans back on his knees, lining himself up with your hole.

You’d long since eliminated condoms from your relationship with Jeongguk, your trust in each other overwhelmingly so. Besides, you were still on the pill, and Plan B existed, so you never really worried about slipping up and accidentally getting yourself pregnant. Although there were times when he’d go overboard, stuffing you with his cum until you feel bloated, you’d never gotten pregnant before, so you wouldn’t begin to worry now.

Just the idea of feeling him in his entirety has you salivating, needy hands reaching out to grasp any part of him you can reach. Jeongguk snickers at your desperate ways, knotting his fingers with yours before pressing them to the cushion beneath you, the other gripping onto your thigh to keep your legs spread.

The second his tip pushes through the initial tightness, your mouth drops open, indecipherable noises escaping you. “J-Jeon,” you cry, chest heaving at the sudden intrusion.

“Relax for me, princess,” he huffs, just as out of it as you. Your body feels like it’s ascended, Jeongguk’s cock slowly pushing in further with each breath you take. It doesn’t take much longer for him to completely bottom out, the warm skin of his thighs pressing against you.

You’re like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as your body slowly assimilates to the feeling of being so absolutely full. It’s not until Jeongguk subtly shifts his weight onto his other leg that you give him the green light to start fucking you.

You moan, the first few thrusts hitting against every sweet spot inside you. “God, you’re so fucking big,” you heave, clenching around him just to feel the drag of his cock against your walls.

Jeongguk chuckles through his own pants, the fingers entwined with yours becoming impossibly tighter. “You’re too good for me,” he sighs, hauling your thigh further up his forearm until its resting in the crease of his elbow. The positioning allows his strokes to go deeper. You cry out, squirming beneath him with each thrust he gives.

“Oh fuck,” you cry wantonly when he plunges deeper into you, the water that decorated his skin long having been replaced by the sweat clinging to him. Your eyes flutter shut and you’re left only listening to the sounds of you, Jeongguk, and the ocean waves beneath you. “I love you,” you whimper.

Jeongguk grunts, ducking down to kiss you again, his hips not once slowing down. “Love you too, princess,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you,” he groans, puncuating his statement with a brutal thrust of his cock into you. “Gonna buy you that pretty Valentino bag when we get back, I promise,” he adds, picking up his pace.

You whine, “You don’t have to, Jeon, I—”

He cuts you off, “and that silver Audi you liked at the car show last winter,” he rambles on, seemingly clueless to your protest. “A-And maybe that Louis Vuttion coat that brings out the color in your eyes—”

“I saw the same one at H&M,” you interrupt, swiveling your hips upwards to meet his thrusts. He chokes out a laugh.

“Shut up and just let me spoil you,” he groans, and then seemingly forgets what else he was planning on buying you as he focuses his complete attention on helping you reach your orgasm.

With his focus solely on that, you find the burning feeling in your lower abdomen grow tenfold, voice becoming more annoying with each moan and whine you give. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his thrusts sending tingles up and down your spine. He peppers kisses down your chest, each touch leaving your skin scorching.

Time seems to slow when the coil in your stomach finally snaps, an embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips as your body spasms beneath him. “Oh, Jeongguk,” you sigh, falling limp on the lounge chair as he continues chasing his high.

He pulls out soon enough, giving his cock a few tugs before he’s spurting his come across your lower abdomen, leaning back to admire his masterpiece. He’s panting afterwards, and the backyard feels eerily quiet as you both just gaze at each other with goofy smiles on your faces.

The romantic aura is ruined when he feels the need to say, “hey, maybe now my ass won’t be so white.”

“Fuck, you look sexy,” he murmurs when the instructor finally turns around, leaving Jeongguk to gawk at your body in the tight wetsuit provided. “Gonna fuck you so good tonight.”

“Shut up,” you blush, trying to stop your eyes from violating your boyfriend’s disgustingly gorgeous body in the matching wetsuit he wears. “We’ll get kicked out of the group, Guk.”

He rolls his eyes. “I could have rented the whole place out for us, but someone thought scuba diving with the other corny tourists would be fun.”

You flick his forehead. “You don’t have to buy out every building we go to,” you remind him, memories of this morning’s completely empty breakfast bar flickering to attention. “Besides, I wouldn’t have let you fuck me tonight anyway.”

He scoffs at your claim. “Please, you would have begged me, ___.”

You hit him with the wide end of your swimming fin, then have to apologize to the instructor for your horseplay, much to Jeongguk’s amusement. You narrow your eyes at him, following the rest of the group out onto the boardwalk leading to the boat. “Find me a Nemo, and we’ll do it in the beach cabana.”

