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pedroshotwifey · 2 months

Text

One Condition

This is actually a requested fic from the lovely @survivingandenduring! You can view the request here if you'd like!

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect)

Word count: 4.9k

Tags/warnings: unprotected piv sex, sex pollen trope, dubcon, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, oral sex, cum eating, so much cum like its kinda scary, Ezra being a nasty little freak, anal fingering, pain kink, big fat juicy plot twist, this is absolutely nasty shit, stuff I'm probably forgetting, I'm actually not sorry at all for this

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition.

A/N: Uhhh. don't look at me 🫣

*****

“Um, Marcus?”

You look at your partner, who has the same worried expression on his face as you.

“Yup.”

It’s not a question. You’re both thinking the same thing; you’re in the wrong place.

It looks similar to the planet you were supposed to be landing on, but most of the scenery here is a lush green instead of the blue hues you’d been expecting. It’d looked the exact same from above the atmosphere, but there is a clear difference now that you’re on the surface.

Marcus mutters a curse under his breath but begins the landing sequence anyway. That’s probably for the best; that way the two of you can figure out where you really were, and then where you actually need to be going.

Dust comes up around your shuttle as you touch ground, the greenery around you rustling a bit as the jets power down. You get up from your seat when you feel the craft settle enough for the floor to be stable.

Marcus follows, shutting everything down and then unbuckling himself from the pilot’s chair. You’re already on the other side of the small contraption, looking through the maps you have stored in the tiny compartment of the far wall. He comes up next to you and pulls up the planet encyclopedias, trying to find a description that matches the world you’ve landed in.

You spend the next few minutes flipping through various books and maps until Marcus comes across a planet that matches. He hands the book over and points at the section.

“Here,” he points. “It looks like we're on a sister planet to the one we’re supposed to be on.”

You hum in agreement, reading the small passage provided next to the picture.

“Alright, well, let’s get her powered back up.”

Your partner sighs, running a hand over his face. You furrow your brows. His face has paled a bit and he seems a bit reluctant to follow your request.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, actually. We’re out of fuel,” he admits, trying and failing miserably to maintain eye contact.

You gape at him.

“Marcus! You were supposed to fill her up before we fucking left! It says here that there’s no civilization!”

He nods along as you scold him, knowing it’s well deserved.

“Yeah, I know. I forgot until we were halfway here, but I knew it would take just enough to get us on planet, and we could get more from there. It’s not like I knew that we would be landing on the wrong planet” He spews it out, not defensive exactly, but regretful.

You groan and walk back to the front of the ship, checking the fuel gauge.

“We’re running on fumes right now, I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to get us to the neighboring planet.”

You look at him, trying to keep your anger from showing up because you know that it was genuinely an accident, and Marcus isn’t usually one to mess up like this. But of course when he does, you get stranded on an unknown planet.

Rubbing your eyes, you walk in a circle around the floor, trying to think of a plan. You can feel Marcus’s guilty eyes following you until you come to a stop.

“Okay,” you start. “The book said that this planet is typically only used for mining aurelac, right?”

Marcus nods slowly, obviously confused as to where you’re going with this.

“Well then there should be at least a few miners on planet in that case, right?”

He nods again, furrowing his brows in thought.

“So we should go out and try to find someone to borrow some fuel from?” he asks.

“Yes. Either that or see if there’s someone who can hitch us a ride.”

He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, his gaze downcast to the floor as he thinks through the options.

“Yeah, seems like our best bet,” he agrees after a minute.

Within a few minutes, you both pack small bags and suit up to withstand the harsh environment of the planet. According to the book, the air is extremely thin and can sometimes hold toxic chemicals depending on other factors. You follow Marcus out of the craft and watch as he makes sure everything’s sealed correctly, before you both start walking into the woods.

“Do you know where you’re going?” you ask after you’ve been walking for a while.”

Marcus looks at you, his expression still holding hints of guilt.

“Not exactly. I think most of the mines are located in the forest though, so we’ll just have to keep walking and hope we come across—”

“Shit, Marcus!”

You yell for him as he stumbles across a root and tumbles down into a pit. It’s not super deep, but just enough so that he could have seriously hurt himself with that fall. You carefully slide down the side of it to join him.

“Are you okay?”

He looks up at you from where he’s planted on his back and groans a bit. He opens his mouth to reply and that’s when you see that his mask is on the ground next to him, crushed into several pieces.

“Shit,” he croaks, already feeling the effects of the thin air.

You crouch down beside him, feeling him up for any injuries.

“Does anything hurt?”

“Just my head. It’s fucking pounding.”

You sigh. “Probably from lack of airflow.”

“C’mon,” you grunt, threading your arms under his. “Let’s get you back and hope that you don’t die.”

He glares at you but allows you to help him into a sitting position.

“Well, isn’t this unfortunate? Two little birds trapped in a cage.”

You both jolt at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. You peer up to the top of the pit and find a man standing near the ledge, a blaster aimed directly at your head. He wears a shabby, brown suit with a bulbous helmet that would be almost funny looking if not for the imminent threat he poses. You slowly raise your hands and start to stand back up, a rush of fear creeping up your spine.

“We’re not armed,” you start. “My friend’s mask just broke; we need help.” You try not to sound too panicked as you explain your situation to the stranger, praying to whoever may be listening that he’s not planning to shoot both of you.

“Don’t worry gem, I don’t want to kill you. I simply would like to assure myself that neither of you had plans of my own execution.”

You furrow your brows at his choice of wording, his strange drawl only adding to your confusion.

“I, uh. No.” What else can you really say to that?

You glance down at Marcus and see the same befuddled expression on his face.

“I will warn you that your…friend”—he cocks a brow at you as he says it—”has chosen a rather unfortunate time to lose his filtration system. Assuming, of course, you haven’t already discovered the effects of the tainted oxygen.”

You shake your head as your mouth goes dry.

“Is—is he going to be okay?”

The stranger pauses for a moment as if in thought. He cocks his head and then looks back at you.

“He should be as long as he receives the assistance he should require.”

“What do you mean by that?” This comes from Marcus.

The stranger frowns and lowers his gun, which he seems to have just remembered he was still holding up.

“Are you not familiar with this planet’s cycles?”

You both shake your heads.

The man sighs and kneels on the ledge extending a hand. You stare at it, neither of you making a move toward him.

“Do you want to stay in this pit? I think it would be rather unsanitary to do so under your current circumstance.”

You flash another glance at Marcus, who nods slightly toward you, encouraging you to take the other man’s hand. You step forward and place your palm in his, allowing him to pull you up, and then you kneel to help him hoist Marcus up as well.

“I’m Ezra,” the man says once the three of you are standing. You introduce the two of you as well, figuring at this point that the stranger has to be at least mostly harmless.

“Alright, well tell me, little bird; are you and Marcus of the romantic type?”

You just stare at him, unsure of how to answer that, nor of why he would feel the need to ask in the first place. You can feel Marcus’s eyes on you as your cheeks begin to burn.

“I–uh…”

You let your eyes meet your partner’s, a silent conversation transpiring. You’ve engaged in some less than appropriate activities throughout your travels, but it’s always been strictly for stress release or simply a product of boredom. The last few months, it’s been more of an unspoken thing.

The two of you care for each other and behave as most couples would, but you’ve never actually given each other the labels. You definitely never thought that the deciding conversation would be in the presence of a strange man who seems to be about to deliver some bad news. You’re about to answer when Marcus gives you a short nod, lifting the burden off of your shoulders.

“Yeah, we are.”

The man nods, though he’s clearly amused. You’re sure he can see what just happened and must have used context clues to figure the rest out out.

“That’s fortunate for you. What’s circulating in the air currently is what could be described as an aphrodisiac. I’m sure you’re familiar with such?”

You and Marcus exchange yet another glance.

“Yes, we’ve heard of them,” you say.

“Do you have a craft nearby?” Ezra asks, peering behind you as if he could spot one he missed before.

You hesitate before answering. Even if he’s seemed to be helpful so far, can you really be sure it isn’t a trap?

“We have a shuttle,” you decide on just to be on the safe side. “We’re out of fuel though. That’s why we're out here in the first place,” you add just in case the man has some extra laying around for some miraculous reason.

Just then, you near a heavy thud and a groan. You spin on your heel to find Marcus keeled over, his hands over his groin and his exposed skin covered in a layer of sweat more intense than what’s normal for this climate. You’re on your knees beside him within a second, your hands running over him until he flinches away as if you’d burned him.

“Marcus! What’s happening?” You aim your question at Ezra, who’s still standing above the two of you with an almost pitying expression.

“The effects are getting to him, little dove. I’m afraid you’re going to need to help him in a timely manner.”

You think for a moment, knowing getting your partner all the way back to your shuttle is going to be a difficult task in the state that he’s in.

“I have a camp not too far from our current location, I’m willing to offer up the space on one condition. And before you protest, we both know it’s not safe to engage in life saving activities out here in the open.”

You stiffen at this. Of course there’s a catch; it’s not common to receive help from a random stranger without them expecting anything in return. You glance down to make sure his gun is still in its holster before narrowing your eyes at his face, not liking the way his smile has turned a bit wolfish.

“What do you want? We don’t have any coin.”

“Oh, no, gem. I don’t want your profits. I simply desire to join you and your handsome partner. It’s been a long time since I had something other than my own fist to keep me company.”

“What?” you bark, slightly humiliated that he would suggest something like that, regardless of how handsome he may be. “No, I’m sleeping with a stranger in exchange for shelter!”

“Now don’t get feisty, dove. I didn’t say it had to be you,” he says, watching Marcus with a newfound hunger. “Though it would probably be fortunate for your friend here that it was, assuming he is of the hetero kind.”

“Don’t,” Marcus croaks, looking up at you the best he’s able to.

You’re torn, knowing that Marcus needs help quick, but not wanting to give either of you up to this man. When it comes down to it though, you’re always going to choose what’s best for your partner. You look up at the man with disdain, knowing that you’re not going to have much of a choice here.

“Fine. But not him.”

Ezra’s smile broadens.

“Very well, gem. Right this way.”

He turns around and waits for you to get a near-delirious Marcus about halfway up so he’s propped by one of your shoulders. Noticing your struggle, Ezra comes to his other side and mirrors your position, one hand supporting around his waist.

As you walk, Marcus’s temperature keeps rising and his groans get worse. Fortunately, the man wasn’t lying when he said he had a camp nearby; you only have to walk for about a minute before coming across it.

He opens up the flap as you get closer, taking the zipper all the way down and helping you ease Marcus in. As you lay him down, you can see the bulge in his flight suit; almost twice what is normal. You hear Ezra zip the opening back up and then step in behind you.

“F-fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t–”

Marcus cuts himself off as he shakily pulls down the zipper on his suit, revealing his undershirt and boxers. His hand goes down the latter not a second later, a pornographic moan coming from him as his hand makes contact with his engorged cock. He starts stroking himself under the fabric, panting heavily, and it makes your mouth go dry despite the circumstances.

“Shit, I-it’s not enough,” he grits out, pumping furiously. There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Better help him quick, little bird,” Ezra quips from behind you, already removing his attire as well. You comply, though for which man you’re not sure.

You strip quickly, the three of you tearing your own clothes off at the same time, each of you stark naked at the end. You feel so exposed between the two of them, especially with Ezra, who doesn’t help at all by giving a lewd whistle at the sight of your bare body.

You give him a look so nasty that you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead. He raises his hands in defense.

“Woah, little bird, I meant it only as a praise.”

You ignore him and turn to Marcus, who’s just now shoving his boxers off. You gasp when his dick springs up, heavy, red, throbbing, and leaking an obscene amount of precum. It’s swollen to a point that looks almost painful.

You swallow your nerves and try your best to ignore Ezra as you instruct Marcus to lay down on the cot. He tugs you with him, feral to get to you at this point. You fall over him and he immediately starts sucking and licking all the skin he can get to, his hips thrusting up into nothing.

You see Ezra move out of the corner of your eye, taking a seat in the single chair inside the small tent. You lift your head as much as you can to make sure he’s not going to try anything.

“Carry on, gem. I’m a patient man; I can wait my turn.”

If you’re being honest, he looks a little too smug.

Suddenly Marcus is flipping you over, shoving you down to the bed on your back, whispering something you can’t quite catch. He doesn’t wait another second before you feel his cock at your underprepared cunt, and your eyes barely have a chance to go wide before he’s forcing himself into you, groaning wildly as he tugs you down onto him.

It’s only then that you realize he had been whispering “sorry”.

You scream and your hands come up to reflexively try to get him off. There are tears as he keeps shoving himself in, stretching you to your limit. Through your blurry vision, you can see tears in his as well, more of shame than of pleasure by his sympathetic expression.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“N-no,” you squeak even as your hands claw at his back from the discomfort. “It’s okay. Don’t stop. Even if I beg you to.”

You close your eyes and try not to focus on the uncomfortable feeling between your legs as Marcus begins to unrelentingly slam his hip into yours. You hear a sound coming from beside you, and turn to see Ezra pumping himself through your blurry vision. It’s a sight that really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does.

You moan despite yourself as the pain coming from your sore cunt turns into pleasure. You’re getting wetter and wetter as the seconds tick by, the glide of your partner’s cock becoming easier and more toe-curling. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he starts to punch that spot deep inside you. You’re getting hot fast, sweat building up in every crease and crevice as your pussy seems to get more hungry for what Marcus is feeding it.

Each thrust sends you up the bed, but Marcus holds onto you so that you don’t go too far. He’s grunting like a feral animal, his body maneuvering every which way until he finds the position that provides him with the most momentum.

“Ohh that feels so fucking good, baby,” he hisses through his teeth. “Gods, you always take me so f-fucking well.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this before—with this level of vulgarity. You whimper, making eye contact with Ezra as Marcus nails something even more delicious within you. His gaze is heavy and on your face rather than on your body, which surprises you as much as it flatters you.

“Does she suck cock just as well?” Ezra’s deepened voice comes from the chair, his eyes still on you as he asks the question.

Marcus looks down at you, albeit with heavy lids, for your consent. You nod, already fucked out beyond thinking clearly.

“Better,” comes Marcus’s reply, his stare just as heavy as Ezra’s. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

You moan at the thought of being taken from both ends, one of the domineering men on each side. This is going much better than anticipated, both your mind and body opening to the stranger despite your earlier protest.

Ezra doesn’t have to be asked twice, already getting up to hover his thick cock over your face, slapping it gently against your lips. The cot is the perfect height for him to stick it into your mouth, though he waits.

“You want this, gem?”

You almost find it funny that he’s asking, considering he didn’t give you much of a choice earlier. You nod anyway, because you honestly do, your gaze is trained on it as your mouth waters. He threads one hand through your hair, pulling you into the right position, and then uses his tip to part your lips.

He moans as he sinks in, his eyes fluttering shut as you immediately wrap your tongue around him. You find yourself groaning at his salty taste, savoring the weight of him as you start to pull him in. Your cunt throbs as he and Marcus both moan out at the same time, Marcus doubling over while Ezra bottoms out.

Marcus brings one hand to your clit and begins rubbing up and down at a furious pace that would have made you scream if not for the other man’s cock in the way. Tears leak from your eyes as Ezra begins to pump in and out of you, his hips thrusting as he uses the hand in your hair to hold you where he wants.

“Oh you feel devine, little gem,” he moans, his eyes still closed and his lips parted as he picks up the pace. You can feel him hitting deep inside your throat, making you resist the urge to choke. It’s overwhelming but in the best way.

“Oh, fuck!” Marcus nearly shouts the curse as his hips stutter. “Come with me baby, come on,” he urges, moving his hand quicker.

Your back arches up at the feeling, though you’re still pinned by both men. Suddenly, everything flashes white, your hearing going dull as your entire body convulses with the power of your orgasm. You have just enough brain capacity to think that this has got to be the highest level of pleasure attainable.

It goes on forever, your pussy pulsing as you sob and moan around Ezra’s cock. You faintly hear Marcus’s own moans and feel his dick twitch and throb within you, coating your walls in his creamy white spend.

You don’t even realize you had closed your eyes until you open them again upon feeling your own drool dribbling down your cheeks to mix with your tears. Ezra coos down at you, wiping away the saliva though he doesn’t dare slow his pace.

“M-messy little bird,” he laughs.

You glance back down at Marcus the best you can just to realize that he’s still hard as a fucking rock. He’s still riding out his own high, rocking slowly to prolong it as much as possible. His eyes flick back up to yours after a moment, and then to Ezra’s who watches him intently as he continues to defile your throat.

The gurgling sounds coming from you should be downright disgusting, but they only add to the eroticness of what the three of you are doing right now. The tent seems to have filled with the thick scent and humidity of sex, making your head even more foggy than provided by your orgasm.

Ezra’s not far after the two of you, grunting heavily and pulling on your hair to a painful level. He pulls out and strokes himself over your face, letting his cum splatter across your features right after you close your eyes. His thumb comes to your lips, making you open your mouth as he moans aloud.

Some of his seed falls on your tongue, and you swallow it down as Ezra finishes the last few spurts. You open your eyes when you’re sure he’s done, panting and gasping despite your sore throat.

It’s at the same time that the two men pull away from you, and you’re extremely confused until you see that they’re maintaining eye contact, seeming to have had a silent conversation while you’d been distracted.

Suddenly, you’re being lifted by the both of them, your body being rearranged to their preference. You’re so fucking tired, but you do your best to comply with their actions. You’re being lifted onto Ezra’s lap when you finally understand their plan.

His cock is only half-hard after his orgasm, but he begins rutting himself against you regardless as Marcus disappears from your line of sight. You half-collapse on Ezra, moaning as your clit gets stimulated thanks to his thrusts.

“Second drawer, pretty boy,” he pants. You hear shuffling and then Marcus returning behind you before you get the chance to ask what he was doing. There’s a pop from behind you, and then a cold substance at your ass.

You yelp at the unexpected feeling, only to be shushed by Ezra.

“Hush now, gem. I’ve heard you have experience in this area.”

He smirks at you as your cheeks heat.

You moan suddenly as Marcus slips a finger past your tight ring of muscle, pumping a good few times before adding a second. He leans close and whispers praise into your ear, telling you how good you’re being for them, how well you’re taking it all.

He works you up to three fingers before he pulls his hand from you and helps lift you up, propping you up enough for Ezra to notch his tip at your thoroughly soaked cunt. You help the slow descent down his shaft, your lips parting and eyes pinching shut at the sensation.

Ezra chokes on a groan, squeezing both of your ass cheeks as you bottom out.

“Fuck, little birdy, your heavenly cunt should be reserved for those of immortal status.”

You don’t even have the energy to cringe at his wording, instead savoring the way he fills you so nicely, not as long as Marcus, but a good bit thicker. The coarse hairs above his cock rub against your oversensitive clit nicely, making you want to rut against him. Just then, you feel Marcus settle in behind you again, dragging you partially onto his lap so you’re over his cock.

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, clearly having regained some of his gentlemanly status after quelling his lust a bit. You whimper and nod at him, and he starts to push inside of you.

“Oh, Gods,” you moan, wrapping your arms around Ezra’s back and digging your nails in for stability. He hisses and increases his grip on your ass, keeping you spread for Marcus as his hips come flush against you.

You’re already so full it’s dizzying, so when the two men start to move, you think you may come on the spot. Ezra goes first, pulling out a bit and then sinking back in, which is when Marcus makes his move, repeating the other man’s actions. Your knees are planted on the cot, giving you the opportunity to move with them.

The three of you are panting, moaning messes, hot breaths fanning across each other’s skin as you nuzzle together. The pace starts out slow, but quickly picks up, increasing your combined noises. Both of the men start to grab at you, moving their hands and groping anything and everything they’re able to.

You can feel their cocks rubbing against your middle wall, creating an intoxicating feeling that you know you’ll miss when this is over. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, being so full you can feel them in your stomach.

Small whimpers begin to spill from your mouth, but are quickly caught by Ezra, who captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his spend from earlier mixed between your tongues. It’s difficult to keep it up with how much you’re being jostled, so he gives up after a moment and instead opts to lick his cum off of your sweaty cheek. You’re pleasantly surprised when you feel Marcus’s hand come up to grasp at your chin, tilting your face so that he’s able to do the same on the opposite side.

The two of you clean your face with their tongues as they thrust into you at a punishing pace, somehow hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. You let out a raspy groan, your hands scrambling over both of their bodies for purchase.

A heat is beginning to build once again in your abdomen, pleasure licking up your spine. It only takes a few more alternating thrusts before you’re coming around their cocks with a scream. You tighten around both of their throbbing cocks, getting them closer to their own ends.

Marcus comes first once again, still slightly affected by the drug from earlier. He bites onto your shoulder as he busts inside of you, slamming his hips up and locking in place, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his balls empty into your ass.

Ezra follows right after, seemingly liking Marcus’s idea of a gag, and biting into your other shoulder. You scream again at the pressure of both men’s teeth, your arms raising so you can grasp both of their hair, holding them close.

Your orgasm lingers for as long as theirs do, the three of you coming completely down at the same time. You stay in a sweaty heap for a long time, just trying to catch your breath and make sense of what’s real and what’s not.

You all fall apart after a few minutes, exhaustion officially taking over you. You can feel both of the men’s cum leaking from your holes as they pull out and help you lay comfortable on the cot. They get situated next to you, and you’re all out like lights within the next minute.

The next morning, Ezra’s waiting for the two of you with a portable can of fuel and an extra mask. Your departure is swift and unawkward, Ezra walking with the two of you back to your ship like you’ve known each other for years. It takes a bit longer than it should due to your body being practically fucking wrecked from last night, but both of the men help you get along.

When you reach your craft, you all say your goodbyes, knowing this will more than likely be the last time you’ll come across this strange man. To be frank, you’re still a bit confused about what exactly transpired last night, but you choose to ignore it. Your head is pounding with what feels like the worst hangover you’ve ever had, and you’re just eager to get off of this nightmare planet.

Ezra watches you fuel up your craft and then take off, smiling and honestly quite satisfied with himself. Neither of you even figured it out that he was the one who planted the trap and laced the dirt pit with the drug, nor that he may have let a bit more slip inside his tent.

***** I mean really, do we really expect anything less from Ezra?

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helaelaemond · 8 months

Text

Before The Storm - Aemond x sister!reader

Pairing: Aemond x sister!reader

Word count: 3.6k

this was the second winner in this poll / osferth fic that also won the poll

Summary: Alicent and Otto have decided that Aemond will be used to broker an alliance with House Baratheon. As the only unwed adult child of Viserys, First of His Name, a betrothal with Aemond One-Eye is a commodity bound to secure alliances for the wars to come. Fuck the wars to come, though.

Aegon might be your husband and king, but it is Aemond that belongs to you.

Oral sex (male receiving, female receiving), penetrative sex, elements of possessiveness, jealousy, canon-typical incest, slightly nasty sex, little brother isn't so little anymore

Content warning(s): mentions of child marriage/rape (very brief), brief mentions of Lucerys' death

Rating: E

Tag list: @sylasthegrim / @arcielee / @myfandomprompts / sorry I forget who might want to be included

You keep your head down as the Small Council leaves the meeting chamber. Past you walks Lannister and Wylde and Orwyle. Beesbury is dead. Cole killed him, everyone knows it, but Mother protects him. And he protects you, you know. When Meleys had erupted from the depths of the dragonpit, he had shielded you with his body and had been ready to sacrifice his life for yours. He can be a cruel man, but he loves you. Just like Grandfather.

Just like Aemond.

The men in your life are not good. But they love you. Selfish though it is, that's enough for now.

You enter the chamber and find your brothers there, your mother and grandfather, too. Ser Criston keeps his place behind the queen. The dowager queen, that is.

"My dear, sit down," Grandfather says quietly. You take Orwyle's seat opposite Mother. It's strange to see Aegon at the head of the table now. At least he doesn't wear the crown now - it had looked so strange on him.

Aegon and Mother are talking. "... matter which, so long as it's one of them. Let him choose."

Alicent frowns. "It should be the eldest, as is tradition."

Aegon smirks. "And what if the youngest is prettiest?"

"The youngest is but thirteen-"

"Plenty of girls are ready for marriage at thirteen."

"Don't be obscene."

Aegon laughs, and shrugs. "My own wife was not much older."

Aemond taps his finger slowly on the wood of the table. You look at his long hand, his elegant digits, and it gives you butterflies. He hasn't touched you since the coronation, but he's looked. Gods, he's looked.

You slip into the seat next to Grandfather as he watches them talk. Opposite you, Aemond avoids your gaze.

"It should be the eldest," Grandfather agrees. You don't look at anyone but your younger brother, but you listen closely.

"But what if he doesn't like her face?"

"Her face is of no consequence; it's her father's forces we want, as you well know, Your Grace." The sarcasm with which Otto spoke the last phrase is lost on no one at the table. Aegon's expression sours.

"I suppose he can always fuck her from behind if she's ugly," he says spitefully.

Alicent looks down at her lap in despair. "Gods, Aegon."

You stare at Aemond. Understanding what they're talking about makes you want to shrink into nothing, to disappear between the cracks in the floor. Aemond is to have a wife. A wife.

"When do you wish for me to go?" Aemond speaks at last. He looks at Aegon with his own good eye, his expression blank.

"Tomorrow will do." Some of the bravado leaves the king when he shares a gaze with his little brother. "Take Vhagar, not a ship. She speaks louder than any of us."

Aemond nods stiffly. He looks between Grandfather and Mother. "Aegon will have Storm's End, and I will have this girl."

The smile that your brother gives Aemond is more genuine now. When he is truly happy, Aegon is quite pretty. It's a shame he refuses to find happiness, then, for the most part. Perhaps his Flea Bottom girls get to see that smile more than you. "Thank you, Aemond. Truly."

He's punishing you, you think. Your spiteful, inattentive husband is punishing you for finding your own happiness.

No one in the chamber has paid you any mind yet, but when you stand up and the chair loudly scrapes against the stone, all gazes are on you. The pressure of it makes your cheeks flush. Say something. Anything.

"Congratulations, brother," you say stiffly. Not that. "I wish you luck in the wars to come."

You sweep out of the council chamber as quickly as you arrived. Only Grandfather calls your name, but you ignore him. Panic swells in your chest. Only when you arrive back in your chambers od you allow yourself to cry.

"Sister?"

There is a secret passage that connects your rooms to the maze of corridors hidden in Maegor's Holdfast, and over the years, you and Aemond have learned it well. Through a concealed door behind a bookcase, he peeks now.

You sit cross-legged in your windowseat as you look across the city beyond the castle walls. A hundred thousand lights flicker under the night sky, orange against the ink of night. Atop the Hill of Rhaenys, the dragonpit looms mighty and foreboding. Your dragon is in there with Aegon's. Vhagar makes her lair on the coast, or in the Kingswood. She comes and goes as she pleases without restraint.

Aemond walks closer to you.

You wonder where Vhagar is tonight.

"You cannot ignore me forever."

"Why not?" you ask quietly. Don't look at him. Don't cave. "You're to have a wife soon. She will give you all I cannot."

Aemond's long strides bring him to your side in an instant, and he kneels before you. Taking the patch off his eye, sapphire and purple bear into you, you can feel it. It makes your skin prickle. "You give me everything."

"Not everything. I do not give you my hand. I do not give you children."

"We don't know that," he murmurs. "The babe in the cradle may be mine, we do not know."

You sigh. "That's the first time you've admitted that in so many words."

"Perhaps tonight is a time for firsts."

You snort. "Like proposals?"

"I begged Mother, the day she betrothed you to Aegon, to let it be me." He squeezes your hand. "I begged her, and Father, to let us wait until I was older so that I could marry you. You know this."

"You didn't try hard enough."

He kisses the back of your hand, your fingers. "I know. I know. Forgive me, sister. Please, please."

You pull your hand out of his and stand up, flitting over to another window and out of his grasp. He rises to his feet and watches you. He licks his lips and glances down in shame.

"Everything will change, Aemond."

"No. No, it won't."

You hug your arms around yourself. "It will. You'll have a wife." Anger suddenly boils in you. "A fucking wife! And what will I be then? You'll set me aside for some Westerosi bride who will give you trueborn heirs and her father's army and-"

Long strides bring him back to you and he takes your face into his hands. He forces you to look at him. The sapphire glints in the light of the fire. Shadows make his scar even deeper, rawer. "Look at me, sister."

All air has gone from you. You're powerless under him. Your eyes meet his.

"I'm yours, and you're mine. I will never love another as I love you."

"You don't know that, Aemond."

"Only a Targaryen can love a Targaryen." His voice is rich and warm, heat simmering beneath the surface. "That I know."

"For now."

He wraps his arms around you possessively and pins your body to his. He is tall and lean and strong against the softness of your curves. He has his place against you. "Forever.'

"You will swear yourself to a stranger and you will bed her, too. I will have to share you."

"As I share you now," he practically growls.

"That's not fair," you protest. But then his hand is in your hair and pulling it to turn your head to the side. His lips press against the slope of your neck and you bite back a sigh.

"No, it's not fair. Our brother gets to bed you and hold you and kiss you without worry."

"And I hate him for it."

Aemond gently bites over your pulse. "As do I."

"Perhaps when you bring your bride here, you can give her to him as a distraction while you have me."

He moves his lips to your ear and darts his tongue inside to make your knees weak. "You want that? Your husband to give my wife his bastards while I give you mine?"

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. He won't have you that easily. "Is that all I am to you? Some mare in heat for you to breed?"

When Aemond pushes you against the stone wall, you grip his sharp jaw and press until his lips open. When you spit into his mouth, he swallows gratefully. "You're everything to me," he groans. "Do that again."

"Aemond."

"Yes, sweet sister?"

"When you marry her, and when you fuck her, think of me."

His jaw is slack when your hand moves to his throat. "No."

You tighten your fingers slightly. "No?"

"I won't debase you like that."

A small noise comes from your nose that is close to a moan. You fumble with the buckles on his leather jerkin while he pushes your heavy dressing gown off. Underneath, you wear only a linen shift, thin enough for him to see your nipples peak. Since your children have come, your body has been much softer, wider and suppler, than before. You wondered, once, if he would desire you less now there is more of you. But it was nothing to worry about; as the years have gone by, Aemond's need for you has grown more and more desperate.

An addiction.

Before you can even push the leather off him, his hands are clutching you. He runs them up and down your back as he kisses you. His lips and tongue are wet and needy, coating yours with his taste. The pressure of his tongue against yours always makes you dizzy, and when it fills your mouth, you cling onto his waist.

"No one compares to you," Aemond whispers against your mouth. You swallow his moans gratefully.

"I want you to fuck me even when you're married."

The words are mumbled against his kisses, but he hears enough to understand. Letting you go only for a moment, he turns you to press your front to the stone wall, and he traps you against it with his body. Strong hands find yours, and he covers them as he pins them either side of your head. Trapped, all you can do is drop your head back against his shoulder.

"I'll never stop," he promises against your ear. Sharp teeth bite it, and familiar lips press below it. "I can't."

"Good."

"Keep your hands there," he tells you.

You're tempted to disobey him, but you don't want him to stop. His touches are firm down your sides, and when you lean back against him, he presses his hands between your chest and the wall. Aemond grasps your breasts and squeezes them, rolling them in his hands. Between his fingers, your nipples are caught, and the stimulation sends bolts of pleasure between your thighs.

"This is mine," he whispers. His long nose runs up the side of your neck and into your hair. It's so like his, almost silver. The blood of the dragon runs thick. It's in you, and it's in him.

Baratheon blood will not come between you.

"And what is mine?" you ask breathlessly.

Aemond groans softly. He slips so easily into High Valyrian, and the words roll off his tongue naturally. "Mirre yno, mandia. Qogralbar, mirre yno." All of me, sister. Fucking all of me.

"Pār ivestragī nyke emagon jemome, lēkia." Then let me have all of you, brother.

Hearing you speak the tongue of your ancestors always makes him hard. When you were younger and in the same lessons, it had made him blush, and sometimes he had to excuse himself when you practised - especially when you got fluent. How few things change. Except this time, he doesn't leave. This time, he moans out loud.

You turn around and force him against the wall this time. His jacket hangs open, and you fumble with the laces of his breeches. Inside, you find his familiar warmth. "Issi ao qopsa syt nyke?" Are you hard for me?

Aemond drops his chin, pleasure washing over his face. "You don't have to do that."

"Let me," you plead. "You never let me."

"You're worth more than this."

"Jaelan naejot sylutegon ao, ñuha jorrāelagon. Kostilus?" I want to taste you, my love. Please?

"Qrugh." Shit.

And then Aemond's hand is in your hair, and he's guiding your head closer, and you sink to your knees worshipfully. His cock is so pretty, you think. Pink and flushed, a thick vein running up the underside. You trace it with your tongue, a feather-light touch that has him tilting his head to the side. He doesn't let you suck his cock often. Sometimes, you practice on the wooden cock he gave you on your nineteenth nameday. It has a sapphire buried in the hilt.

"Ah, mandia." Ah, sister.

You wrap your hand around the base of him to hold him steady, and your lips seal around the tip. You swirl your tongue around his head; it's impossible to hold back the moan at the back of your throat when you taste the salt of his skin, smell the musk of his body. Tomorrow, a stranger will have claim to this part of Aemond. But for tonight, he's all yours. You suckle on the head and it earns you praise from your little brother.

Not so little anymore.

The taste of him fills your mouth. Your hand strokes his length and you remove your mouth only to gently pull back his foreskin. The tip of his cock is flushed and shining. Looking up at him, you press the flat of your tongue against his slit. His one good eye rolls back.

"Gods, sister."

"Gaomagon ao hae bona, Aemond?" you ask coyly. Do you like that? You kiss down his length, and press him against your cheek in careful slaps. His cock jumps in your hand, and you smile.

When your mouth takes in his balls, he groans and his head drops back against the wall. You stroke him as you suck him, setting a rhythm that he ends up matching with his hips. It's beautiful, the way Aemond lets go with you, how he trusts you. In his most intimate moments, it's you he needs.

"Sister, stop, stop, I'm-"

You release his balls from your mouth, heavy and wet, and look up at him with shining eyes. Gripping the base of his cock, you watch him as he pants and his face constricts. "Come on my face," you tell him with a heavy gaze. "Show me you own me."

He shakes his head. "I can't."

He thinks it's dirty and debasing, he's told you before. But you want his filth tonight. "Please," you beg shamelessly. "I want it, brother. Please, give me your seed."

His cock twitches in your hand. His body wants it so bad, you can tell. The muscles in his stomach are so tense, and his breathing is laboured. He's fighting it.

"I want it so bad," you whimper. You kiss his flushed head, and you lick the seed that has already leaked there. "Please. Please?"

"Sister," he groans.

You're wet between your legs just from sucking him. It's such a treat to be allowed this that you don't know how to be sensible anymore. Suddenly, you kneel up and pull off your shift. You spit on his cock, and with one hand you hold his base hard to stop him from finishing, and with your other you coat him. He's wet, now, when you press him between your bare breasts. Your fingers catch your nipples as you hold yourself, and you open your mouth to lick his tip.

"Oh, gods," he swears. "Fuck, I'm- I'm-! Sister, I'm-!"

He gives you what you want. As he fucks your breasts, he comes with a strangled cry of your name. Seed shoots from him in hot spurts and it splatters across your chin and nose and chest, some sticking to your hair. He paints you, and it makes you feel drunk on love, on power. This is magic of the old freehold, the blood of the empire. He's your god, and you're his queen.

Aemond is still shaking from his orgasm when he falls to his knees and claims your lips in a deep kiss. His seed is passed between your lips and tongues, rubbed into your noses and cheeks. He tastes slightly sweet under the salt, warm and familiar. You fucking love it.

His trousers are still around his knees when he lies on the flagstone floor and pulls you atop him. Now this is a treat that is often indulged - where he is hesitant to let you use your mouth, he is desperate to use his own. He wastes no time in pulling you to sit astride his face. Your knees are either side of his ears, and your thighs are his crown. Whilst his mouth takes care of your cunt, his hands never remain still. When he kneads your breasts, you lean back and brace your hands back on his thighs. He moans so prettily between your legs. You like it best when he licks and sucks on your wet folds but holds his head still enough for you to find a rhythm on his nose.

His perfect nose.

Aemond can barely breathe under you. It's his heaven. You grind down as his lips carefully pull on your folds and his tongue swipes between them, devouring you. His nose catches your clit with well-practiced movements. Long fingers play with your nipples, and it makes you crash around him. Your whole body shakes as you come, the silence of your open mouth scarcely hiding from Aemond how hard he's had you.

After, you undress him and push him onto the bed you've shared with him countless nights before. He fucks you hard. He starts behind you, pounding into you relentlessly, but it's not enough. Aemond likes to watch your face. So then, he pulls your legs to the end of the bed while he stands and fucks you with a hand around your throat. His seed is still on your face and in your hair. In a moment of depravity, he catches flakes of it dried on your skin between his teeth and lets them dissolve on his tongue.

But tonight is about you, too. About reminding him that his wife be damned, he's yours. Aemond Targaryen is your love, your property. And so you pull him on his back and settle on top of him.

"You belong to me," you tell him in a low voice. His cock is red and pulsing as you grind it between your cunt lips. His fingers dig into your sides. "You'll always be mine."

"I swear it. Yours. Please, sister. Be good to me."