Jeongguk’s lips twists into the most devious smirk you’ve ever seen, and he smacks your ass as he runs ahead of you. You yelp, just as he turns to face you just as he nears the group. “Has anyone seen my son?”

[blissfulalchemist]

shimmer + stasia xx

Thank you Stella! I hope you do not mind that I also included the second one you sent in for Stasia which was: Saccharine.

I don’t remember the last time I had held something so precious and didn’t fear it crumbling with just the slightest wrong move. Then again I haven’t felt fear in hundreds of years. 

There was no need when you were the apex predator, one that grew strong with every minute that you managed to keep yourself alive. That’s all one could feel, the power, the drive, the invincibility when they tried to hurt you. Tried to stab you with their knife or sword, shooting you with pellets that did nothing but create holes and stains in clothing. And then….

The horror.

That terror in their eyes as they saw me stand again, that added dramatism of slowly pulling out their knife, or watching as each bullet fell from my body as I healed right before their eyes. How I miss watching those faces go through every emotion I could no longer feel in the span of seconds. I remember the resentment that even in my inhuman state there was some part of my new physiology that granted mercy, a saliva that brought peace and bliss in their final moments. After the first month I stopped feeding from behind, I didn’t need, nor want, to see that final face of pleasure. Sometimes it was just easier to snap their neck before I fed, at least then the fear would stay.

It was all easier back then. Simple. Better and more exhilarating than the life I had before. My first human life, the one I’ve stumbled back to while attending another socialite auction of rare goods. Jeweled pieces of history is the theme for tonight. None of them aware that there’s a piece of mine here too, a few actually upon a second look. I never thought I’d see the shimmer of diamonds and light blue sapphires. The gold binding them together no longer shines as it once did, whoever cleaned it though came pretty close, but five hundred years is a lot to wash away. It’s easy enough to almost mistake it for a bracelet with its thin band and tiny circumference, it looks nothing like one would expect of a crown from the time period. It wasn’t even a crown, just a tiara because she only just wanted to feel like a princess.

We weren’t royalty, at least not yet I don’t think. If I had had children earlier, maybe taken a man as a husband, then maybe we could have been. We were close enough though for my daughter, Ozana, to feel envious of those that were born royal. Observing them as they stop in our little kingdom from their travels, showing off their riches as we graciously hosted them for meals. The small children of theirs, if they had any, poked fun at her clothing, hair, toys, lack of servants, anything they could spot that was different from their lives. If it wasn’t the need to keep a war off our doorstep, even my magic has its limits against an army, I would have punished those vile and selfish children. She took it all with grace while they were in our company, that envy only showing when we’d lie in bed and I’d tell her stories to help her sleep.

It was those children that I listed among the others as the cause for my death and the downfall of all that I had built in what I had thought my last moments. Ozana was seven and she simply did as all children do and mimicked the actions of those “divinely” chosen hoping that maybe she could be like them. Those acts never lasted long, she always had a softer heart, but it turned out to be just enough for them to lay plans to take her life once I was assured as dead, they couldn’t risk retaliation or for her to become my exact copy. Plans that never came to pass as my sister had not yet left like I ordered her to do. She stole Ozana away from me, from those traitors, and nurtured the saccharine heart of my daughter, that same one that I saw get passed from generation to generation. One that I hated, that I crushed and buried long ago, for being nice never got you what you wanted. 

I think I can still remember what it felt like to love her, to love her so much that I showed her how to control the warmth she emitted so she could protect herself. She would have learned one day, if I hadn’t gotten so distracted. Kept my love for her in check. Self preservation should have been my number one priority, for more children could always have been made after her. There could always have been another….

The young man charged with making sure this piece doesn’t disappear is also the one that provides the information on it. He’s been prattling on this entire time most of the information wrong about its origins, or what is assumed seeing as I had hidden it so well that when my home was raided and stripped it remained locked away along with a few necklaces. It was the most recently discovered set here, some college kids exploring the wooded area coming across the ruins of what has been now noted as a castle, my home. The rain from that month finally revealed some of the old plates and goblets, the stone work from the half pillars prompting them to get a local university involved where they then dug up the final remnants of Liana Enache. 

He ends his speech with a general time frame of when the tiara was made and I want to spit out the exact year for him. I keep my mouth shut though, setting it back into place in its restored original box. The smoke of memory on how I thought little Ozana’s face would have looked like when she opened the glossy dark wood box for her eighth birthday. It feels out of habit to shut the box on the memory, locking it away for good, before I smile at the young man, who’s already opening it back up for the next admirer, moving on to see the next piece in the auction, an old necklace of mine that I do end up buying back that night. 