When you grind up his stomach and reach behind to hold him in place, he groans again. You hold each other's gaze as you guide him back inside you.

Your heart leaps every time he slots into you like this. It's the one true place that is home. "I'll always be good to you, Aemond."

And then you fuck him, hard. He pulls on your hair and you slap his face, and he drags his nails down your back and you suck on his neck until bruises flower. Proof of your ownership. Proof he's yours.

His high collar will hide it tomorrow, until he undresses. Then his Baratheon wife will see. Perhaps she won't understand, though, if she's a maiden with her virtue. She'll learn soon enough, though.

Only a Targaryen can love a Targaryen.

Neither of you even think about stopping to let Aemond pull out. When he quietly whines your name and his stomach tightens and his chest turns red, you encourage him and chase him into oblivion. He finishes inside you, and you feel his spend fill you. With his cock in you and his fingers pressing hard against your clit, you follow quickly.

You see stars, you see fire, you see storms. You see him.

You collapse onto his chest and sink into a state of nothingness.

After a while. the feeling of him returns. He's soft inside you now, keeping himself warm in the depths of you. His hands are stroking patterns on your back, and his cheek is against yours. You can feel his spend leaking from you. No, you think. Stay inside me, give me his child.

"Stay," you murmur quietly. "I command it."

"I will stay until dawn, if you'll have me." Aemond kisses your cheek.

You nod. With a wince, you carefully lift your hips and he slips out with a wet noise. When you roll off him, his strong arms stop you from going too far, and he hugs you close to him.

"Nothing will change," he whispers after a moment of peaceful quiet. He rests your foreheads together. This close, it's impossible for you to see him properly. All you can really see is the blurry glitter of the sapphire.

"Everything will change, Aemond."

"No," he insists. Sleep is coming for him "I would sooner have a dead wife than one who stops me from loving you."

"Do not jest."

He kisses you sweetly. "It's no jest. You are my priority, always. I will take a wife, yes, but she will never come close to you."

"That does not mean you should joke about killing her."

"It is no joke, sister. If she tries to come between us, she will die."

When Aemond leaves the next morning, Aegon is proud, and Grandfather is hopeful. Even Mother smiles. Only you watch with a blank stare.

When he returns, it is not news of a dead wife he brings you. No wife at all, actually, but a dead nephew.

You have to hide your smile. It is a fair exchange.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #mine

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 2 months

Text

All The Fear and The Fire of The End of The World [Joel Miller x artist!reader]

Read on Ao3

Sequel to The Artist and the Builder

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies (although that's not really addressed in this one)

Tags/warnings: ANGST, bit of h/c, Panic attacks, reader is sick, Joel has anxiety. That's about it, but please stay safe is panic attacks is something that triggers you <3

Summary: Joel has told Ellie about what happened in Salt Lake City, and she is livid with him. Seeking comfort with you, Joel however finds you in the grips of a nasty flu, and has to put his own needs aside to nurse you.

Words: 3,799

A/N: Title is from Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! Couldn't resist: All the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl...

Thank you to @pazizz for having a read before it was finished!

Joel hasn't had an attack like this in a long time - not since he and Ellie settled in Jackson - but now, it's bad.

His heart is being squeezed like a stress ball, his lungs are not taking in fresh air, his throat is constricted. Panic floods his brain as he clutches at his collar. He can't breathe, can't think, can't -

Ellie's screamed words echo in the fiber of his being.

How could you? I hate you! Don't talk to me ever again!

He had finally told her the truth about what had happened at the hospital, why she didn't get to save the world. And Ellie shut him out.

You took my decision away from me!

How could she even consider dying for a cure that wasn't guaranteed? How could she not see that she was the light of his entire life?

How could he not tell her the truth from the start?

Joel stumbles onto one knee, the guilt taking his legs from under him. He fights to breathe, his right fist closes, and he bangs it into the floor. Again. Again. Pain reverberates through his hand and arm, and that jerks him out of his mental anguish.

He punches the floor until the skin of his knuckles break, and he can breathe normally again. Greedily gulping down air in a way that sounds like sobbing - but he is not fucking crying - Joel slowly gets back onto his feet. His knuckles are aching, his arm feels battered, but he grabs his coat, and heads out. Hurrying through the snowy streets of Jackson, he barely notices anyone passing by. He's in a hurry, hurting hand hidden in his jacket pocket, internal compass pointing to your house.

He needs comfort, your soothing hands. He needs to know that he did what he could.

Even if it was you who pushed him into telling Ellie, he knows you were right to encourage him to do it. And he needs you now that Ellie has denounced him. You won't judge him for waiting so long.

He walks into your house without knocking. His throat feels almost constricted when he enters the living-room, expecting to find you in front of the fireplace, immersed in one of your projects. But you're not there, and the fire is nothing but a heap of embers. Frowning, Joel calls your name again. It's not like you to leave the fire unattended or leave on the lights. He walks over to the bedroom door and pushes it open.

There's a pile of blankets on the bed. When his eyes get used to the twilight in the room, he sees that there's a body underneath the layers of covers.

He speaks your name, and the pile of blankets moves. For a second his heart seizes, and panic rises within him. Not you too, he can't stand it!

Then you croak his name, and he knows what's up.

You're so cold. You've never been this cold in your life, and no amount of blankets is helping. Good God, how is it even possible to be so cold, to shake so hard? Your muscles are aching with how much you're shaking, and you can't do anything about it.

You hear Joel's voice close to you, and you will your eyes open, even if using your vision is making your headache worse.

Joel's face swims somewhere above you. Through the brain fog, you hear him ask you how you are.

"Just a slight temperature," you mumble, then feel Joel's callused hand on your forehead.

"You're burning up."

He takes off his jacket, and gets in bed with you, digging himself underneath the blankets until he's right next to you. Fitting his form to yours, he wraps his arm around you to bring you in even closer.

"You're shaking!"

"Jus' need a nap..."

"You need a lot more than that, darlin'."

You mumble something as your eyes fall shut. His body heat has already started to spill onto you, and slowly, you stop shaking, and start relaxing.

"How long have you been like this?" His voice is soft, his breath so warm against your skin. You want to crawl into his voice, melt into the rich, deep syllables, dissolve from this aching body.

"Had to leave the clinic around midday," you slur. Speaking seems difficult. Your throat is sore, your head feels like it's about to explode.

"Are there any meds?"

"No."

"Then it's rest and liquids for you."

You're already drifting off, secure in his arms. Joel feels you relax and become heavy, your audible breathing slowing down. Gently, he strokes a couple of stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear, and notes that your hairline is damp with sweat. When he's certain that you're not waking up, he carefully disentangles himself from you, and gets up from the bed.

His own heartache is forgotten when he rummages through the cupboards of your kitchen, finding your teas made from dried herbs and flowers. He gathers towels, finds a bucket for water, gathers whatever he can find that will help him take care of you. He returns to the bedroom to check on you before leaving your house to get something to eat from the dining-hall, and see Jackson's doctor.

The doc has, naturally, nothing to prescribe except bedrest and liquid, which Joel had already figured out. What little drugs there are, must be saved for the truly sick. He's luckier at the dining-hall: he gets a big portion of chicken broth from one of the women working there.

"This will cure anything," she promises, and Joel thanks her gruffly. He hurries home to you, finding you exactly where he left you.

You sleep for hours. Focusing his attention on you, wiping your forehead whenever it gets too shiny, listening to your wheezing breaths, Joel forgets about the pressure over his own chest. He can't forget about Ellie, her anger, her words, but he doesn't succumb to anxiety over what happened.

When you wake up, the things Ellie said are pushed to the back of his brain.

You're like a cat waking up from anesthesia: unable to walk but hell-bent on doing it.

"Need the toilet," you mumble, and Joel supports you to the bathroom. You're freezing once you slump down on the toilet seat, and he turns around to give you some privacy.

"Go away," you moan, bent over with you aching head in your hands.

"I've seen women piss before, so do what you have to so that I can help you back to bed," he retorts, and you scoff weakly before releasing a stream of urine that seems searing hot. You manage to wipe yourself and wash your hands before you have to lean on Joel again.

"We need to get you out of these sweaty clothes," he tells you, but you're loath to get undressed.

"It's so cold," you whine, but you're in no position to fight him on it.

He puts his own flannel on you before taking you back to bed, where he coaxes two spoonfuls of broth into you, and almost half a cup of tea, until you shake your head. He gives up, and lets you curl up to sleep. The winter darkness is falling but he turns on the bedside lamp so that he can see your face, its lines stressed by the lamplight and sickness, your forehead shiny with fever, your lips separated as you snore. For a long time, he just watches you, like he's looking for an answer in your features.

Eventually, he turns off the light, rises from his chair, and leaves the bedroom to start a fire in the living-room fireplace.

Your temperature is up the next day so Joel brings the doc, who can't do anything except encourage him to continue doing what he's been doing so far. You're mostly asleep, delirious when you're not, and still so, so cold. Joel does his best to get fluids in you, and a couple of spoonfuls of chicken soup, but it's hard when you're either limp in his arms or shaking.

By afternoon, he's exhausted. Tommy comes by to check on both him and you, and he brings food. Joel never even thought about eating himself.

Sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, Joel opens the lunch box and devours its contents.

"I saw Ellie earlier today. She seemed upset, what's up with her?" Tommy wants to know. Joel winces from the painful stab in his heart.

"Nothing's up with Ellie."

"Liar."

Joel looks up from the food at his brother. Tommy knows him too well.

"I told her. About what happened in Salt Lake City."

"That didn't go well."

"It didn't."

Joel looks down again and stuffs his mouth with the rest of the food. The conversation is over for his part, and Tommy knows better than to push it.

"She'll come round."

Joel grunts, and they both sit in silence for a while before Tommy rises.

"I gotta get back to work. Lemme know if you need anything."

Joel clears his throat. "If you see Ellie... tell her I'm not coming back to the house for a while. I don't want her to have to move out."

"Sure, bro."

Tommy pats Joel on the back as he passes him by, and when the front door closes, Joel follows to lock it. He then comes to the bedroom, kicks off his boots, and crawls into bed next to you. His fingers tremble slightly when he touches your forehead, still finding you burning hot. Carefully, not wanting to wake you, he fits himself to your body, puts his head down, and watches you through the grey winter light.

Caring for you has kept him busy enough to not dwell too much on what happened with Ellie, but now his brain is buzzing with her last words to him, her rage and disappointment, his failure. He owes Ellie so much, and he failed her.

His unavailable heart has been locked inside his closed chest for so long, until Ellie cracked it open. Ellie, with her courage, innocence, those stupid puns that she loves so much, and that Joel can’t help smiling at. How could he have surrendered her to the Fireflies? His relationship with Ellie had developed from duty to decency before finally unfolding into love. He has already known the worst pain in his life, and he wasn’t going to live through that again. He simply could not give Ellie up.

And now he has lost her anyway, and he might lose you too.

"You get well," he whispers, assured that you can't hear his dramatic, pathetic plea, even when it's directed at you. "My heart can't take it if you don't make it, you hear me? Don't you dare die on me."

You offer him no sign of having heard him. He swallows, his throat tight, and presses his eyes shut, praying that sleep will take his worries away.

Your violent coughing wakes him up. He blinks blearily in the dark room before he gets his bearings, his arm going around the body that is convulsing next to him. It's a wet cough, rattling in your lungs, and it's new. He sits up in bed, hands on you, like that's going to help. As if anything he does helps. He hates the feeling on not being able to help.

When your coughing subsides, you groan and mumble something.

"What's that, darlin'?"

"My head," you repeat, voice raspy and thin.

"Just lay still."

"Thirsty."

Joel promptly rolls out of bed and goes to get a fresh glass of water from the kitchen. When he sits by your side to help you drink it, he realizes that you're no longer shaking. You take little sips before slumping back against the pillow, your face ashen and your eyes matted, but when he feels your forehead, he can tell you no longer have a fever. That has to be a good sign, right?

“How are you feelin’?” he asks, knowing immediately that it is a stupid question. You open your mouth, but instead of words coming out, there is a bout of coughing. Joel grimaces sympathetically as he takes the glass from your hand to avoid you spilling on yourself.

“Been better,” you finally wheeze, reaching for the glass again as soon as the coughing subsides. He gets up to go refill it, and you drowsily look around the room.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” he calls back from the kitchen.

You let that sink in. When Joel comes back in, he clearly sees your confusion.

“You’ve been out of it for a few days, yeah.”

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

He hands you the refilled glass but averts his eyes when he replies.

“Someone had to look out for you.”

You drink more greedily now, the cold water lashing its way down your scratchy throat in a way that makes you feel more alert despite the discomfort. Joel takes your glass when you’re finished, puts it on the nightstand, and pulls the covers more snugly around you.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, somewhat amused at his fussing. “You should go home. Has Ellie even seen you since I got sick?”

He freezes, pain flashing across his face before his features turn to cold, hard stone. But you saw it, plain as day.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t answer, and your fear rises.

“Joel, is Ellie alright?”

“Yes.” The answer comes promptly, but the three letters contain a world of events and emotions that you, despite your current state, need to know more of.

“What happened?”

“We’ll talk about it later, darlin’. You need to rest.”

“We’ll talk about it now.” You stress the last word with a rise in volume and pitch, which brings about another bout of coughing. When you’re done, Joel gives you a disapproving glare.

“You’re not well.”

“Duh. Now tell me, or do I have to get out of this bed and go find Ellie myself?”

He sighs deeply, jaw squared as he stares out of the open bedroom door. You wait as he gathers himself.

“I told her. About Salt Lake City.”

“And she didn’t take it well?”

“No. She never wants to see me again. She hates me.”

“Joel…”

Joel can’t look at you. Not even his brother knows the whole story, but he has told you, one late night after the two of you had fucked and were sharing whispered secrets in each other’s arms. He couldn’t keep you in the dark, you’re too important. With all that he has lost in life, with all of his scars and traumas, he got to know Ellie, and he got to know you. When he least expected it, you came along, with your way of seeing the world, its light and its shadows, your body as aching as his but your mind nowhere near as broken. Your ribs bend open so easily for your heart to do what hearts do best. And that kept his chest from closing again now that Ellie hates him.

He’s so grateful for you. And so ashamed.

Tears burn in his eyes and when you sit up and put your hand on his shoulder, he draws a sobbing breath. Goddammit.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you rasp. “We’ll figure it out.”

He passes his hands over his face, wills his tears away, but the more he fights it, the more constricted his chest feels.

No, not now, not when he needs to stay strong for you!

“Joel?”

“Be right back,” he presses, standing up so quickly that the world spins for a second, and his first two steps are wobbly. He hears you speak his name again, but he hurries out to the kitchen, finding support from the sink, his head swimming, his heart beating so fast he thinks it’s going to explode but at the same time he can’t breathe, his throat is closed, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, Jesus fucking Christ he’s having a heart attack –

“Joel!”

Your hands are on him, turning him around. At the end of his tunnel vision is your haggard face, and through the roar in his ears – where did that come from and what is it? – he can hear your voice.

“Joel? Listen to my voice. Feel my touch. You’re okay, baby, you’re okay. I promise. You can breathe. Just take a deep breath, that’s it, just like that, and exhale. Good, go ahead, take another one. That’s great, Joel, just like that.”

Without even noticing, your hoarse voice has pushed through the panic and the pain and the noises, and he finds himself breathing deeply, consciously, his heart slowing down. He blinks a couple of times, and his eyesight is back to normal. You’re in front of him, nodding your encouragement. He wets his lips, wants to say something, but then his knees buckle under him, and before he knows it, both of you are on the floor, you from trying to help him, your still weak body no match for his weight.

You’re coughing, and he collects you in his arms, ignoring the smarting in his elbow. It keeps him sharp.

“You okay?” he asks you as soon as you’re done coughing. You nod against his chest, wheezing breath keeping you from speaking. He holds you closer when you shiver slightly, and when you embrace him back, he feels a lot better.

“What about you?”

“I’m good, darlin’, don’t worry about me.”

“That was a panic attack, Joel, and not a small one.”

He frowns, looks down at you.

“I have a heart problem.”

“Maybe so, but that wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”

“How would you know?”

You roll your eyes at him, even though it hurts your head.

“I’m a nurse, Joel.”

He has to chuckle at your tone, but you’re not amused.

“I also had a sister who suffered panic attacks from a young age. It differs from person to person, but what I did to you worked on her. Seemed to work on you as well.”

“It… did. Thank you.”

“How long have you – “ you start, but he interrupts you, though not unkindly.

“Can we… not talk about it right now? I’m exhausted, and you need to rest.”

You agree, and with combined forces, the two of you manage to get off the floor and drag yourselves back to the bedroom. You collapse on the bed together and just barely find the energy to arrange yourselves comfortably before both of you are out.

You sleep uneasily, your cough waking you up constantly. Your head is still aching, and your throat is lined with needles when you swallow, not to mention how much your lungs hurt when you cough, but you’re hungry for the first time since you got sick.

You hear a light snore next to you, so you turn your head. Joel is deep asleep, turned away from you, sleeping on his good ear. Your hacking must have disturbed him because you’re quite sure that he was holding you when you went to sleep.

Slowly, gently, you place your hand between his shoulder blades. He’s warm, sweaty even, in his flannel and no doubt from his attack earlier. But he seems at ease now: his broad back is relaxed, his breaths are deep and even, and he doesn’t move when touched. Carefully, you scoot closer, a tickle in your throat threatening to grow into a cough, but you manage to keep it down. Your arm goes around his waist, and you mold yourself to his form, spooning him tightly, your hand finding a soft spot on his belly to rest against. His breath stutters and changes, but other than his hand clumsily finding yours, he doesn’t move.

He smells of old sweat, and you don’t feel too fresh yourself. The thought of taking a shower with him once he wakes up sets off a pull deep within your lower belly, and you smile as you feel your cheeks heat up. Even when struggling through the worst flu you’ve ever experienced, you can’t keep from fantasizing about the things this man can do with his hands, his mouth, his cock…

You take it he’s to stay with you now, which means that you have to tidy up the living-room, make room for him, but you find yourself not minding. You want him there, you want to go to sleep and wake up with him next to you, and once you get well you want to wake up with your hands all over each other, his mouth on your skin, his rare smiles over breakfast.

The thought of breakfast makes your stomach growl, and you feel a little faint. It’s definitely time to eat something. Gently, you move away from Joel, rousing him when your arm leaves his waist. He rolls over onto his back and rubs his eyes before looking at you.

“Hi,” you smile, patting his arm. “You sleep if you need to. I gotta eat.”

“What time is it?”

“No idea, but it’s still light outside.”

“I’ll fix us something.”

“It’s fine, I’m on it.”

You get out of bed, your legs a little weak but still carrying you, and go to the bathroom first. Joel’s heavy steps are heard making their way to the kitchen, and when you appear in the doorway, he’s already making tea and heating up broth.