I, Stasia, am no longer as short sighted as Liana was. Will never be as emotional as she was.

I never will be.

Never again.

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 7)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Notes: This is turning out to be a slow burn fic and I’m sad. I’m going to sneak in some fluff in the next part. Words: 2,354

    Bruce glares down at her, “Where’s Jason?”

    Talia’s eyes narrow in sadness and she closes them as she shakes her head. “He betrayed the League. He killed them all.”

    Before she could even finish her words, you’re already lifting up your knees to hide your face.

    “He’s gone, beloved.”

     Jason stares at the ceiling in his room, absentmindedly caressing his arms, finally wondering if he’ll ever see your words on his arms again. After what happened, what he did, he expected you to write strings of profanities and some words of disappointment or sadness. He at least expected a strong punch in the gut but all he’s received is silence.

     He’s drowning in the silence of his room. The silence of his days and nights. The silence even the wind brings in the desert. So many times he’s found himself clutching the fountain pen but never dipping it in the ink bottle. Only hovering its tip over his skin. He knows he’s done something extremely wrong and he can never redeem himself.

     But then he thinks, why does it matter? Just because you were born with the link, doesn’t mean anything. He thinks that every time he gets knocked down in training. He considers it while he watches his wounds bleed and stain his clothes. He thinks of you whenever he coughs blood into his palms.

     He can’t say sorry. He knows how but he doesn’t want to. He tells himself he needs this. These little bouts and drills are necessary for the future he wants, a future without his murderer. He’s just not sure if he wants you in it. Or if you’ll want him.

     Frustrated, Jason rubs his head, messing up his hair, and locks himself in his room without dinner. He closes his windows, turns off the lights, and lies still on his bed. He shuts his eyes and takes one last deep breath before numbing his body to the cold air in his room and the soft cotton bed.

     The first thing he feels from you is warmth. Then there’s a cackle like fire eating away at a piece of wood. He can feel the heat on his face and palms and he can almost see you sitting in front of the large fireplace at the manor.

     He focuses on his auditory senses but doesn’t hear anything, just the fire and wood softly echoing in the room. Then he hears the large wooden door slowly open along with a voice he hasn’t heard in years.

     “Y/N.” He can hear his father. His voice is so gentle and wary. Jason wonders if he used that voice to whisper apologies to his own dead body when he found him. “Dick called me because you weren’t answering his calls.”

     “Oh. I left my phone in my room.”

     Your voice still floods every fiber in Jason’s body. His body shivers, almost breaking his concentration. He hasn’t heard your voice for the longest time and it’s only now that he realizes how much he misses it.

     “I’ll tell him.” Jason doesn’t hear the wooden door close. Only the crackling fire continues to fill the room with sound. “I’m not going to ask you what happened but I want you to know that you can always talk to me about it. It may not seem like it but I am a good listener.”

     Jason almost wants to laugh with joy. For a moment, he’s happy that Bruce is taking care of you. Treating you with as much care and sympathy as he did for him.

     “Do you…” Jason feels you nibbling on your lips before you continue speaking, “Is there a way to get rid of a soulmate link?” you whisper.

     Jason suddenly feels whiplashed. His body has gone stiff with his mouth open and his brows furrowed, creasing close together at the center.

     “It’s not the bruises or the bleeding-- It’s just---”

     Bruce waits a few more seconds before prodding, “Just?”

     “Just,” you reply with finality. “Thank you, Bruce. I’ll go ahead and text Dick.”

     Jason feels the warmth of the fire disappear from your face.

     “Y/N, after we find Jason, I’ll help you find a way. If that’s still what you want.”

     Jason doesn’t hear you reply. After a moment, the next thing he feels is soft cotton on his face, warm tears on his cheeks, and nothing else for the rest of the night. When Jason wakes up, his own eyes are strained and tears have dried up on his own cheeks.

     “You seem distracted,” Talia frowns as he scrutinizes Jason who quickly goes defensive.

     “I’m not.”

     Talia doesn’t say anything but she keeps watching him throughout the day. The extra pair of eyes on him during training does not help him feel any better. He’s making mistakes he wouldn’t have as Robin and he keeps glaring at Talia until she leaves with a huff.

     Finally done for the day, Jason takes a stroll around the compound, something he’s taken to doing ever since you stopped writing. He wants to be sure he knew every nook and cranny of the place where he’s being held. 