“I’ll get something from the kitchens,” he tells you without looking up. “Better see my brother too, let him know we’re alive.”

You walk up to him, feeling a little bit like Bambi on the ice, but you make it, and you wrap your arms around him from behind, and rest your cheek to his back. Joel stops what he’s doing, muscles flexing before relaxing, and his hands come to rest on top of yours.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.”

He turns around until he’s facing you, and there is something soft in his eyes when he cups your cheeks with his big, warm hands and leans his forehead to yours. Both of you exhale audibly, then smile together. You lick your lips, clear your throat.

“Joel…”

“I love you.” His fingers make small, soothing circles behind your ears.

He beat you to it, the rascal.

“I love you, Joel. We’ll fix this. You’ll stay with me, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you.”

He tilts his head a little, lips ghosting over yours. You draw back.

“I don’t want you to catch what I have.”

“I don’t care.”

He kisses you, and you let yourself melt into it, into the assurance that Joel Miller is yours, body and soul.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #my fic

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 28 days

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ok im not going to tag this but i need you guys to know that my endgame ships for eridan and karkat are

eridan ♦️ karkat

eridan ♥️ roxy

roxy ♦️ calliope

eridan ♠️ calliope

karkat ♥️ calliope

i call it "the polycule only a blood player could love" and although it manages to be perfectly healthy, from the outside, everyone looks like they're cheating on everyone else. nepeta is staring at it going ":33 < dodged a fucking bullet!!!"

Eridan ♦️ Karkat

the ship with the most canon backing. this ship needs to be true before all other ships can be true because it keeps the two of them normal enough to have a shot at romancing anybody else. nobody realized they were pale for each other for an embarrasingly long time because their regular day to day conversations feature slurs and death threats. sometimes looks pitch or flushed from the outside because karkat is a mess who can't stop yelling at people he's trying to romance in the red quads, and because eridan gets really needy sometimes.

Eridan ♥️ Roxy

They get together within five minutes of knowing each other and, despite Rose's protests, never ever break up. Eridan is into cute, pink, bubbly, nice girls, and Roxy is into eccentric troubled princes. Not to mention she fucking loves wizards, and Eridan is a wizard, and that they're both hipsters who use rifles. Also Eridan is weird as hell and Roxy thinks he's hilarious for it. Despite the fact that he puts on this unpleasant, nasty act, he'll pretty much do anything Roxy tells him to, and she likes that. She thinks he has himbo energy. Everyone else thinks she's deranged. Like girl that guy is an insane murderer. Girl he will not stop saying slurs

also their specific abilities are diametrically opposed in an interesting way? prince of hope = can destroy anything he believes he can destroy, rogue of void = can create anything by stealing away its nonexistence. neat!

Roxy ♦️ Calliope

since they aren't trolls and don't need to calm each other down, it's not really a proper moirallegiance, but they're bffffffs and the kinds of silly fun-loving gals who would call their friendship a moirallegiance even if it doesn't have the biological components or serve the social function of one. Two girls that just love each other.

Eridan ♠️ Calliope

biologically, cherubs only engage in pitch romances and are attracted to other cherubs that remind them of the other half they lost in predomination. what i'm saying is that calliope - unfortunately for her - has brother issues. initially put off by eridan's superficial similarities to caliborn - his bluster, his riflekind, his insane logic and thick skull, and how damn often he talks about murder - as they get to know each other, the feeling becomes mutual. eridan is generally totally ok with outright hostility, but calliope's faux-nice smugness when taunting an opponent would drive him nuts, as would the earnestness with which she approaches magic (what kind of POSER needs to RELOAD their WAND), and in general, i think he'd take her genuine well-wishes toward other people as a personal affront, a la "i didn't ever need anybody to look after me!"

they somehow have a 50/50 win ratio at the board games they play, which drives calliope nuts. "believing in your pieces" is not a valid chess strategy!!!!!!!!!

also i think it's fun and thematic, the angel killer and the cherub, whose adult form features hope-shaped wings.

Karkat ♥️ Calliope

We know two things from his crush on terezi: the first is that karkat is into clever, cunning gals, and the second is that he's really fucking messy, the kind of guy who would tell his flushed crush to "set the table on his bone bulge for their candle light hate date." Fortunately, or unfortunately??? for calliope, the fact that he will scream obscenities at her is kind of what she's into. everybody, please, a moment of silence for calliope, who somehow manages to have worse taste in men than roxy.

but yeah more seriously, karkat has a big and loving heart, and so does calliope, while calliope maintains a cleverness and intellect that karkat would be into.

normally, it would be a huge problem for your moirail to be pitch for your matesprit, and we have that both ways here. however, a few factors are mitigating that here. first, eridan will always prioritize karkat or roxy over calliope when they're around. this actually does kind of piss her off, although she feels annoyed that it does. second, calliope is generally mature enough to compartmentalize. third, karkat WILL auspicetize if they aren't careful, and nobody wants that. and fourth, everybody wants to keep roxy happy.

but yeah everyone else watching it is like. are you guys okay? blink if you need help

ofc ship what you want to ship this is not at all me telling you what you should be into. im just saying that these ships have been calculated for Maximum Funnyness, which as we know, is the only objective measure for what makes a good homestuck ship

#also eridan does not actually have an ashen relationship bc nepeta is always ready to intervene #and the mere fucking thought of ending up in a relationship with eridan makes all the eridan hates go #noooooooo. nope. no.

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feroluce · 2 months

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Learned recently that the Xianzhou Luofu apparently uses a different script than Belobog and that's so cool, I love little worldbuilding things like that. ♡

And then I nearly keeled over imagining Gepard going for a daytrip with Caelus and Asta to the Luofu; Caelus is taking Asta so she can run errands (and go shopping, of course) and Gepard is tagging along because Bronya found out he'd been falsifying records about his paid time off-

(Bronya: You have two years of overdue pto?! Out!

Gepard: But-

Bronya: Go on vacation or something! Out!!)

-and. It's all a little overwhelming for poor Geppie.

Everything is so weird and different there. A part of him is curious and enjoys it, but he just doesn't really have that same pioneering spirit as his sisters and it's not as fun for him as it would be for them. He wishes they hadn't been busy and could've come along, he'd feel a lot better with Serval and Lynx. He can't even read most of the script, he's mostly reliant on Caelus and Asta or the translation function they put on his phone for him. He kind of just wants to go home. He misses his city.

And then he catches sight of a head of blue hair in the corner of his eye, snickering and messing with the script on one of the signs.

Gepard: Wh- You!?!?

Sampo: !!! :D

Sampo grins wide and darts off, Gepard launches after him out of habit, and somehow, even with Gepard being new and alien to the Luofu, Sampo always seems to stay juuuuuuust within sight, just close enough not to lose him or get lost completely.

Gepard is lead all the way out near the starskiff building grounds when he finally has to stop, because Sampo somehow scales the damn wall like a nasty little lizard, gets all the way to the top, then winks at him over the roof and tells him he'll see him later, have fun, give Serval a kiss for him back home!! Gepard flips him off even though Sampo has already turned around and left skxjkdkdmfkf

But then he finally sits down and looks around him and realizes that oh. He feels kind of. Better now. More on even footing. Stable ground. There's no snow, but the high steel walls and corridors here are more familiar to him than all the wide open space and brightly colored buildings of the main tourist section he'd been in. The background hum is quieter and gentler here, and it reminds him more of Serval's shop, as opposed to Starskip Alley's throngs of chattering people and fast-flying ships. The little pangs that made his chest feel hollow have eased up. ♡

Caelus, carrying a Certain Courier Package: ...We've heard from him, yeah.))

((Asta: Sorry it took us so long to get out here! I found this sword that Arlan would like and-

Gepard: It's fine, don't worry about it. Hey, did you know Koski is running around out here?

#hsr #sampard #gepo #sampo koski #gepard landau #hsr asta #caelus #sampo helping but in the most backhanded subtle way dkzjskkdj #I want Geppie to realize that he associates Sampo with home and that seeing him eased his homesickness and hate it sknzmsmsmd #I like daydreaming about Caelus Asta Gepard and Sampo all interacting bc they're my main team ♡#their team name is Team Babygirl Privilege bdksjsjdk #the thing about Gepard falsifying his pto records is actually part of a much bigger much longer thought about him trying to-#-protect his soldiers from Cocolia. I HAVE. A LOT OF THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS ABOUT IT.#the post for it is still in my drafts I just need to go get the screenshots ingame for it blegh #I wanna talk about it so bad though #soon soon....

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roadhogsbigbelly · 4 months

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ok i didn't really want to do this because i deleted the original posts when it had only 70 notes because i was under the assumption noone would see it but t/xttletale ended up reblogging it anyway and now i have people telling me to kill myself in my inbox so i guess i might as well give details

honestly did not know she was trans until people accused me of pedojacking her, for some reason it never registered because i guess i only see her blog when her posts pop up on my feed but you know my bad i guess

2)yes it's true the term "loliporn" never shows up but someone does say "don't say you're pro-kink and nasty gay sex if you're not supportive of ageplay, cnc, or incest shipping" and than she said "yes, and" which like. seems slightly like an endorsement? but i assume that loliporn was just kind of included with the package, because i do have evidence that toonimal would not be against that

3) i never directly called her a pedophile just that it's really fucking bizzare to have that hot take about "wholesome games" when you agreed with a take that said not liking incest porn or ageplay is "anti-kink or whatever

now did initially censor the names in the post because of reasons i'll explain later but i did realize with no context it looks like both posts were from the same person so i did end up mentioning in the tags that there were two different people before later deleting it all together. but i honestly don't feel THAT bad attributing it to her because she did both reblog the post and than also add on to it, which kind of negates the possibility she didn't fully read the post? still i did censor it again for reasons i'll explain later.

4) i kind of went out of my way to not attribute anything to her. when i talked about her weird stardew valley take i still censored them, because after being told to kill myself for having a lukewarm hot take on sex work last year i usually always censor posts when criticizng/making fun of them. i'm honestly surprised she managed to find it because i deleted it when it only had like 60 notes, and the only reason i found out she found it is because one of her followers sent be an ask telling me to kill myself. and out of curiousity i checked her blog.

i deleted this post before i post this just so her follower doesn't get harassed or whatever. but you know. not fun.

and 5) while i insist i didn't directly accuse her of being a pedophile i DID in fact accuse the person she was agreeing with of being a pedohpile. cause they are.

i'm not going to post the entire callout post cause it's honestly really fucking gross but tldr they run a "contact positive paraphilia forum" which is a basicly code for "actually fucking pedophiles" which kind of recontextualizes they entire post right? that's also why i went out of my way to censor txttletale's name and than later specify there were two different people before deleting it. because i assumed she didn't know the person she was agreeing with was an actual pedophile, but accidently agreeing with a pedophile is uh. not good. i think, someone actually informed her that toonimals was a pedophilia and she said this.

now i'm not saying you have to do a background check on every person you reblog from but if that post talks about "how pro-sex freak people need to be more supportive of people who are into incest" than actually yeah you do sort of have an obligation to make sure they aren't an actual fucking pedophile. the entire basis of that post is "people should stop being mean to actual sex freaks" and you not only reblog it but add onto that yeah that's a fucking issue because 99 percent of time the people who make those posts ARE actual fucking pedophiles, so yeah you probably should be a bit wary. because like.

this is my issue, i don't think you're a pedophile because you don't think there's anything wrong with fiction/sex acts that depict immoral things, my issue is that that logic is used and agreed upon by actual pedophiles. pedophiles are agreeing with you! that's not great! there's my issue with your logic!

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fangirltothefullest · 7 months

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hey! i’ve seen you reblog a few posts from proshippers/posts tagged as proship and i just wanted to let you know in case its not on purpose!

I need some of you youngsters to please listen carefully to what I'm about to say because it might open your eyes to a very important concept- when I say ship and let ship I mean I don't give two fucks about what people read in fanfiction because it's all fake. Made up characters in a made up scenario with made up things happening.

Your christian-based concept that thought is equal to action isn't true. You can THINK whatever the hell you want do long as your actions don't cause a problem. A creepy old man can look at a young lady and THINK all the nasty things he wants. So long as he does not take those thoughts and turn them to actions, he's fine. He might want to go see a therapist but at the end of the day thoughts are just thoughts. Standing on the edge of a cliff and thinking "wow if someone pushed someone off this they'd die" doesn't mean you want to push someone off a cliff.

PLEASE separate the concept that thought and action are the same thing.

Even if the topic is a taboo topic, even if it's something you would never in a million years agree with, it's still fake at the end of the day.

I don't personally want to read about canibalism, but its not my job or my right to force other people to never write about that stuff. Policing other people's writing and policing the "goodness" or "badness" of the content they write is not my job and it's not anyone else's. Your morality is yours and yours alone. What you find taboo and never want to think about might just be a weird enjoyable read to someone else. Just like kinks or even random topics, you cannot cater to everyone and trying to force a moral purity in written fiction is just ailly. They're made up. No matter how much you want Azirphale and Crowly to be real no matter how much you are desperate for Percy Jackson to have real feelings, they aren't and he can't. They're not real and they never will be so nothing that happens to them, no matter how fucked up, really matters.

And that's all it is and all they will ever be. A bunch of taboo topics and events done to made up people.

I don't want to read about incest but I'm not going to stop people from writing fanfics about the supernatural brothers doing the nasty. I'm also not going to go out of my way to look for it or tell people to stop because it's all fake. Its not supporting it. It's made up pretend space.

I sit here throwing made up characters into Bad Situations that would be horrible if they were real people. But they're not. They're fake people with fake things happening to them and it's fun to write and fun to read. I torment my characters all the time. I made Virgil go through so much emotional trauma in APP and no one bats an eye because it's fake. Please apply the same critical thinking to the rest of written everything.

Proshipper literally means that a person should have the freedom to write what they want and read what they want because morality has nothing to do with fiction. It does not make you morally a bad person to enjoy a taboo subject in written form. This goes for ALL taboo subjects. People reading greusome murder mysteries don't go out and murder people. The same thing applies to the other taboo subjects. People writing about weird incest ships aren't going to go out and do the incest thing.

If they are it has nothing to do with the fiction and everything to do with that specific person.

Thought and action are not the same thing.

Allowing everyone to write what they want without gatekeeping based on morality is a good thing. We would not have lgbtqia+ stories if the morality policing of Christian values dictated what we are allowed and not allowed to write.

Please understand that I saying all this as a teaching tool. You might be super icked out by certain topics and that's natural and normal and ok. I am too! Everyone is! But what we have to do is be tolerant of the ideas that writing taboo subjects and being a proshipper isnt a bad thing. Also enjoying taboo subjects in written form doesn't make you somehow evil, ok?

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marisferasiop · 11 months

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FUSE

Ao3 link

PART 2

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Plot with Smut

Categories: F/M, M/M, Poly

Fandoms: The Mandalorian (TV), Prospect (2018)

Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader; Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader; Din Djarin/Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader

Characters: Din Djarin, Reader, Ezra (Prospect 2018), Grogu | Baby Yoda, Cee (Prospect 2018)

Additional Tags: Sex Pollen, Marathon Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, but only in the dark, Force-Sensitive Reader, Ezra loses the arm, no y/n, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, oh no we got feelings in our sex pollen smut, Everyone in star wars is bi til it's proven otherwise, Ezra is definitely a mouthy bottom, Switch Din Djarin

Summary:

Din and reader are working as a Guild crew living on the Crest (and quietly pining for one another). Din picks up a bounty on a harvester dodging creditors who had fronted funds for prospecting work and finds a surprise: someone who looks exactly like him. While on the way to drop him to the client, the three of you are accidentally dosed with a pollinating spice strain meant for cold blooded biologies! Now you three have to ah- "get it out of your systems" somehow!

"Take the bunk, iisa. I’ll kip here,” he says, dragging Grogu off the panel and into his lap.

“Alright,” you say, not surprised, and head down the ladder. Mando’s bunk is narrow and not particularly comfy, but it sure beats the durasteel floor or being upright in the cockpit. He makes sure you have a stark two-thirds split of the usage of it, only using the other third because you prod him when he gets sore shoulders or a crick in his neck when he doesn't. You curl up on your side on the thin bedroll and next thing you know, the Crest is juddering to a stop outside of the hyperlane over a small, verdant green moon.

“I shouldn’t be gone more than a day. The mark is purported to be a charlatan, but not much of a slippery catch, despite the long chase. He doesn't even have a ship,” Mando says, a while later, hesitating on the ramp. "Just keeps managing to sweet talk his way into rides, but sounds like he got stuck here." He checks that the fob is still beeping and tucks it into his belt.

“Ah, a chatty one. A favorite trait of yours; I am familiar.”

Mando snorts and passes Grogu to you. “More encouragement to drag him back and slab him so we don't have to listen,” he says. The kid sends you a flare of annoyance and squirms to get down, so you kneel and set him down, and he immediately goes back to Mando’s shins, bashing them with his little claws.

"I can't take you, kid. The air is toxic."

But Grogu simply leapt into his pram and popped the bubble shield you had engineered, staring up at his buir in defiance. You stifle a laugh and Mando sighs, resigned and continues to equip his standard weapons.

“I’ll check the ship and do maintenance as needed. Comm me if you need backup,” you say needlessly. He’s never needed your field skills yet, but that’s because he usually takes the kid. You're glad when he takes the kid. Knowing he has some kind of backup is a relief with how often Mando manages to get his ass kicked. And Grogu hates being left behind, typically showing such feelings like now.

The reputation you’d racked up on Nevarro as a force-sensitive, retired, Rebel Alliance sharpshooter- cum- mechanic had done little for you in the way of an easy life, but when you’d fixed Mando’s junker of a gunship after a nasty crash, and talked to his kid like some Ahsoka lady they'd met, he’d hired you on his crew and you’d had an enjoyable time since (even if you wished the idiot would notice how hard you have been holdinf a torch for him for cycles).

But it did no good to pine after a Mandalorian, you knew. Especially one as adhered to the Old Ways as Mando appeared to be. You’d met others in your time, as a child when they weren’t so secretive, and later, in the galactic war. And later still, when there was a covert beneath the city everyone pretended to ignore, and their beroya was out working, another would surface now and again to find work or socialize. Sometimes you’d hire them on for a day to move product, or assit with a fix, or break old machines down for parts.

You’d taken two different ones to bed, even, on various holdovers. They never removed their helmets, but you’d enjoyed the ah- rides, nonetheless.

Not this one, though. He had to be either the most dense (or simply the least interested) Mandalorian in the galaxy. Which really did so much for your self-esteem.

So after Mando departs with the kid in his pram floating along, his amban glinting across his back, you turn off the ship's air scrubber and seal your helmet and head outside to check the landing gear. The Crest was balanced on a patch of thick moss, its feet embedded in the soil below. You tutted at the soft surface and carried on inspecting for damage.

That evening, you rehydrate a sachet of soup, attach it to your suit's feed hose, and sit on a fallen log a few meters from the ship, grateful for the susurrus of nature. The forest moon is rich with fauna and life, desite the dust in the air that makes it unbreathable for humans. You wonder for the thousandth time how Mando is doing on his hunt, and decide to go back inside for a brief nap, keeping your comm unit close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din is– surprised. Bounties don't often actually surprise him, but finding his quarry to be a lame-armed and barely- breathing man who looks and sounds uncannily like Din himself, hitched to a young woman by a length of tie-down belting strung between their suit loops in the middle of a dense forest has to land somewhere on his chart of weirdest discoveries. The fact that the young girl is aiming a strange blaster at Din and standing half-over the collapsed bounty is another tally on the list.

“Ezra May?” Din asks, leveling his amban rifle at the girl, seeing as she's the one with the weapon. The man sags against a tree and struggles to catch his breath in lieu of answering. He raises his his left hand and lists to the side a bit, which pulls on the girl and nearly knocks her down.

“I am indeed, my… shiny friend. I suspect that makes you a bounty hunter?”

Din faces the red- flashing fob at him and pockets it again. The man glances downward and cocks his head, looking curiously at the floating pram and little green kid in it. “Curious.” The heaviness of his labored breathing fogs the glass dome of his helmet.

“I am only here for you. The mark said nothing about another. Who is this?” Din waves the pronged end of his rifle at the girl, who eyes him with a feral glint. He keeps the rifle trained on her after a second thought spared for her shaking hands, but he straightens his finger off the trigger. He can shock her if need be.

“That is Cee. I stumbled upon her and her father's campsite and somewhat contributed to the death of the man after a bit of-- misunderstanding. I have found myself indebted to her, as she has attempted to save my life,” he shrugs his right arm with some pained effort and gasps to regain his breath, having been winded by simply shifting the injured limb. “But I am dwindling fast. My wound- it festers. The dust has gotten in the suit from the second injury," he waves to his chest with his left hand. "I suggest, Mandalorian, if you want that full bounty you’ve undoubtedly worked so hard for- you’ll help.”

Din watches the man’s chest hitch again and thick blood drools from the wound in his breastbone, causing the labored breathing. He motions for the girl to drop the strange blaster and she does, begrudgingly, after May murmurs to her that the Mandalorian has disintegration rounds in his bandolier and likely also loaded in that rifle.

He's not wrong.

“Can you walk?”

“I can, boss. But it’s slow going. My lungs are blocking up with infection from the wounds I have sustained. It is worse now with the new injury from our most recent aggressors,” he gestures at his chest again and wheezes a weak cough.

“Untie yourself,” Din motions to Cee, who glances at May and does so with a huff. “Go to that tree and sit.” He cuffs her behind her back to the tree, sitting propped against it, and goes back for the bounty. The man is in a badly damaged flight suit riddled with taped-over blaster holes and a vibroblade stab to his chest, from which the blood is leaking. His right arm hangs completely limp and the sleeve around it is soaked dark with blood, tied round with a tight makeshift tourniquet just under the shoulder.

Din slaps a tracking cuff on May’s ankle and sets about investigating the wounds since the suit is punctured anyway. He has a deep gash circling his whole bicep, nearly down to the bone the whole way 'round, that is blackened at the edges and still sluggishly bleeding, but has obviously cost him a lot of blood, and has indeed started to turn gangrenous with rot. “What happened?”

May chuckles and then coughs, his chest stuttering with the effort. “Another bounty hunter caught up to me in The Green, before I ran into Cee. And the fauna here… is far less forgivin’. Even if the aurelac diggin' is well worth its weight in credits. He shot me in the arm and I went down in a gorge of vegetation. Some of the dust, it released– and got in my suit through the hole, and thus into my wound. I tried to scrape out the black rot, but botched the excision. I went chasin’ radio signals looking for aid, and stumbled onto Cee and her father’s campsite, and simply pulled faster than the dearly departed Damon when I requested aid and he suggested at the end of a rail gun that I fuck off-” he chokes off a gasp and clenches his teeth when Mando flushes his chest wound with his flask.

Din works silently, zipping off the ruined suit sleeve at the shoulder joint for better access. He glances back at the pram. Grogu has floated a bit closer and is gurgling curiously. “No,” he says to the little outstretched claw, wagging a yellow-tipped finger at him. “Don’t waste your strength on a bounty. We’ll get paid either way.”

No small part of Din wonders if Grogu is wanting to heal Ezra May because Grogu is the only being in the galaxies who knows what Din looks like, and is staring at a face he most likely recognizes and might even be confused by. Hells, Din is confused by what he's seeing. Is the man related to him, somehow? Either way, Grogu's power shouldn't be used on a quarry of all things.

May frowns and flicks his dark eyes between them, endlessly curious or suspicious, one. His breathing has leveled out, at least.

“It is deeply infected. I’m going to have to amputate your arm if you want to live,” Din sighs, standing and pulling the saber from his belt.

“That…is a bold conclusion,” May huffs indignantly, trying to straighten his lean against the tree. He doesn't quite manage to make it.

“It’s gangrenous and still open. You’ll bleed out or die of the infection before I can get you to a Core planet, or a bacta tank.” He activates the saber and turns to Grogu. “Can you help? Just make sure he doesn't bleed out? No extra healing.” The child nods and turns his luminous eyes back to the man on the ground.

May frowns again. “Is your child a healer?”

“He is none of your concern. Leave this here.” Din lifts the bounty's dead arm, laying it outstretched and utterly limp on a fallen log beside May so he can slice clean downward. “The blade will cauterize. He will make sure you don’t bleed out. I’ll finish cleaning and covering the stump when we're back to my ship. You will behave, or I'll let you bleed out and take the lesser bounty, and leave her tied to that tree.” Din points at the girl and waits until May nods.

“I will do my level best to acquiesce.”

“Good,” Din grunts, and brings the blade down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dank farrik,” you curse, the top half of you in an exposed panel that is sending sparks out as you weld a loose wire clip back into place.

“Problem, iisa?” Says a familiar vocoder, and you smack your helmet on the panel frame trying to straighten back out of the hull. You snort at the timing of the nickname, if nothing else, rubbing the back of your head. Fuse- you grip the soldering tool more firmly in your hand and pull fully out of the hull.

“Mando! Glad you’re back. No, just cleaning up my emergency job from last time. Find your– oh,” you say, pausing when you see the body on a travois dragging behind the pram. There's a girl tied by the binders to Din’s belt as well. He has an extra (oddly shaped) blaster tucked in his belt and the kid seems a bit groggy but is happy to see you.

“That him? And a stowaway?”

“The girl is with him, he asked me not to leave her here. Promised good behavior for it, before he passed out.” You can read from the tip of his head and his body language that he's saying see what a nice guy I am? It makes you huff a laugh.

“How’s your field medic training?”

“I was on Hoth, nerfherder. You know it’s fine. I’ve patched your clumsy ass up more than once. What happened? You shoot him?”

“Found him like this,” Din waves at the travois and unlatches it from the pram, letting Grogu float inside. The girl scoffs at him and kneels by the unconscious man. “Well. Mostly.”

“He’s missing an arm and burning up!” you say, prodding the man's body and feeling. You check his pulse where the gasket of his suit meets glove; he’s alive, at least.

“His wound was septic. We’re days from a Core planet. I had to remove it.”

“You used the saber?!”

Mando shrugs. “It cauterized it.”

“Maker, the brashness of men will kill us all,” you grouse under your breath, and stalk into the ship to make a pallet on the floor. “Drag him in!”

Din does, sitting the girl near the ladder with her wrist cuffed to a rung. “Don’t imagine he’s going far, but leave that tracker on in case. If he loses the leg trying to get rid of it, he really won’t get far.”

You snort a laugh, used to Mando’s dry (and vaguely morbid) sense of humor, and get to work. The wound is large but indeed thoroughly cauterized. You clean and coat it in bacta gel and wrap it firmly, setting a hardening casting wrap over it for good measure and binding it to his ribs over the dressings on his chest wound. Finally, you set up a hemopak and dig out a bag of IV fluids and hang them off a racking hook in the hull. By the time you're piercing his vein in his remaining elbow, the man is stirring with a reedy groan and squirming away from your touch.

“Easy, mate,” you say quietly. He blinks awake and focuses on you after a moment. “Stay down or you’ll earn a better scar than this. Assuming you live to scar over,” you bite the end of the med tape in your teeth and tear it, smoothing the end down.

“My word, I was not aware I'd have such… stunning company on my final journey to certain death,” the bounty says, still surely delirious. You hear the leather of Mando’s glove creak as his hand tightens over the hilt of his blaster, and snort at Din more than the comment. The man’s impossibly deep eyes soften at your smile, flicking all over your face and hands as you work on his wounds.

“Easy, pretty boy, you silver-tongued devil,” you lean in and stage whisper. “You gotta wait til the big guy goes upstairs for that kinda chat.” You give him a ribald wink and pull away at the man’s baffled smile, organizing the medkit before looking up at Mando. “You gonna freeze ‘im?”

“I probably should. Him passing out after I cut the arm off was the only silence I think I've had in the last two days.”

You gasp in mock offense. “You’ve been gone less than one day!”

Mando tips his helmet at you as if to say: point.

You roll your eyes and huff. “Dick. If you do, his arm won’t heal right. Assuming he stays alive after the client gets him and it gets a chance to heal.”

“Assuming.”

“Any idea what they have planned?” you ask as you stow the medkit away and start digging out dinner. You can feel May’s dark eyes following you closely, watching your interactions. You're pretty sure he’s delirious from blood loss and pain, but you can't deny he’s a stunning specimen of a man to look at, even half dead and coated in sweat and muck.

“No, no questions asked. He is wanted for slipping on investment debts for prospecting though, so maybe they’ll put him to work til he drops. Although now I can’t imagine he’ll earn much, one handed with a rotten chest. You’ll mind him, then, iisa?”

You sigh the sigh of the deeply put-upon and nod, passing out food around the hold. “Here kid. Eat up.” You hand the girl a ration bar and flask of water, which she tears into greedily, before seeing to Grogu with a cup of rehydrated bone broth. Mando watches you for a moment before retreating up to the cockpit with his own ration bar. You leave him to it so he can take off his helmet.

“Can you sit up?” You kneel and ask the bounty, and he manages to get up to his remaining elbow and lean heavily on the hull while you rehydrate and heat another soup sachet. While it heats, you knock back your own cup and work on padding out his pallet on the floor.

Grogu stands next to the man’s boot and coos curiously at him, pushing you some errant thoughts and feelings. One makes you pause as he focuses on the bounty’s face and weighs it heavily against something guarded from you, limned in shadow even in his mind. You back away from the thread of thoughts, half sure it’s Din’s face for some reason, and go back to the task at hand.

“Here’s this,” you make sure Ezra is propped to a proper sit, back against the wall, before you pass down two painkillers and, once he’s tossed them in his mouth, a flask of water to wash them down.

“Dinnertime.”

The man allows you to tip the metal cup to his mouth and he swallows down the soup, humming at the spreading warmth. “Thank you, gem.”

You huff a laugh at the nickname and instead of retorting to what is surely a slip of the tongue in the man’s inebriated state, you provide your name. You watch his eyes soften as he accepts the gift for what it is.

“Ah. The sun shines on a dead man. My name… is Ezra, and that little bird that got lashed to my sinkin’ ship is called Cee,” he sighs, sipping more of the soup as you tip it into him. He brings his left hand up, curling his fingers very lightly around your wrist.

“My dear. I know I don't have a single bargaining chip to use as the gallows loom near. But. If I can beg something of you? Do not drag that poor girl into my mess. Convince your man to leave her on Coruscant. She can go to school, make somethin’ of herself. She doesn't deserve to see what happens next, or live through it. Or die, if they decide to extend to her the same fate. Cee is innocent in this. All she has done is try to help with my injury and tried to escape this damnable moon.”

You glance at the girl and meet her flat, steady gaze for a long moment. Grogu gurgles, and you glance at him, appreciating the sense of truth he pushes at you. You nod after a long moment of silence between you and the Child, tipping the rest of the soup into Ezra’s mouth. “I’ll talk to Mando. lay back down and rest. Those pain tablets should knock you out soon. I’m sure your rugged good looks can only improve with some beauty sleep,” you wink at him, pulling a chuckle from his chest.

”My word, gemstone. You are a wonder.”

You get up and clean and put everything away and scoop the kid up, checking the binder on the girl and putting one on Ezra’s remaining wrist for good measure, keeping them on opposite ends of the hold.

“You decent?” You call up the ladder, smiling at Mando’s snort and crackly yes as he replaces the helmet. You climb up and set Grogu in his seat, taking the third and meeting the flat expression of the T-visor when Mando turns.

“May begs that we take the girl to Coruscant and leave her at the Academy. He says he stumbled upon her in the Green and killed her father, and took her on as a mutual source for survival before he was injured. Mando.” You lean forward with your elbows on your knees. “If that is true, and the kid says it is- we can’t take her back to Canto Bight. She’ll be traded off as chattel, at best. Kept in a pleasure house more likely. She’s young, hon. We consign a life and get payment, but we save the other? What’s one more stop?”

Mando looks at you for a long moment and glances to the kid, who jabbers at him. “He agrees with me, by the way,” you translate. Mando shakes his head and turns back to the panel, plugging in new coordinates.

“If you want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drop off is significantly more emotional than you or Mando had anticipated.

You had spent the last few days in hyperspace listening to these two pickups talk and talk and talk, about everything and nothing. And now she was wide- eyed and clinging to Ezra’s lone hand, knowing she’d probably never see or speak to him again. She had explained over the days how no one ever talked to her, or how they always put her thoughts and feelings down, so she had learned to be quiet and how to appear thoughtless, even with her mind whirling. But Ezra had always engaged her verbally and probed her thoughts and gave her equalizing jobs to do and met her expectations with his own, rather than treating her like a starry-eyed mooncalf or a burden.

Ezra, on the other hand, didn't seem to give a shit if he was listened to at all - he just couldn't stand silence. It grated on him; so he filled it. He liked conversation and thrived on engagement from the audience; he could never get enough. He absorbed everything Cee had to say and conversated with her amiably or arguably enough. He talked with you when you were in the hold with them, but to be fair the man would talk to a wall if given the opportunity and enough isolation.

Your untrained Force senses are nowhere near as strong as Grogu’s, and you wonder what he is picking up as the girl rushes across the hold to Ezra the second you take off her binder. Mando stands on the ramp with the Child, waiting while Cee lingers and drags out her goodbyes. You can feel the anxiety and stress on her like deadweight.

“I don't want to leave you with them. We can- we’ll pay him off. You can stay with me. We’ll find a place, find some work–”

“As much as I would love to linger, and live long enough to read all the stunning stories you will assuredly write and put out into the universe, I don't think this Mando is the type to be paid off, Cee. And it would require credits we do not have at our disposal. Now go on, girl.” He nudges her away with his forehead, patting the back of her hand on his chest. “Take my chain code- I won’t be needin’ it. Clear out my accounts ‘fore I'm gone, rent you a little place. Go to school. Be a writer. Do everything we talked about. Go on,” he nudges her again with his knee when she doesn't move, her hand tight on his.

“I want one of your comm codes,” Cee says, standing on the top of the ramp, wiping furiously at her damp face and glaring at you and Mando. “You’ll comm me when you're dropping him to your– to whoever’s paying you to do this.”

You glance at Mando and huff at his approving head tilt, offering one of your various recycled comm links. Grogu babbles from Mando’s elbow at her as she leaves the ship, pushing a sad greyness toward you. “I know sprout. She’ll be okay. She’s tough.”

“That she is,” Ezra sighs from the floor, his head not far from your hip. He blinks up at you with one of the sardonic, sad little smiles you’ve come accustomed to in the last few days. You curl your hand into a loose fist to resist the urge to card your fingers through his hair in a consoling gesture.

“Need any shopping done?” Mando calls from the ramp, and you are quick to hand over your growing mental list of parts, soldering strip, replacements for the medkit, food, and water filters. And your favorite snack, if he has time.

“I’m going to find a travel station and run this guy through a wash cycle, he stinks,” you nudge Ezra’s knee with a boot and he gasps in mock offense, making himself cough for it but still grinning. You roll your eyes and start loading a bag. “Bring him back a change of clothes? He’s like… Exactly your size. Maybe a bit leaner. It’s weird.”

Mando hesitates almost imperceptibly before he nods and trods off with the kid tucked in his elbow and the girl, Cee, trailing after him. He intends to take her to the Academy grounds and then head for one of the many markets in the huge city.

You finish packing your bag and grab your coinpurse, intending to return quickly and grab a nap while the boys are gone. Assuming Ezra doesn't talk your ear off. Maybe you’ll dose him up and knock him out after you wash him down.

“Thank you, gem. I am in your debt. For as much good as that does anyone,” the man says, teetering even with his back against the hull where you left him while you gathered supplies.

“It doesn't do anyone any good, considering you're effectively broke and on the way to forfeit your life over your outstanding debts to the wrong people on a gambling planet,” you deadpan, hooking an arm behind his back and pulling him upright. He hisses when the motion pulls on his wounds in his chest, but the bacta patch prevents it from re-opening. “But at least your girl is safe.”

He hums in reply and nods, as somber as you’ve seen him yet.

“Careful. Swing your legs– there you go.” You get him ready to stand and kneel, putting your shoulder under his remaining arm, and get him up to his knees, then his feet in stages. Lots of pulling and grunting and swearing later, Ezra leans against the hull, panting, his short curls stuck to his head under a fresh sheen of sweat.

“Now I have soap and whatnot in my bag, and a change of clothes. Some of Mando’s old loungewear, which will be too baggy on you, but it’ll cover your bits until he comes back with something. I got mouth cleanser and all… deodorant. Can you wash up one-handed?” you ask as you stuff a clean rag into your pouch and flip it closed.

“To be honest, gem. I have not had the pleasure of a water bath since this injury happened,” he shrugs his stump and coughs lightly, still dislodging the dust from his lungs. “And surely not since your boss cut if off. So I do not know. But I'll make the best effort, naturally.”

“I’ll help. The showers are communal, and I trust enough that you understand how to keep that hand to yourself unless you want another appendage missing. Or to end up in carbonite.”

Ezra’s brow locks down in a scowl and he straightens his shoulders. “Of course. I am not in the habit of abusing my position, or women, gem. Despite what you must presume of a bounty, on principle.”

“Mmmmhm,” you hum noncommittally. “Come on,” you drag his arm over your shoulders again and fix your hand around his ribs, and start walking. The tracker on his ankle beeps low and steady, echoing in time with your wristcomm as you leave the ship. You trudge down the ramp and close it, locking the Crest up, and make your way down to the end of the line of docking bays to the traveler service station.