     One of his favorite spots was an empty well half-concealed by foliage. He believes it’s directly under one of the tunnels connecting the fortress into the sacred city, a tunnel off-limits to assassins in training, so he’s been toiling his restless nights digging away at it absently-mindedly.

     “We may need to bring the soulmate in.”

     Talia’s calculating voice floats down the well as her shadow looms over Jason. He quickly panics but notices that Talia has her back turned to the well. Jason quickly flattens himself against the wall directly closest to Talia and Ra’s Al Ghul and slows down his breathing.

     “He still thinks we don’t know about the link. It could be our last chance to keep the boy in our control.”

     Ra’s grunts, “You know as well as I do how much more difficult that contingency plan is.”

     “Yes. My beloved has taken in a new ward. But we both know he’s not training Y/N. She’s still an easy target.”

     Jason grit his teeth. Your name passing through Talia’s lips does not sit well with him, especially the implication of what they have planned for you. What they’ve always planned for you.

     Ra’s is quiet for a while. A distant call catches both of their attention. “If the boy continues to fare poorly, then we may revisit this discussion.”

     Jason doesn’t go back to his room. Fueled by anger, frustration, and a grave sense of panic, he stays inside the deep well. After hours pacing back and forth in the darkness, forcing his breathing to calm down unsuccessfully, he stomps and jumps in anger inside the well. The dirt floor muted his feet but it cracked under his weight.

     A small patch of earth gave way and Jason fell through. He landed on hard ground in what seemed to be a man-made tunnel. The very tunnel he’s been digging to see.

     Then everything clicks inside his head. Quick-thinking and resourceful, like a true Robin. Jason looks up through the hole until he finds the moon halfway to its apex and estimates what time it is. From what he’s heard from the other assassins, the city is only an hour ride away from the fortress so he might just have enough time to run there and back before his morning training.

     Eth Alth'eban was a small city filled with priest warriors. They valued their faith and religion above everything. They prided themselves as people of great devotion and resilience. While the League of Assassins saw them as an obstacle over the land where the new Lazarus pit can thrive. 

     It took one week for the League to completely bring the sacred city down. Less than that to completely break down the citizens’ wills and only four days to corrupt half of their souls.

     Human trafficking. That was the new-age problem the League had employed to completely eradicate a city of devotion and resilience. They kidnapped their children, and then their women, and sold them to the next cities over. Once they fought their warriors, they were so enraged, they’ve lost all reason and that’s when the League had the upper hand.

     They defeated them but didn’t kill them. They fought the warriors of Eth Alth'eban until they were on their knees begging for mercy. Blood running down their face and saliva spitting from their mouth every time they pleaded. The assassins took one look at them and then walked away.

     That was their mistake. Once Jason had made it to the city, he immediately locates a small resistance of young people, children of the warriors the League had shamed. Without caution but with complete determination, he strides up to them with his hands up and states his purpose clear and loud.

     They stare at him like he’s crazy. Jason thinks he is crazy. But there’s no time and he knows what they want and how to make them agree. The group look at each other in question until the tallest one finally speaks.

     “If what you say is true, how do you expect us to go up against the League of Assassins in one night?”

     Jason grins, finally getting somewhere, much sooner than he thought. “We’re going to need guns. Lots of it.”

     A few months later, Jason stands front and center, surrounded by assassins and stared down by Ra’s Al Ghul. It’s one of those nights where a training member is given the chance to challenge a fully-fledged assassin. If they pass, it’s a sign that they no longer need training and they have achieved their first kill.

     The League is in shock when Jason walks past the assassins, the elite members, and stands right in front of Ra’s. By League tradition, only a blood-relative or a betrothed can challenge Ra’s, a fight for the position of the Demon Head.

     Jason chuckles, “I’m just messing with you.” He laughs boisterously as the room goes sour. Some of the young assassins try to stifle their snickers but Ra’s, Talia, and the elite members are not amused. 

     “Do you think this is funny? Is the League truly a joke to you?” Talia snaps at him.

     Jason doesn’t look at her. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” He turns around to look at the full number of the League. He turns to the shadows in the darkness, counting the silhouettes surrounding the premises overhead. Absentmindedly he replies, “I was trying to get out of the way.”

     Bullets rain down like hellfire. Ra’s shouts orders. Talia pulls out her sword. But Jason is faster and he shoots both of them in the chest before they could even take a step toward him. He shoots them two more times along their torso and doesn’t wait for the youth of Eth Alth'eban to finish fulfilling their lifelong dream of vengeance.