Thankfully the place is none too busy, being midday. There are a family of bluish Ortolan clumped together in one corner and a few straggler smugglers or merchant longhaul cargo pilots keeping to themselves along the rows of showerheads in the wall. There are thin flimsiplast dividers between the showerheads that come up to about chest-height but the back ends are open to the room. You push Ezra into one and help him strip off the flightsuit and his ratty-thin smalls.

“Kriff this suit stinks,” you scrunch up your face and drop the bundle into a nearby sonic clothing compartment to have the dirt and stench of infection and dried sweat buzzed from it. After a brief hesitation, you stuff your own clothes in as well. "How long were you in the green with your injuries?"

“I wandered for a day with my arm injury before I found Cee and her father. And she and I wandered another four before the other bounty hunter found us. And another full day before Mando found us. I do apologize for the smell, at least. Though I imagine you understand why it's so bad, considering your thorough care of me thus far in our odyssey.” Ezra tips his face up into the cool spray while it warms and sighs in relief, deeply appreciating both the pressure and refreshing cleansing after miring in his own stink for weeks. He watches you soap up a rag and drag it up his arm, scrubbing just enough to tingle and really get the dirt and sweat off.

“I do. Arm up,” you tap his elbow with the soapy rag and wash him down clinically, curling your lathered knuckles into the hair under his left armpit and carefully doing the same to the right, avoiding his arm wound, then spreading soap over his face and neck, curling into his scraggly beard and up behind his ears and then down across his too- lean torso. You hand him the rag to scrub over his own half-hard (and unfortunately impressive, you note) genitals before you instruct him to turn under the spray and do the same treatment down his back and legs.

Ezra talks the entire time, endlessly distracted with whatever tall tale crosses his mind and very pleased to have a listening ear to natter into. Right now he's animatedly detailing a yarn about massacring an infestation of channel rats, of all things. If the incessant chatter helps prevent him from getting any more hard under your hands, you're fine with it, you decide with an amused quirk of lips.

Ezra is certainly attractive as hell, but you're not just going to fuck a bounty in a service shower. Part of you can't ignore the abrupt thought that if he’d come up to you in a cantina, you definitely would have dragged him to an inn or ship as soon as you could. He is stupidly cute, with that charming wide, squinty, toothy smile and big, dark brown eyes and that wild tuft of white hair at his temple. Even the tiny, soft roll of his belly had been a surprising delight to find with how malnourished and lean the rest of him was. You definitely enjoy the tenor of his voice, remarkably similar to Mando’s, but unmodulated and thick as syrup with that twangy accent. You interject with little encouraging noises every now and then, spurring him on, even if you're hardly absorbing his story.

Soon enough you're scrubbing the shampoo bar through his hair, scratching your nails firmly into his scalp to get all the sweat and grime out. He practically dissolves under your hands, humming in deep appreciation until you push him back under the stream to rinse. Finally, you peel back the dressing on his missing arm to carefully wash the huge wound cap to prepare for redressing it.

“Stay there and let the water run on your stump for a few minutes, flush it clean. I'm going over here to wash, and then we’ll head back.” You hand him a capful of mouth cleanser and he knocks it back, gargling thoroughly and spitting.

Ezra watches you slip under the flimsiplast divider and turn your own water on. He leans against the wall under the showerhead and lets it flow down his shoulder and off the end of his stump, stinging only slightly as it washes out the scabbing wound and softens it. He has a single passing thought of making a run for it that dissolves down the grate in the floor as quickly as it had been formed; the debilitating combination of injuries and a rotten chest and you have very nearly declawed him. He thinks loosely about the imposing (but hardly unwelcome) image of the Mandalorian, too; tough and hardened but clearly not cruel; quite reasonable and fair, in fact, if his handling of Ezra’s request for Cee is any indication of his character. He even has a child. Ezra shakes his head to clear his swirling thoughts and watches you, keeping his eyes politely on your face even though he's quite tall enough to see all of you over the divider. Nevermind that you were just in here with him, bare and wet while you washed him over. He couldn't help plumping a bit down below due to proximity and general passive interest, but he steadfastly ignores it.

“Are you and our beskar-clad mutual ah- entangled?” He asks, genuinely curious.

You snort and scrub the rag over your body. “I’m not exactly sure Mando is interested in anyone like that. I suspect he had a questionable fling right before he met me in Mos Eisley, some half-feral desert Marshal in the Dune Sea, but I think it left him a little broken-hearted. He hasn't ever acted interested. And he’s my boss, maybe that's why, doesn't want to cross that line.” You shrug. “I mostly mind the kid and do maintenance on the ship and lend a second gun on bigger or tough bounties.”

“And he found you as a mechanic?”

“Yeah, I was working a recovery job for his friend, came in with a rickety heap of a M-111 I'd bartered with some Jawas for and he bought like half the parts off it immediately, had me and Peli knock his own Crest back into shape. And then asked me if I was interested in staying on as a crewmate, and I was, mostly to get off Tatooine. I’d actually first seen him on Nevarro when his covert was there, and he was working as a beroya for the Guild when Karga was running it. I left Nevarro after Karga started shaping it up and the Core started flavoring it too much. And then he found me on Tatooine; rest is history.”

“Beroya?” Ezra tests the word on his tongue and frowns. It's unfamiliar, and he so loves words.

You huff a laugh. “That’s his people’s word for bounty hunter.”

“Hmm. And the little green fella?”

You huff again, eyebrows dancing. “Long story short: Mando’s a bit of a collector, mate. Lost things, loners, the broken and the damned. He tends to save them, sort of despite himself, and then just keeps going, finding others. Gave me a job when I was considering spacing myself off the next public travel barge.... He saved the kid when the Imps wanted to experiment on him. Saved an old merc from a forced labor camp, saved a former drop trooper from her own hand... He flies in to save the day all the damn time. The list goes on.”

“Imps? You're friendly with these folks?”

“Kriff, no. Not intentionally. Way I understood it, the kid was a bounty. Mando couldn't bring himself kill him, so he turned him over warm for a substantial reward, and the guilt ate at him til he broke back in the compound and took the kid back, killed half of Nevarro on the way back out. Been running ever since.”

Ezra’s mouth turns down as he mulls the news over.

“Anyway. Just mind your manners and you won't end up slabbed.”

“I surely will, gem. Being thawed from that process is hell itself; I am unfortunately acquainted with the burning in one’s sinuses for days after. Nothing tastes right for weeks. I'll keep to myself until we must part ways.”

“Good. He doesn't mess around when me or the kid are involved; I'm sure it’s been impressed upon you by now that you’ll end up worse off than this if you even try,” you nod at his stump and shut your water off, ignoring the bounty’s frown.

Ezra watches your form just a little indulgently as you turn away and dry off, appreciating the glide of fine bones under your smooth skin, the soft curves and more toned muscles. He shuts his own water off and starts drying off, managing a patting motion over most of himself, though reaching his legs is giving him trouble.

You dress quickly and come back under the divider to finish his right side, carefully patting the scabbing end of his stump before stepping away for the single set of loose lounge clothes Mando keeps (even though he has never worn them near you).

“Sit and get your feet in,” you instruct, kneeling and holding each leghole open for him to slip his feet in. Ezra sits on the bench and does so, tipping to his left as he balances his weight with his hand planted on the seat.

“I do miss being– symmetrical,” he hisses, carefully maneuvering his stiff right shoulder as you stretch the neck and armhole of a tee shirt over his head and arms.

Despite yourself, you laugh at his complaint. His dark eyes flick up to you and a small smile ticks up one side of his face. “Alright, let's walk back and let this dry a bit, and I'll redress it once it does. Don’t let it touch anything,” you say, spraying the whole raw end of his stump with bacta and wincing at a sharp mental jab of empathic pain when he screws his face up from the sting.

“If you ah- have any of those tablets you have given me since the first day, gem, that would be… Just creamy,” he stammers through gritted teeth, getting back to his feet. “I believe the wash down was simply sinful, but I must admit my wounds are giving me some real grief for it, now.”

“They’re back on the ship. Let me get our clothes out of the sonic and we can go back. I’ll dose you up and feed you, you can sleep it off.”

Ezra nods and watches with his dark eyes as you empty the sonic clothes compartment into your shoulder bag and return, putting everything you brought to rights and shouldering the bag before holding a hand out to drag him upright.

When you make it back to the ship, it's still empty. Din hasn’t commed, so you assume he’s still out shopping, or trying to leave the loquacious and generally nerdy and strange Cee (who has warmed up just enough to be both demanding and overtly chatty) at the Academy. You stifle a laugh at the image of Din trying to deal with her, certain that Ezra won’t appreciate it while he mourns her loss. Even if he is not her father, they were clearly bonded from trauma and circumstance, if nothing else.

When you're safely inside the ship, you leave Ezra at his pallet on the floor and fetch down the painkillers.

“Damn, I only have one tablet left. Let me comm Mando so he can pick up more at the market.” You hand Ezra the tablet and dart up the ladder to do just that, waiting for an affirmative return before you go back down. You jump down the last few rings to find that Ezra has dry swallowed the tablet and managed to flop mostly into his bedding.

“I do appreciate your care of me, gem. Even if I am not meant to live beyond the next few days, you have given me a decent sendoff.”

You hum and start putting things away. “Canto Bight is always moving, and at the moment it's a long way off, so you can estimate it to be more like, eh… nearly a standard week?” You shed your outer layer and start rehydrating a sachet of bone broth for him, already keen on the way he’s listing from the exercise and mounting pain levels. He’ll fall right to sleep after getting a full, warm belly, you’re sure.

“Gemstone, could you be bothered to hand me the satchel I came on this fine vessel with? If you are out of painkillers, I have something to tie me over until our armored friend returns with a more performative narcotic.”

You frown at him and lift the bag, eyeing his outstretched hand. “What does it look like?”

“Kevva, woman. You just showered with me. I am not interested in harming you in the least, not that I imagine I could in my state. But if you insist, it would be a small, thumb-sized, off-white bottle. White lid.” You find it quickly and shake it, hearing tiny caplets plink against the sides. You don't recognize the swirly script the label is written in.

“What are these?”

“They are painkillers from an old field kit from Cee’s father’s drop ship. They are well past expired, but if it’s all I have, I will manage until our reflective leader returns.”

You roll your eyes and shake out a few pills into your palm, offering them. The dosage had long since worn off the label. Ezra takes them all and chews them up before you can snatch any back. “You better not have just OD’d, asshole,” you grit, handing him the cup of broth.

“I know it’s equivalent to asking a mountain to bow down, but do endeavor to trust me just enough to know I would not end my life before my time is due, gem. I said they are expired, I have only taken extra to ensure some semblance of relief for this incredible ache,” he shifts his stiff right shoulder and his whole face screws up with pain, body rigid with it.

“Let me-” you start, and move behind the pillow behind his head and shoulders. He is unconcerned but watches you with those fathomless dark eyes, curious. You lay your hands on either side of his neck and squeeze.

“If Mando shows up, you’re dealing with the fallout,” you say, massaging rhythmically. Ezra clenches his jaw on a sigh and rounds his shoulders out, seeking more.

“Understood, friend. Oh. I am– endlessly grateful.”

You find a tight whorl of muscle quickly, just under the right shoulderblade near his spine. You set to working your thumb into it, coaxing it back into shape, and eventually it releases, along with the tension you feel in his aura. The pained groan Ezra can't quite stifle is positively sinful, which nearly makes you laugh. He turns his head with a sardonic smile at your stifled snort.

“To be honest, gemstone. That spot has pained me more than the wound itself since I was injured. Your friend spared me much of the site pain when he cauterized the wound with his laser- blade. But that muscle, from carrying myself somewhat tilted, has only gotten worse. I find myself in your debt yet again.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just behave til the next port and we’ll call it even.”

“Now I must riposte, my dear. I have behaved quite admirably in your care, have I not?”

You chuckle, nodding. “You have, though you are also healing and no doubt getting an itching fever from being consigned, injured, to the hold of a ship in space with little leg room and now one less ear to babble incessantly into. I’m asking that you continue to behave, then.”

“Incessantly!”

“Ezra, you know full damn well that you could say half as many words in Basic and get your point across! You like the sound of your own voice!”

“Listen here, little bird, I wouldn't natter on so much if you didn't like how similar I sound to your tin man!” He grins quick when he sees you flush, caught.

“You do sound oddly like him. Not as uh-”

“That is a bedroom voice,” Ezra interrupts, breaking into a grin at your blush. “I thought the same thing when he leveled his rifle at me in the Green. He cannot be doing that on purpose all the time. It has to be the vocoder, something not wired right in his bucket.”

You laugh, which makes Ezra smile again, softer this time. “Have you truly never seen him?” you shake your head and his eyebrows lift. “Not even by accident?”

“He’s very careful. It’s important to him, his beliefs. I don't think he's taken it off without knowing I'm gone or dead asleep since he hired me. Maybe even before, with his kid. But I know the kid has seen him.” You wink, wiggling your eyebrows as if sharing juicy details. Ezra huffs a laugh and lays back in his netting.

“How do you know? Do you speak his language?”

“Grogu has the Force. I am Force sensitive, but untrained. He sends me thoughts and feelings now and again, and I translate, to a degree, for Mando. Though the guy’s getting good at understanding the kid’s coos and gurgles and body language by now; I don't have to do much. I know Mando’s name, because of that, but I believe it was an accident, a passing thought- and Mando has never told me it, so I won’t use it. Or share it!” You hold up a finger to stem off the next question just as the man’s mouth opens. He grins quick again, as if mysteriously proud of you for some reason, and you continue.

“Anyway. Grogu will tap his chin now and then, just under the lip of the helmet, and there is sort of a longing around the gesture, but he gets an image in his head- a memory- but he clears it or drops a wall between us before a face can form. I can only assume it's because of me.”

Ezra bites his lips and is quiet for a long moment. “I was going to ask about your powers,” Ezra defends himself, playing up his sulk, but his eyelids are growing heavy. He yawns hugely and you grin. Got him.

“Not much to tell. I’m like more of a– palpable empath than a Jedi. Go to sleep.” With his grumble of assent, you take his empty soup cup back and rinse it before dropping into the bunk across the hold, watching the comm link and waiting for Din to come back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din returns to the ship a few hours after he left it, bereft of one child and holding that much more tightly to his own. He remembers well what it feels like (what it felt like) to give his own child away after too- short a time with him, because he thought Grogu going with the Jedi would lead to a better life for him. Grogu had been quiet as a womp rat since they left Cee at the Academy and the complete silence was grating on Din’s nerves.

He had received your comm for painkillers as he was leaving the market, so he doubled back and retrieved what you asked for at the first stall he saw with med supplies. By the time he’s scaling the ramp into the Crest, he’s ready for a meal and a nap before they take off again. The dock fees are paid up for the full day, after all.

He enters to find the bounty snoring hard on his pallet and that you are lightly asleep in Din’s own bunk. He stops and watches you for a long moment until Grogu gurgles excitedly at the sight of you and you stir.

You inhale sharply and roll over at the sound, blinking and sitting up by the time he seals and locks it. Grogu squirms and gets down, toddling off into the hold.

“Nice shopping trip?” You ask, taking some of the supplies and beginning to stow it.

“Not bad. I intend to nap for a bit and then we’ll head out, take him to Canto Bight?” He tips the helmet at the man snoozing on the floor and you nod. “Here’s those painkillers, iisa.”

“Ah, thanks.” You shake one out and dry swallow it, wincing at a pull in your lower back, and pull down the medkit to stow them and start putting everything else away, closing panels and hanging larger items in cargo netting. “Go on and nap, I know you pulled an all-nighter.”

“You can keep the bunk,” Din says, shifting his weight. Grogu yawns in the crook of his arm and droops over it, ready for his own tiny hammock. “Two of those please?”

You snort and grin at him, passing two tablets over. He never takes meds; he must be really going through it. “Yeah, point. I had a nap. Go on, take that bucket off and shut the door, get some rest. I’ll knock at the door when the docking timer goes.”

“Alright,” Din sighs and bumps his shoulder fondly against yours before crawling into the bunk. Just before the door slides shut he hears Ezra stir. You hear him, too, and take the clothes he got for Ezra and lay them in a folded pile on a low shelf near the nest.

“Gem, is our Mando back with those meds?”

“He is. Is your expired experiment not cutting it?”

Ezra huffs a pained laugh and shakes his head. “It is not, I'm afraid. May I pilfer some of those?” He tips his forehead at the bottle in your hand and you come over, shaking one out.

“You already had one, and it's only been half an hour. So you can wait for it to wear off, or you can have one, now. I'm not boxing your kidneys over expired meds and some site pain."

In answer, he reaches up and accepts the single tablet, swallowing it dry. “I am not eager to see how this feels with nothing in my system, gem.” He shifts his right shoulder and winces, hard. “Thank you.”

“Don't have much of a pain tolerance, do you?”

Ezra huffs a laugh and nods dreamily, still mostly asleep despite the chatter. “Never thought much of it before I sustained this injury. It seems I do not.”

There is enough room on the bundle of blankets for two, so you drop to a knee beside Ezra’s hip. “Shove over a bit,” you murmur, tapping his side with your knuckles, and he does, shimmying toward the wall. You glance back at the hatch to Din’s bunk and see it closed, and you can hear the kid already snoring from within.

You slip down and lay on your back beside the bounty, who is laying still but not quite tense. “Forgive me for not trying too hard to avoid you, whatsoever, gem. We did wash up together, after all. and I am a bit of a cuddler, truth be told.”

“Hush, dummy. He hears you, you’re gonna end up in carbonite.”

“Is he so possessive of you?”

You snort at the mental image. “Not how I'd put it. Overprotective, maybe. He has a loyalty streak a parsec wide, not that it ever does him much good. Mando gets his ass kicked on about half the jobs he does.”

Ezra chuffs a soft laugh and straightens on his back, uncomfortable with his unbalanced weight on his side. The move pulls on the still- sealing wound in his sternum and he hisses quietly.

“Just go back to sleep. The alarm will go off in six hours and we’ll leave for Canto Bight.”

“Well, gem. I can't think of a better way to spend my final hours than laying here peacefully with you. Maybe if our shiny friend joined us- sans the shiny, for the sake of comfort- it could be a real party.” Ezra yawns hugely and settles, falling asleep quickly as the fresh tablet hits his bloodstream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stir awake to the sound of the bunk door sliding open, maybe an hour later. “Hmm? Mando?” You whisper and pop your head up, feeling sweaty and wildly overheated in the blanket nest. Ezra has curled against your side on the pallet but he’s not got an arm to drape over you; you're not even touching all that much. The heat can’t be from him. Not all of it.

Weird.