     Jason sneaks away and finally escapes the fortress that has held him and shaped him for a whole year. The League of Assassins are bad guys, villains, but their methods are right. How can evil truly leave Gotham if Batman never stops it from breathing?

     Jason’s first destination is home, smuggling himself aboard a cargo ship and slipping into the city under the Bat’s radar. He doesn’t go straight to Wayne manor even though his feet are itching to come running to you. To his home.

     “So close yet so fucking far,” he whispers to himself as he waits for another night of darkness to veil the city and deafen it with sirens. He has been waiting for one big villainous operation that can distract the Bats for a few hours. He plans on going to Wayne manor and take you with him, away from Gotham and go anywhere in the world.

     Finally, from the surveillance he’s planted at every exit of the cave, he sees them leave at the same time, leaving you and Alfred in the manor. Jason still knows the property like the back of his hand and uses the shadows and blind spots to make his way toward the back entrance.

     He suddenly stops when he sees you on a balcony, the balcony of his room. Your arms are crossed. Your eyes are staring directly ahead at the horizon of the foggy and blurry Gotham skyline.

     “It’s warmer tonight. Did you find a better place?”

     At first, Jason thinks you saw him.

     “I bet you hated the sand getting in your hair and on your face,” you chuckle softly. “I stopped getting seasick so I’m guessing you’ve finally arrived… wherever it is you’re trying to get to.”

     Jason slowly crouches down beneath the balcony, pressing his back against the brick wall and straining his ears to hear you better, letting your voice replenish him like an oasis in the desert.

     “Dick thinks you’re here. In Gotham. That’s why they’ve been out there every single night. Scouring the city for you. Hoping you’re not injured. Hoping you’re fine. Hoping you haven’t completely turned to the dark side...”

     You pause for a breath and your voice sounds different when you speak next. Quiet. Sadder. “I hope you’re not injured. I hope you’re well. I also hope you’re not here.”

     Jason closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall, searing pain tearing through his chest.

     “After what you did, Jason… Bruce thinks the first thing you’ll do in Gotham is kill the Joker.”

     Your next words come in an even softer voice, almost strained, “Then maybe Tim…”

     Jason opens his eyes. All relief has been washed away from his body. Why don’t you think he’ll see you first?

     “I hope he’s wrong. I hope you decided to leave this life and choose a better one. You’ve always been scrappy, Jason. You can achieve anything you put your mind to.”

     Jason hears you sigh along with the shiver that goes through your body.

     “I don’t know if you’re listening this time. I felt you listening before, sometimes when I’m at the fireplace, or down in the cave, or pretending to be asleep… If you’re listening now, and if you’re in Gotham City… turn back. Take this second chance. Find a new purpose--”

     Jason’s heard enough. He slams the wall with his fist and rushes from the shadows until he’s off the property.

     You’re startled. You quickly scan the property for any movement but you just miss the figure retreating into the distance. Back into Gotham City.

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[dreams-of-valeria]

For the Xmas request thing can you do 7-Fluff and 1-Smut together?

@chiefharbour asked:

For the Christmas prompts, could you do Smut # 1 & #9? I’m living for your writing!

Cold cuts

F7: Christmas gifts

S1: Secret Santa

S9: Dealer's choice (Surprise)

Pairing: Jim Hopper x female reader

Warnings: Age gap, language, dirty talk, Hopper being his sexy-ass self, SMUT

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the sweet things you guys have said! I am overwhelmed with all the love and although this isn't strictly secret santa, I hope you like this one! Merry Christmas!

Word count: 3,156

You swayed your hips in beat with the smooth acoustic that pervaded the air of the small kitchen, as you wrapped your Christmas gift to Hopper.

Elvis crooning about being left alone on Christmas rang from his record player and with you alike, because it was 10 pm and your boyfriend wasn't home yet. You found it odd to call him your boyfriend--juvenile even, but maybe it was just the townsfolk rubbing off on you. They definitely were, considering you just said townsfolk.

As long as their opinion on age gaps in relationships didn't rub off on you, you didn't care.

Two years ago, you were just the new girl in town whose sole reason to pick Hawkins was to leave her bankruptcy behind as she paid off her student loans. A lot of help your marketing degree was doing you in a place where people called the ATM a banksy. You hated living there and missed the nice life but little did you know that meeting a certain policeman would make it all worth your while.

What followed after that fated and chaotic meet at the bank was petty banter and frustrated sighs, which took both of you a month to understand was pure sexual tension and once you'd fucked and got that out of the way, you had plenty of time for the romance.