You sit up and see that Din is wriggling out of the bunk silently and very carefully, struggling to avoid disturbing Grogu snoozing hard in his little hammock. He slaps the door controls to shut it as soon as he is out.

“Osik!” Din gasps, falling to a knee. “Ii– iisa.”

You can feel the panic in him even as it's edging into his voice and jump up, rushing the few feet across the hold to him. “Mando! What’s wrong?” you hiss in a whisper.

“So– so hot. What’s- is it hot in here to you?” he shakes his head when you nod, watching the sweat roll down your temple and chin to soak into the collar of your flightsuit. "Okay."

“I am feeling it too, though I do not think it’s the temperature in the hold, Mando,” Ezra grits, struggling up to an elbow. “Did we all ingest something similar? Or were we exposed? Something is perhaps having a – biological response with each of us?”

You wipe at the sweat beading on your brow and try to think, which is easier said than done. Your thoughts are snarled tight and your blood is thrumming under your skin, pooling in your belly and thighs.

“We... Oh! We each took a painkiller. Or two,” you say, turning to Mando, who is on his hands and knees and panting under his helmet. He already seems far worse off than you or Ezra.

“Dank farrik. Soup. And – the tablets.”

“We've been having the same soup sachets for a week. That can't be it. What in Kevva’s name was in those tablets?”

You turn to Ezra and blink slowly. “Let me get them,” you fumble for the medkit and bring it down, digging for the white cylinder tube. “It’s just the usual standard medkit bottle- see? It says– oh. Uh, Mando? Where did you get these?”

Ezra reaches out his hand and you pass the shaker to him. It does look exactly like a standard over- the- counter Core painkiller bottle for a standard field medkit- but apparently recycled by spice runners and handed off by mistake in the busy market. The label reads Spiced Honey in Aurebesh and Huttese, though the script is faded. He squints and reads off the rest.

“‘Pollination Aid for Insectoid, Reptilian, Amphibious, and other cold-blooded sentient beings. Not recommended for mammalian biologies. For consenting adult use only; do not take more than one tablet in a standard cycle day. Common side effects in warm- blooded mammalian biologies include heightened basal temperature, undue sweating, erections lasting longer than four hours, hypersensitivity, amorous behavior, increased self-lubrication, and full loss of inhibition in varying degrees of strength. Do not combine with other intoxicants’. Well. We’re fucked, perhaps quite literally,” Ezra drops the shaker into the nest of blankets and curses under his breath, glancing at Mando mindlessly kicking off his boots and then to you.

“Gem, I know you have taken one as well, but I highly recommend you freeze me and lock yourself in the cockpit or the bunk before Mando loses his grip. He took two. And even with one arm and in a good bit of pain I find myself unlikely to hold back if this settles in further. I have no desire to harm you, especially against your will. I don't imagine he does either, but we may not be in control much longer.”

Your eyes are hazy, glassy, breath catching in your chest as you frown, deciphering Ezra’s words while the rest of your vision blurs. Your body heat feels doubled- tripled with both of the men’s suffering assaulting your heightened Force senses. Din is already sloughing his gambeson and flightsuit, leaving the armor attached to the connection points at shoulders and thighs, his breathing labored. Soon he is down to his compression bottoms and a ratty-soft liner shirt and the helmet, the neck stretched wide. You stare at his flushed bronze skin and the beginning of a thatch of chest hair peeking out of the neckline and lick your dry lips, abruptly very eager for a taste of the salt of him.

Both of them.

“Iisa, please. I don’t– what the fuck,” Din groans desperately, dropping his helmeted forehead to the durasteel floor. He’s got both arms crossed around his stomach, heaving deep breaths as if all the air being circulated by the scrubber is not enough.

“Mando, I suggest you come over here and slake that particular thirst with me, unless your partner is willing. You can take me if you like; I must admit the desire is mutual, and I do not mind being the passive party, especially considering neither my balance nor dexterity is what it once was.”

Din is already crawling across the space to the pallet, gripping Ezra’s ankle and tugging desperately until the other man is dragged to the edge of the nest of blankets. He mantles over Ezra and pauses, tips the helmet back and up to face you, still kneeling nearby. “Go up and lock yourself in the cockpit, or join us, cyar. I can't guarantee you won’t be– touched if you stay- my control is– slipping.”

“I want to stay. I want to watch you. I want to- touch you. Both,” you add, your hands shaking as you run them thoughtlessly over your body. Your nerves light up at every press, even over your clothes. Suddenly it’s far too hot and, like Mando, you start tearing at your flight suit and smalls.

You cup your tits and warmth pools low in your belly, rising to a rolling boil as you watch Din whine low and demanding as he drags Ezra’s bottoms off, too impatient to shuck the man’s boots so his loose pants get caught. They have a quick struggle which ends in the bounty with one boot off and leg freed, and his pants twisted around the other ankle. With a frustrated growl, Mando shoves Ezra's shirt up to his armpits. May wriggles the top off, tugging one-handedly at Mando’s liner shirt until he drops his head forward and the stretched neckline slides easily over the helmet. He throws the garment to the side and takes one of Mando’s hands, bringing it up to his face.

“Yes. Get them wet,” he demands. Din drives three fingers past Ezra’s loquacious lips to wet them on his tongue. He draws them back a moment later, thoroughly soaked, to wrap a slicked fist around both their cocks. Ezra’s head falls back to the bedding with a thunk, a strangled groan squeezing out of him.

The bounty’s single hand can’t stay still, he roves it over his own chest down to where his legs are spread around Mando’s thickly muscled hips and then up, catching on a peaked brown smudge of nipple. He pinches it with a twist and grins quick at the rough sound it earns. Din growls at the tease and ruts his hips forward, gripping a bit tighter if the noise that punches out of them both is any indication.

Din wants very badly to rub his bare face against the man’s chest- your chest- any skin. It feels like every instinct he has is to bury his face in skin. It is incredibly frustrating to be unable to, but he has just enough coherence to keep his helmet on, for now. He hopes idly that you’ll have the wherewithal to slap the lights off if he tries to remove his helmet. He drops his forehead to Ezra’s sternum, avoiding the weal of pink scar tissue that has healed up nicely under the bacta patch, and whines low and plaintive. The drag of his fist and wet and heat on his cock is not enough.

“I don't know if I have slick,” he grits out, lifting the visor to face the bounty below him. Ezra blinks slow at him, frowning slightly before it clicks.

“I may have some in my satchel. Gem, where did you set it?” He turns to face you, legs snapping shut around Din’s hips as the Mandalorian squeezes them tighter and ruts harder.

You whimper, a hand in your smalls and flightsuit shucked to your waist. Both men snap their attention to you at the sound and slow in their rutting. Din reaches his other hand out and makes grabby hands at you, seemingly past the capability of words.

“Gem, get the slick, then take off that suit and come sit on my face,” Ezra growls, rutting up against Din anew until the man plants a fist by his head and drives down, deeper and harder.

"Maker, yes, iisa. Do that," Din says.

You dump Ezra's bag on the floor and find the vial easily enough. You then squirm the rest of the way out of your suit and crawl over, eager and desperate for the press of skin on yours. Your own skin feels too tight, flushed and overheated.

“I want to–” you start, gasping when you reach them and Din pushes your face down to Ezra’s lips, coaxing you both into a desperate kiss that is mostly tongue and teeth and not much skill. Ezra clings to you with his hand, his belly flexing with the force of Mando's jarring thrusts from below.

“Come here, precious thing. Bring your leg over. There you go. Come down to me- I can’t quite–” he drags your hips down with a yank and your mound crashes into his mouth. The vial of slick skitters off toward the shelves, unneeded for now.

He growls into you, the vibration lighting up your entire body and you throw your head back, nails sliding on his chest, narrowly avoiding the bacta patch at the base of his sternum. You're kneeling over Ezra's head, facing Mando, struggling to keep your knees planted under the assault that is Ezra laving broad strokes through your folds and sucking on your clit in turns. His arm is an iron band just above your ass, keeping you planted on him. His nails are pressed into your opposite hip, a tiny bite of pain to accentuate all the swirling pleasure. Sweat beads on your skin, blood thrumming with need and lust and desire.

Ezra's tongue winds you up tighter and tighter, his hand alternately squeezing your cheek roughly before drifting round to cup and knead your breast. He thumbs your peak before he slides across to the other with a low hum of satisfaction into your core. You push your chest into his palm and, when he brings his hand back to pull you back down to his mouth, you tip forward and curl your tongue around the perfectly twinned tips of their cocks peeking out of Din’s fist. Din makes a choked noise and pushes his own cockhead at your lips, throwing his head back when you suckle them both at the same time. As a reward, Ezra flattens his tongue against you and encourages your hips to start grinding on his face.

“Bring yourself to completion on my tongue, gem. I want to drink from your fountain before our friend truly loses himself. I believe watching you come on my face will be the tipping point.”

You do exactly as you are told, planting both hands on Ezra’s chest and riding his face until you shatter. As you shiver through the come down, you abruptly want them both, desperately. You wildly consider fitting them both inside, somehow. But before the thought accumulates steam, Din is wracked with a wave of lust a good deal stronger than you or Ezra are feeling. He did take two tablets, after all.

Din makes a low, desperate sound and reaches for you. “Cyar. Please, can I?”

“Din. Please, yes. Come, come here,” you slip and use his name, but he barely notices, only enough to tip his head briefly in confusion as you drag him away from wedging between Ezra’s thighs and urge him behind you. “Give me your cock. I need it! I feel so empty,” you complain, grinding back against him when he kneels behind you, over Ezra’s crown.

“Mando, let me get you good and wet for our gem. Put that in my mouth before you spear into them,” he laves over you once more and tips his head back, catching the head of Din’s cock as it throbs downward, making the Mandalorian shudder at the sudden warmth and wet.

“Ours?” Din murmurs distractedly before it dissolves into a heady groan at whatever Ezra does with his tongue. He thrusts forward into the man’s throat and Ezra soaks his cock, thick spit clinging to the tip as Din pulls away and notches the head at your weeping entrance. "Iisa. Ours."

You bend forward and drop your mouth over Ezra’s turgid length just as Din pushes inside you to the hilt, his fat cock stretching you beautifully. You both groan at the stretch and tight squeeze, respectively. Din pushes his forehead into the dip between your shoulder blades and grinds his hips forward, staying sheathed deep.

“Oh! Oh, gem, my dear, your mouth– please!” Ezra paws at you desperately when you lift off to gasp, but you take him back in eagerly when he tugs on your shoulder. His stomach tenses to hardness when he lifts his head up, lapping at your apex while the rest of you is stretched tight around Din’s girth. His tongue traces where you are joined and Din makes a low sound that is barely human. Ezra’s hand can’t be still- he roams it over you and Din each, finally squeezing the Mandalorian’s muscular ass and encouraging him to thrust a bit more energetically, which drags your clit over the bounty’s tongue with each push.

“Oh, fffffuck,” Mando grits when you clench around him at Ezra’s additional stimulation, milking his cock with a rhythmic squeeze. He pulls out slowly, snapping his hips back in and pounding against that deep spot, high up by your cervix. It makes your eyes roll back, your jaw slack around Ezra's girth as you suck in a breath, and you feel the abrupt urge to pee and clench that much tighter, which just makes Din do it again.

Ezra’s tongue drags upward down Mando’s shaft and over his tightening balls, sucking one fuzzed globe into his mouth before Din pulls back and repeats the thrust, tilting this time to hammer repeatedly into that same spot. Ezra’s hand slides from around your hips to your belly, pressing up between your hipbones with the backs of his knuckles, pushing your deepest spot down until you're sure to shower him with your cum if Din keeps up the punishing strokes. He returns to sucking your clit, kneading the bud carefully between his tongue and teeth.

“Boss, I do believe our gem deserves to be filled with your seed. Pump this gorgeous pussy full, so I can clean it up,” he demands, urging Din on. His thrusts become more brutal, his hands gripping your hips turning to a bruising strength, and you love it.

“Yes- yes, Mando! Fill me up. I need your cum,” you gasp, thrusting your hips back on him. He growls beneath the helmet, the sound coming out flat and that much more grating for it.

You can feel your orgasm building low and insistent in your belly, the swelling heat and pressure of it blooming outward into every extremity. Ezra flattens his tongue against your clit, giving you something to grind against when Din knocks your hips forward. You suck weakly at the cock in your mouth, using your hand to move over what you can’t manage in the moment, more applying tongue and wetness and heat than anything akin to actual talent but Ezra seems to be loving it. His hand presses up on your belly again just when Din nails you deep and holds your head down on Ezra’s dick, and you– break.

Your cunt grips tight around where Din is buried deep, all the way to the hilt, grinding in firmly and giving you something substantial to milk. A gush of your juices flows into Ezra’s mouth as you choke on his cock, your whole body clenching and releasing in a full-body orgasm that steals the last wisps of your breath.

With a chest-deep groan, Din’s head falls forward again with an unforgiving thump of helmet against your shoulder. He grinds deep, coming with a ragged gasp as your insides milk an orgasm out of him that seems to last forever. He absolutely floods your channel, his movements making it gush out with every thrust and grind.

Ezra pops his hips upward, sucking greedily on your soaked folds, lapping your combined come, and dragging his tongue hungrily up the hard rib on the underside Din’s cock. Gasping and still rock hard, the Mandalorian pulls out of you and buries his soaked and still- hard length between Ezra's lips instead.

When he pulls out, Ezra picks up a low chant, murmuring depraved things about the taste of your perfect pussy, the salt of Mando’s come, your heat and wetness and deliciously slick insides. He buries his tongue in your channel, sucking more come out. The bounty thrusts up into your throat once- twice, and Din finally lets you pull away enough to breathe just as Ezra floods your mouth.

“Ffffuck,” Ezra cries out, turning his face into your thigh as he shakes through his orgasm, clinging to your body collapsed onto his. “It has- oh! Been a long time since I received such attentions, gem- forgive my abrupt– fffffff! Finish!”

You barely have time to swallow before Mando is already dragging at your hips again, rutting up along the cleft between your cheeks despite your still-pulsing cunt. He’s still rock hard and stifling a petulant groan. You pull away and he whines but lets go, only to turn his demanding hands on Ezra.

“Let a man breathe, Mando,” the man gripes, swatting uselessly at the hands grabbing him.

“I’m sorry. It’s– maybe you should freeze me,” Mando says to you, and you scoff.

“Not a chance,” you pant, and flop to the side off of Ezra’s chest.

He keeps his hand braced on Din’s ribs, asking for a moment to recover. “Would an intercrural rut suffice while I catch my breath, tin man?”

Din simply growls at the nickname and crawls back down over the other man, rolling them to their left sides and spooning up behind him. You watch, enraptured and overheated, noting with curiosity how very similar their bodies are. The mushroomed tip of Mando’s unceasing erection peeks in and out of the clench of Ezra’s thighs, made slippery by the slick you left on Mando’s cock. Din’s fingers claw at Ezra's chest and belly, holding him almost too-tightly. You feel the ghost of that grip on your hips and groan, feeling yourself leak afresh at the memory.

“Iisa, please. Are you alright? Did we–?” Din presses his forehead against the knot of Ezra’s right shoulderblade, growling at his loss of words. He can’t focus. Luckily, you and Ezra are more clear minded, if no less under the influence of extreme arousal.

“I’m fine, Mando. Just need a breather. Not everyone has highly- trained stamina and endurance,” you chuckle, rolling back toward the men. Ezra lays on his left side, hooking his ankles together to tighten the squeeze. Mando seems to appreciate it; his hips stutter forward sharply.

“I can’t- I don't think I can come like this. It’s not enough. I need– inside something. Friction isn't– enough,” he grits out, hands wandering down Ezra’s torso to drag his top leg back and up over his hip.

“Easy, boss. You can't go jammin’ that weapon in there without some prep, and something to ease the way. How about you come up here and abuse my mouth again, and we’ll see to the other, after, if you are still in need? Our gem and I seem to be faring better with the foggy mind. Perhaps another orgasm or two will help you?”

You prop against the adjacent wall of the hull and watch in abject fascination and want as Din crawls over Ezra, shoves him to his back, plants his knees in the man’s armpits, and feeds him his cock.

“Maker,” you sigh, a hand drifting thoughtlessly to cup your throbbing cunt. The tease of the touch is enough to make your legs shiver shut around your hand.

Ezra, for his part, takes Mando’s cock down his throat skillfully and a little greedily. He talks - filthy things- when Din slides out too far. It makes Mando growl and thrust deeper when he goes back in, which makes Ezra grin around his girth like he's won something.

“What I wouldn't give to set my mouth on every inch of you, you gorgeous thing,” he says before being choked on the fat tip nudging past his tonsils. You watch as the bounty simply rolls his head side to side to make it fit better, even deeper. Mando whines and shakes his head, already desperate for a kiss and struggling to recall why his damned helmet is still on. “I bet you are pretty, aren’t you?” Ezra drags his hand up Din’s torso, thumbing his nipples, tweaking one meanly.

“Tight body, pretty cock- why wouldn't your face match? It’s quite a sin and sacrifice to keep that mouth all to yourself, don't you think? Though at least you are willing to share this,” he tongues the throbbing head of Din’s prick bobbing against his lips, sucking the head methodically, working the tip of his tongue into the slit and grinning with Mando whines and shivers at the focused stimulation.

“Iisa,” he pants, gripping Ezra's wrist as his hand slides down his belly. He pins the man’s arm to the floor above May's head and thrusts deep and slow a few times, relishing how deeply Ezra takes it in his throat without struggle, though tears are brimming in the corners of his eyes. Din catches his breath when he slides all the way out and holds himself there, balances on his knees and one fist, the other hand still pinning Ezra's.

Your eyes are locked on the way Ezra breathes like a fighting bull up at him, nostrils flared, brow furrowed, fingers curled around the back of Din’s hand, jaw stretched wide around his girth. Your own fingers are absently strumming your seam, gently stimulating yourself back toward desperation. Din calls your name and your eyes flick up to meet the impassive visor, in stark contrast from the rest of his body language, broadcasting his need.

“The lights,” Mando prompts, and your breath punches out of your chest. He's going to take it off.

Belatedly, you reach up and slap the lights off. The only glow is from various controls dotted around panels in the hull, red and blue and a dim, grimy white that gives off the impression of shadows only- no details in the bleached space, only black form over an indistinct background. You hear the helmet grate across the floor and the wet sound of a mouth on something before Ezra (you think- they sound so similar) groans low and needy.

You crawl back to the pallet and find the men where they were, only now Din is bent double and plundering Ezra’s mouth with his tongue instead of his cock.

“Boss, I strongly– urge you to give our gem the gift of your mouth while you can. Let me attend to the fires down below,” he pants between kisses. You reach out to card your fingers through his hair and can feel that Din still has him fully pinned. In the next breath, Mando has you swept up to his chest with both arms around your back and he licks into your mouth, groaning into you as Ezra swallows him again, a pioneering finger tracing over his hole from behind.