Neither was of you was very fond of the chocolates and flowers bit, but were experts in the nude. Sure, there were plenty of gooey and touchy-feely memories along the way, and the amount of gentleness Hopper showed threw you at times. But at the same time, you loved how rough he was with you in bed. It was what you were both good at and you had no complaints. Except for the tardiness.

You sighed as you did the final knot and wrote his name on the card, vowing not to bring it up. You would not be one of those people who chastised their partner over the amount of time they spent doing their very crucial work. Provided it didn't extend beyond 11 pm. Your patience really started to wear thing close to the witching hour.

You headed to the tree and placed the small present by the trunk, grinning in anticipation. You couldn't wait to see his face when he opened it. Your heart beat in wait as you tightened the bow of your grey robe, and fidgeted with the ornaments to cut time.

You noticed that your present was the only occupant under the tree, and told yourself not to be disappointed if Hopper forgot to wrap his. Or get you a gift in the first place.

It was unlikely, but still a possibility. He was just so fizzled out lately, and you hoped it was only a bad streak.

You had just corrected the tilt of a rogue red bauble when the lock turned behind you and your boyfriend (--lover?) walked through the door, brushing the snow off his coat and boots.

“Hey, stranger,” you greeted him at the entrance, leant against the wall with your arms crossed. His face looked flushed like you'd just sat on it and rode it to your climax, and there was something to be said about his unruly hair.

“I know I'm late, baby. Some people, I swear to God . . .” he grumbled as he passed by you, leaving an ice cold kiss on your lips before he settled before the fireplace, warming himself up.

You watched him as he rubbed his hands together, and the way his arms flexed underneath that tight uniform shirt. It was the hottest thing you'd ever laid eyes on, and never failed to leave you wet and wanting.

“Dinner smells amazing,” he commented with a smirk, shooting you a look from under his thick eyebrows. They matched his beard, all rich and prickly, and you suspected one of the reasons he kept it was because of the noises you were making when he went down on you.

“Did you spend all day cooking for me, darlin'?”

You smirked at him with your arms crossed.

You couldn't cook to save your life. Which meant your significant other was calling Swanson's TV dinners his darling. Nevertheless, the endearment made your knees weak. And your panties damp.

“Oh you know how I can't resist my gastronomy when I'm waiting on my tardy hunk.”

“Gastronomy?” He frowned as he kicked off his boots.

“Word of the day,” you told him as you took a seat on the couch next to him. “I thought we could do presents first.”

“I'd rather do you first, but sure,” he shrugged, turning to face you as smiled. You shook your head and watched him with a face-splitting grin, expecting him to retrieve his present from under the tree. But he just sat there watching you quizzically, dumb as the doorknob that's been keeping you company on Hopperless nights.

You sighed and told him what he was supposed to do, but he simply twisted his face unwillingly. “I'm burned, sweetheart, could you get it for me, please?”

“It's two feet away, Hop.”

“I'm not as young as you are anymore.”

“Oh really? You weren't born with a receding hairline?” You snapped as you fetched him his present, but he man laughed, which nearly made his eyes close. You absolutely loved those laughs.

“Should have thought of that before you fell in love with an old man, kitten.”

“I'll remember that for next one,” you teased, making him laugh again as he took his present with a thank you.

Maybe it was your excitement rubbing off on him, but he suddenly seemed thrilled that he had a present with his name on it. You imagined he didn't get a lot of presents before you, when he lived in that Godforsaken trailer like a hibernating hermit. You'd flat out refused to move into that rectangle and that was when he had mentioned a cabin his grandfather had owned, and the two of you had made it your own.

“Let me guess, it's a sign up sheet to Smokers Anonymous?” He teased as he undid the ribbon, and you found your back straighten in anticipation.

“Don't be silly, that's for New year's.”

He let out an amused snort as he peeled off the paper and opened the small box, and his smile died immediately on seeing the content.

It was exactly what you'd expected. He frowned deeply at the piece of paper, with the words 'Pull Me' scribbled across in your handwriting. Hopper looked up at you for answers, but you simply got to your feet and made your way over to the record player, and changed discs. You figured after Elvis, Eartha Kitt would set the mood just right.

“I don't understand,” Hopper let you know as the disc crackled for a few seconds before the song started. You wordlessly made your way over and stood in front of him with a smile, hoping his gaze would land on the ribbon tied around your robe.

It did soon enough. They didn't make him the Chief for nothing. A smirk spread across his lips when he saw it, perfectly capturing the naughty but playful mood Eartha was lilting.

You saw his eyes darken as his hand tapped his thigh, signalling you to get on. You gulped down your heart in your throat and straddled him, kneeling on the couch on either side of his legs.

“Closer.” Hopper demanded, and you leaned forward until your waist was inches away from his face. He moved his hands out of his lap, and you hoped he would touch your bare legs, and slide them up to the apex. Your heart thud in anticipation, and nearly flatlined when he locked eyes with you and took the end of the ribbon into his mouth and held it firmly between his teeth. It took you a moment to understand you had to move back for the bow to come loose.

His eyes were on you throughout the delicious process, but only until your robe parted and revealed a glimpse of red lace.

Hopper's breath caught and he looked up at you to confirm his suspicions, and you smiled as to say yes. Before he could tear your robe away, you stood to your feet again, Eartha Kitt's silky voice giving you courage.

You lightly swayed in place to the beat, and slipped the robe off your shoulders bit by bit, until you were standing only in your lingerie: a red demi cup lace bra with matching panties and a garter belt.

Hopper's breath caught, and you witnessed first hand what it looked like for a person's jaw to hit the floor. Just to up the ante, you moved around in an impromptu dance with the music, giving him sexy rolls of your hips and a view of your back, and watched him grow restless in his seat.

His knuckles blanched from squeezing the edge of the couch, but a ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips. You watched the crotch of his pants shift from within and smirked, turning around to give him another look.

The song was approaching its end, and you could hear the couch springs shift. But you still yelped when his arms closed around your waist and pulled you back to straddle him as he attacked your lips.

The disc had screeched and absolute silence lingered for a beat, before Hopper slipped his tongue into your mouth and your body reacted. Loud.

His hands were frisky and urgent, just like the first time you had sex. You couldn't wait to get each other naked and take everything as quickly as possible. It didn't turn out to be quite as quick as you imagined, just like when you fantasized about him with your fingers in your underwear before you knew each other, fucking your brains out.

His calloused hands cupped your breasts and kneaded, and given the sheerness of the bra, it might as well not have been there at all. It wasn't in the next second, as his fingers unclasped the hook while his tongue still teased yours, danced with yours.

You pulled back for a breath of air, and he locked eyes with you as his hands ran over your erect nipples, pinching and twisting them until they matched the color of your lips.

“F-fuck . . .” You hissed, grinding your hips onto his bulge as his tongue teased your nubs, and you fisted your hands in his hair, goading him to swallow you whole.

Between his prickly beard and moans that vibrated through you and the friction of his pants against your clit, you could feel yourself close to your release, and started to pant in welcome.

But he clamped your hips down captive and bared his teeth against your nipple as he spoke.

“Not so fast, baby. I get to tease you too.”

“Hop, please,” you panted as your vision blurred. “I'm so close.”

He smiled wickedly.

You knew exactly what begging did to him.

“Then finish,” he breathed, before shifting you onto his left thigh. You also knew exactly how much he loved it when you rode his thigh.

“Yes, sir,” you grinned despite your aching need and started off slow, watching him as you rubbed your core against his thigh. You did it knowing it would make him cocky and let it go to his head, but you loved the dominant side of him. Especially in uniform.

Your moans escalated fast enough as you grinded against his thick cord of muscle, and Hopper helped you by flexing occasionally, hitting your clit in a rhythm. Your hand squeezed his shoulder as the other steadied yourself against the couch, and the zing birthed from your apex, and then exploded until it touched every nerve ending, and you collapsed in his lap into a moaning mess.

“That was nice,” you panted, moving your head that was on his shoulder so you could see his face, but only saw neck. Licking your lips, you kissed your way up his neck, and Hopper's answering groan was everything.

You nipped along his skin, determined to leave a bruise. Somewhere his collar couldn't hide it. Hopper said it made him look unprofessional, but you knew that secretly, he loved showing off to the entire town what you did to him. He certainly returned the favor.

Your fingers set to unbutton his shirt as you devoured his neck, the warm flesh yielding easily under your lips. Hopper was in his undershirt by the time you'd moved back to his lips, and his fingers lightly trailed down your bare back and ending behind your knees.

You yelped again when he threw your back to the couch and hovered above you, throwing his white tee over his head and onto the floor. You stared up at him with pure, unrestrained lust, and his eyes drank it all in. Every pant and heave of your naked chest spurred him to pace up undressing, and the way you licked your lips nearly sent him off the edge.

“Do you know how gorgeous you look right now?” He panted as he unbuckled his pants, kneeling between your legs.

“Yes,” you smirked, sitting up to help him get his pants off, but he pushed you back down, tutting as he pinned your arms by your sides. Your hips inadvertently met his, and you locked your legs around his waist, feeling him hard against your core.

“Tell me what you're thinking,” Hopper pleaded, kissing down your neck.

“I was thinking how nice it would be to watch you fuck me like this.”

“Yeah?” He gritted his teeth as he kicked off his pants completely, and his erection bounced free.

“Yeah,” you panted, lifting your hips as he slipped your panties off. “How nice it would be to watch your cock disappear inside me.”

Hopper groaned into your neck as he positioned himself at your entrance, and teased you by rubbing himself between your folds.

“What else?” He watched you roll your hips, wanting more.

“We'd finish and then have dinner.”

Hopper paused his teasing to glance up at you in confusion.

“And then I can hound you about not getting me a Christmas gift.”

He chuckled, kissing your nose. “Baby, I am the gift.”

Your back arched when he pushed inside all the way at once, and you could never get used to the feeling. Of how it made you feel full. Complete.

“Oh, God,” you moaned, fingers digging into his biceps as he moved.

“I did get you a gift, by the way--Godamnit, you feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Your words were punctuated by his thrusts, slow but relentless. “What is it?”

“All good things to those who wait.” He whispered in your ear, before angling himself differently. “Hold on,” he instructed, and your hands immediately flew to the couch, gripping whatever they could. You knew what was coming.

Hopper got up to kneel and grabbed your hips, before starting a rhythm of deep, penetrating thrusts that made your teeth clatter. You held on to the arm rest as he moved, as he made your body feel incredible with only a few inches of his. Well, quite a few inches.

You smiled and bit your lip as Hopper's moans quickened, and you knew he was close. He reached his thumb down to your clit and rubbed, and you felt that zing ready to explode again. You sat up on your elbows and watched him disappear deep inside you, as his fingers helped you along to a climax that was even more spectacular than the last.

You fell back as stars formed in front of your eyes, and soon felt his release inside you, before Hopper's heavy, spent body collapsed on top of you.

You panted out your highs, wrapped in each other's arms like that. The only sounds were from the crackling fire, the heartbeat in your ears, and the breath of the man you loved above you. This was exactly how you saw your evening pan out.

After a while, when you'd circled your fingers in his damp hair, he asked, “Where'd you get the lingerie?”

You smiled. “Believe it or not, Flo helped me.”

He snapped his head up to look at you, face blanched.

“Not like helped me pick it out, jeez baby,” you chuckled, smoothing his hair back. “I meant she told me about a store in Carbondale.”

“That's two towns over,” he commented, nuzzling his head back into the crook of your neck.

“I know.”

“Looks like Flo helped both of us,” he said after a while, and freed his arm from underneath you.

“So you liked it?”

“Of course,” he smiled, hovering on his elbows above you. “You want me to get exercise one way or another, but I didn't mean this is what Flo helped with.”

You frowned, seeking out answers from his crystal blue eyes. Hopper sighed and stroked your face, leaving a feather like kiss on your lips.

“She pushed me--well, threatened is the word really, that if I didn't stop jerking around and give you this gift I've been carrying around for a year, she would burn my hat.”

“You've been carrying a new microwave around for a year?” You frowned.

“No. What? No.” Hopper shook his head. “Wait, you wanted a microwave?”

“Yeah? To cook dinner.” You said in a matter of fact voice, and he sighed with his eyes closed.

“I'm sorry to break it to you, princess, but I'm not spending that much money on a girlfriend.”

You stilled, and his playful smirk was the only thing that kept you from going off the rails. And then when he held out his gift to you, your heart did go off the rails.

“However, I would change my mind if it was for my wife,” he smiled, holding the small diamond ring between his fingers in the space between you. You could feel your jaw drop this time as tears came to your eyes, and your hand flew to your mouth.

You knew about his history. You knew he had had an unsuccessful marriage, and still, he was willing to try. For you.

“So, what do you say, kitten? Microwave or not?”

You chuckled through your tears, holding his face in your hands to kiss.

“I'm gonna reheat so many leftovers for you, baby.” You sniffled, and watched his lips form into a grateful smile. And it only grew as he slipped the ring onto your finger, shedding a few tears himself.

“Sorry I didn't have time to wrap it.”

You chuckled between kisses, stroking his hair lovingly. “You can make it up to me.”

“Newly engaged sex?” He grinned, eyes full of adoration.

“After dinner,” you promised, standing corrected.

The evening did not pan as you'd foreseen.

And you were grateful.

J.