“Cyar,” Din breathes against your lips. “Sit on his dick, while I fuck his mouth.” He grins against your lips when Ezra groans in disbelief beneath him and you scramble to obey, giddy off the high of feeling Din smile against your mouth, rather than hearing it through the vocoder. Din dismounts Ezra’s chest and turns, pinning his arm again, under a shin this time, and feeding the bounty his balls while he strokes himself. He hears you slick Ezra with your cunt by sandwiching it between your seam and his belly and rutting along the length before you position yourself over him.

You grip Ezra in your hand and can already tell the difference, even in the dark. Ezra’s cock is a bit leaner than Din's, though they are remarkably similar in both look and form. Each the full length from your fingertips to the heel of your palm, both uncut and a ruddy brownish-pink and flushed at the tip, framed with a thatch of tidy, dark curls and nicely bundled balls. Mando was perhaps a bit girthier, but then so was he compared to Ezra’s malnourished and ill frame.

When you line up and drag your dripping cunt over his length, you can feel Ezra’s whole body vibrate with a groan that is echoed when Din pulls back. He feeds Ezra his cock just as you sink down on the man’s length, ripping a desperate sound from his throat which vibrates around Mando’s root. Din can feel the forearm pinned under him scrabbling for something to hold onto. He adjusts and drags the hand up, holding it against his own chest as he tips his hips down. You grind forward, settling Ezra deep inside you.

“Come here, iisa. Give me your mouth,” you gasp at the softness of Din’s voice, unmodulated and hopelessly endearing. Your mouth meets his, cautious but desperate. He encourages you to o0en your lips, so he can tease your tongue with his own. It's not skilled, of course- how could he be? But the kiss goes from exploratory to hungry in seconds. Din licks into you, a low growl rumbling in his chest as Ezra swallows around him. He works his hand from Din’s grasp and grips your hip, rutting up into you and sucking desperately at the length on his tongue.

“Make him come,” Din demands, breathy and demanding, and you nearly swoon. Your core tightens impossibly when Ezra thumbs your clit, winding tighter until it snaps and your stomach unspools in clenching and releasing spasms. Your limbs feel heavy, legs no longer wanting to work as you try to lift and drop again. Under your hands, Ezra's belly is taut with tension, his hips working against your weight for a few more thrusts to meet his own end now that you have been sated.

Ezra clamps a hand on your hip and whines around Din, the onslaught of sensation almost too much before he simply- snaps. You feel him pulse and spill inside you, painting your insides that are already slick from Din’s come moments before, and you drop your weight, seating him deep, overwhelmed and incredibly tired. Mando is not anywhere near finished, though. The thought occurs that he might fuck you both unconscious before his stamina and the spice wears off.

“Kriff,” you groan, sliding forward off Ezra’s cock, your gushing-slick passage leaking all over his soft, lean belly. The man sucks harder at the length in his mouth and Din moans- the sound heady and desperate without the flattening of the vocoder- and spills on his tongue.

“Oh kriff is– is right, iisa.” Din flops bonelessly to the side, facing up but with his head by Ezra’s hip. You are still straddling Ezra's waist, but you list to the side as Din tugs you down between them

“You know my name,” he says quietly, brushing the hair off your sweaty face with soft, callused fingertips. You snort and duck your head.

“Yeah, ah- I think the kid thought it by accident once when our connection was open. I think it was an accident anyway. He makes sure I can't see your face in his memories, but that one slipped through, I guess.”

“I don't mind.” He pushes your foreheads together and you sigh, relaxing.

Ezra simply lays there and enjoys the afterglow, his face buoyed on your chest. The worst of the spice is out of your and his system, and the pain is creeping back into the wound and the knot of his shoulder. He speaks up:

“How are you faring, boss? Has the spice run its course through you, or are you still in the throes?”

Mando hesitates for a moment. “I am still painfully hard, though not as– inebriated as I was. I can- maybe make do,” he starts to pull away but you and Ezra tug at him.

“I said you could fuck me and I meant it,” Ezra chuckles, and the wind punches out of Din’s chest.

“I– yes. Please,” he asks.

“Well then. Did we find that slick, gem?” Ezra is already levering up to his elbow, letting Din paw at his hips til they are both on their knees. You pat around the floor, corner to corner, in search of the slick in the dark.

“Can you balance like this?” Mando checks in, pushing the bounty forward. He holds Ezra ‘round the ribs and supports his weight with ease, showing his strength. Ezra drops to his forearm with a grunt and wriggles, testing his weight and balance, before nodding.

“Yes. Just go slow, to start. I’m neither as turgid nor as numb to oversensitivity as you at the moment, boss. And I have already come twice under your and your partner’s skilled attentions, which I have not done in one sitting in a terribly long time.”

You crawl forward and pass off the vial of slick, accepting a searching, heated kiss as Din cups your face and drags you closer on your knees. “Lay under him, iisa. Meshurok,” he teases, calling you as Ezra does, in his own tongue. “Let him bury his face in these,” his hands drop and cup your breasts, kneading playfully. You huff and press another kiss to Din’s precious mouth before ducking to do as he says.

“Well hello there, gem. I can’t see you, of course, but I can tell by the firming of this beautiful cheek against mine you are feeling quite ebullient.” Ezra nuzzles your face, tucking his nose under your ear, and gasps at something Mando does from behind. You feel his hips lift and push back, and a low groan pushes out of him into the soft skin of your throat.

“Come here,” you say, gripping his sweat-damp hair and turning his face up to your own for a sweet kiss. “I’ll hold you- just relax, pretty boy,” you coo, carding your hand through his sweaty hair. You tug at the blonde patch until he exhales hard and melts against your whole front.

“I don't think that particular label has ever been granted to my generally- undesirable person,” Ezra mumbles, gasping quietly again when Mando adds a second finger. "But I can't deny I do enjoy it coming from-- you."

“You must not have met many folk with eyes, then,” Mando quips, scissoring his fingers before Ezra can retort, though the one-two combo punches a breathy laugh out of him. Even if Ezra looks an uncanny amount like Mando, himself, he can compliment the man without it feeling too much like narcissism. For as much as they look alike, they are quite different.

“I agree,” you murmur into Ezra's soft hairline. The gentleness of you both gets to him, quicker than anything else has. Gets under his skin and into his heart.

“That I can – Oh! Oh shit, oh shit-” he pants, rocking back on Mando’s fingers now, hardening against your thigh, despite feeling like he couldn't possibly. He ducks his head to your breasts, nuzzling and then slipping his mouth over the soft swell of one, panting at what Mando’s doing from behind, gripping at you while trying to balance his weight. You push your chest up into his face, encouraging him to change to the other breast, sucking your nipple into the heat of his mouth. You arch into the stimulation and can’t help but tighten your knees around his ribs.

Din feels animalistic. As bad as any time he's been separated from the kid in a battle, but different. He wants to rut, fuck, come, mark– rub his scent and grip bruises into flesh. He ruts his painfully hard cock against a spare curve of flank and curves his hand upside down, his palm at the top of Ezra’s cleft and fingers still curled inside, draping his weight all along the man’s spine. He nuzzles his nose and mouth against the back of Ezra's head, into his dark, short curls. The man smells like your soap and antiperspirant, and the flame of desire in Din’s chest blows wide into a bonfire of pure lust. He rubs his face all over the back of Ezra’s neck and shoulders, reaching under him for you, palming a breast, stretching forward and sandwiching the man between you for a kiss.

“Mando,” you sigh, scritching at the scruff under his chin. You unerringly find the sparse spot on the left side and press a kiss to it. Ezra growls a little between you, feeling somewhat neglected, and turns his head into the right side, finding the matching spot there and dropping a wet smear of a kiss on it.

Din presses back up to his knees and withdraws his fingers, pushes back in with three, bares his teeth at the stretch around his knuckles. Ezra makes a desperate sound and ruts back on him, his voice muffled by burying his face back in your chest.

“I could expire here and now, and consider myself surprisingly lucky, even imprisoned as a bounty and missing my dominant arm. Between you two is heaven itself. Mando,” he cries out at the firm curl of fingertips over his prostate. “Get in me or do that harder, you are driving me to distraction, gentle-man-!” He demands, only to be cut off with a wheeze as Din fixes his slicked cockhead at Ezra’s softened entrance and pushes just inside.

Slowly, inexorably, Din presses onward until his hips are flush with Ezra's rump, all of him inside and suddenly wildly overheated. He waits, still, until Ezra tips his hips up in invitation before moving back and then returning with a much more sharp thrust.

“Oh– stars, just like that,” Ezra chokes, nuzzling into your breasts again, licking slow over one curve to find the tip and latch on. He can’t keep his balance and paw at you or reach for his cock, but he enjoys the assault of sensations for now. Mando is so deep inside, stretching him nearly to the point of burn but not quite. Despite the spice clouding his frontal lobe, Din did a good job stretching him to ease the way. Each pass over his prostate causes a jolt of nerves that light up his whole belly and down his legs. His shoulder pain is long forgotten. There is only your soft skin beneath him and Mando’s hardness inside him and raw strength behind him.

Mando sets a firm, rhythmic pace that has his hips slapping hard into Ezra’s spare ass as he drives forward, but he knows Ezra is not getting the stimulation he needs. It takes several minutes to convince himself, what with the drugs in his veins telling him otherwise. Eventually Din slows to a halt and pulls out. He chuckles at the disgruntled noise from above and flops to his back.

“Come here, May,” he grabs a lean thigh and hauls the man over in a show of strength, nearly dumping Ezra onto his face before he can steady himself.

“Kevva waits, you could have just said come ride me instead of yankin', boss! I can barely fuckin’ balance as it is.” Ezra grouses. He gets his knees under himself and adjusts his weight, surprised to find plenty of room for movement under his thighs with how broad Mando appears in all his armor.

“Sit,” Din demands, pulling on the man’s hips. Ezra quirks a grin in the dark and resists, planting a hand square on Din's heaving chest.

“Gem, you hear that? He’s losing those pretty manners of his,” Ezra huffs a delighted laugh when Din growls a please at him. He reaches behind himself, clumsy with his off hand, and lines that fat cock back up along his well-slicked crease.

“Yes, please,” Mando groans and his hips jolt upward as Ezra slides down his length, impaling himself in a smooth glide.

“Mando, this magnificent- turgid- specimen could cure ailments, I swear to the Maker. Every- spot- stimulated so perfectly. Oh!” Ezra pants as he grinds forward and back experimentally, his belly jumping under Din’s hand at the consistent torment on his swollen gland. Din fists his cock and Ezra growls: “Gem come here, gorgeous gemstone. Come here and join us.”

You have been watching their shadows move together since they rolled and adjusted, cupping between your legs where the flesh is hot and swollen, wet with the dregs of the spice in your system. You roll to your side and then up to your knees, dipping over Din’s face for a thorough kiss before following his hands, letting him push your face up to Ezra’s. The bounty cups his hand around the back or your neck and hauls you up, his hips rolling insistently against the length he's impaled on.

“Kiss me, sweet thing. I need– nngh!” Ezra shivers around a particularly brutal thrust against his prostate and kisses you like you’re his last meal. You're both growing tired, the spice waning from your systems, but the buzz for one more orgasm is just there under your skin. You let him lick into you, taking over with your own hand where he is fucking forward into his fist and then back against Mando.

“Yes, your hand- so soft- thank you, gem!” He plants his palm on Din’s heaving chest again for balance and works the cock in his ass, lifting and dropping, grinding and rutting. Mando makes some truly impressive sounds before pawing at you.

“Come here, iisa. Turn. Across- now sit. Now fuck him,” he hooks his thumbs around your hip bones and pushes you down, facing him and straddling his belly, in front of Ezra. He grabs Ezra's cock and guides it into you, making you both gasp.

“Oh– Kevva! I will not last in this state, Mando! Gem- your pussy is as perfect a fit as I could hope for. So wet- warm! Ngh!” Ezra, bless him, reaches forward and strums your clit messily with three fingers, working you up where you are already dripping and panting between them.

Mando grips your hips, wishing he could see, but he will take the trade gladly if tasting you both- kissing, licking, sucking- is in the cards. He realizes belatedly that he has not got his mouth on either of you yet. If you all survive this round and don’t tap out, he decides he will.

You howl as you come hard on Ezra's cock, collapsing forward into Din while you catch your breath behind his palm (he’s clapped it across your mouth to avoid you waking the kid). He scoops you close and pins you to him with his arms wrapped around your back, sucking your lower lip between his teeth, holding you still for Ezra to fuck into and ride Mando’s cock until they both explode.

“Oh shit- oh shit, oh shit ohshitohshit–” Ezra grits his teeth and his ass clamps down, sitting down as hard as he can on Din’s hips to get him deep, milk his balls empty while Ezra paints the swollen, hot edges of your cunt with the last weak dregs of his come. The last of the spice fizzles out and the ache bleeds back in with nothing to stymie it.

You each fall to a side of Din, starfished in the floor and chests heaving. Every bit of each of you is wet and sticky and exhausted. Din whines in the dark, a small movement catching in the dim glow of the lit buttons.

“I’m still fucking hard,” he complains, sounding more offended than anything. “Dank farrik. This is ridiculous!"

You can't help but laugh at the complaint. You pop your head up, confused by Ezra's silence. Is he asleep? You suppose it’s not entirely out of the question; you feel awfully close to sleep yourself. But then he speaks:

“Boss, I am not sure either of us has the stamina to go again, but if you can be patient a short while, I believe I can manage for you to use me to find your end, if nothing else.”

He hums in contentment when Mando glides a hand up his belly and chest, scritching fondly in the scruff under his chin. Din catches himself being so casual and forward and curses internally, forcing his hand to drop. He must really be out of it. Not only fucking a bounty but dragging you into it just because he didn't actually look at the bottle of meds he'd bought. The self- doubt creeps in, lingering like a thick cold slab on his chest until you curl a leg between his own and slide your whole front against his left side.

“Ezra. Get over here.” You grouse sleepily, reaching across to curl your fingers around his wrist, laying on his own chest, and pull at him til he rolls to his side and snuggles in close.

Your warmth and gentleness dissolves that slab on Din's chest as thoroughly as the kid does. He's come to rely on it, which feels dangerous.

Soon, Din notices that you have stopped moving and your breathing has evened out. He huffs quietly in vague amusement, warring with the concern he feels over the perpetual throbbing in his cock. The mental fog has dissipated, but he’s still horny as fuck and rock hard to prove it.

“Does the sonic on this vessel fit two?” Ezra stirs and interrupts his thoughts. Din blinks and turns his head to the other man, running a hand possessively down his side. His skin is starting to crawl again with heat and need, already. He feels like it will never be out of his system. "Not really."

“Nested together as we will no doubt be, we could probably manage. Your partner took such thorough care of me at the service station, and I hate for those efforts to remain reversed due to these -- sticky circumstances. A clean- up would not go amiss. I can feel your seed leakin’ outta my ass already, though you are assuredly about to plant more.”

“Shut up,” Din grouses, rolling them, making Ezra snort. He lays on Ezra, belly to belly and knees on either side of the man’s narrow hips. He leans heavy over the bounty and mouths over his collarbones, pressing his teeth into the knotted muscle of Ezra’s damaged shoulder. “Can I have you again?” he asks into the other man’s mouth, breathy and heated.

“Ah, you found your tongue and your manners again, Mando.” He chuckles with Din bites down on his lip with a growl. “Yes, and let it drain the last of this accursed spice from your system. You have spilled so much under its spell. I don’t think I can manage to come again, but you are welcome to try. At least until the oversensitivity assails me.”

Rather than responding, Din licks into his mouth, opening his jaw wide with a thumb pressed to his chin. The kiss is heated and exploratory, stealing Ezra’s breath away handily. He wriggles under the weight of the Mandalorian, worming his hand between them to grasp the man’s cock and give him a firm circle to thrust into.

Abruptly, Din grips Ezra by the elbow and hauls him over to his belly, caging the man with his own forearm braced on the ground beneath Ezra’s good shoulder, his stump against the ground and his face and upper chest mashed into the blankets. He is thoroughly pinned, especially once Mando plants his huge palm on the side of Ezra’s head, fingers tangling in his hair to keep his face pinned to the side. If he even possibly could at this stage, Ezra wagers he’d be a hair’s breadth from coming again.

Din spits on his fingers and wipes the wetness over the head of his dick, smears it across Ezra’s hole, and presses in. Ezra whines but grits his teeth, knowing that if he can get over the first painful rush of frayed nerves, it will turn sweet again. Thankfully, Mando is tiring out after four rounds in what must have been scarcely more than an hour or so. The prospector feels the first twinge of something good, low in his belly, and tips his hips up against Mando's snapping thrusts. His cock hangs heavy and not quite half-hard, thoroughly spent between his thighs. Din has a fistful of hair in one hand and a death grip on Ezra's hip with the other, keeping him pinned with his only arm rendered useless. All he can do is take it, and that unlocked a particular kink the bounty had been secreting away for a long while.

Too soon, Ezra gasps and his hips turn down with a sharp pain. “Too much,” he chokes, and thankfully Din has the wherewithal to withdraw gently and let him go. Ezra pants into the bedding, spooling back out from how tightly he’d clamped up from the rush of pain. “Apologies,” he says, and accepts the pat to the back of his thigh with only a little chagrin.

“Stop apologizing.”

At Ezra's sharp complaint, you had stirred with a deep breath, stretching on the pallet beside them. “Oh,” you sigh, enjoying the shapes of them moving against one another in the dark. “Mando, Ezra is too sore. Come here,” you yawn, scooting closer to them. You see Din pause, pulling away from the bounty and reaching for you.

“Thank you, gem. I am indeed weary, and the pain is inching back in with the spice on its way out. Forgive me, Mando.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Din murmurs, and latches his mouth onto your seam. He tastes himself and Ezra, you at the edges. It's intoxicating. You squirm under his attention but spear your fingers into his hair and he leans into it with a whine. He craves the softness as much as the spice is making him crave the roughness. Once you're sopping again and your juice is running down his chin, he pushes himself up to mantle over you, hooking your knees around his narrow hips.

You run your hands up from his waist, curving over firm muscles and soft skin, the puckering of scars here and there. You wind his sweaty curls around your fingers and tug, eliciting a groan. He shakes his head, finding everything at once- his head being touched along with all the skin contact, his own flesh crawling with need and the sweat pouring off him- overbearing.

You release him and let your hands travel again. His rump is small but fits blessedly in your palms, and the feel of your fingers closing over his ass urges him on. Din hums against your mouth and slides the length of his cock through your folds, a tease, smearing the wetness gathered there. He notches his head at your entrance and slides in.

Din drops down over you, elbows planted by your head, your thighs spread by his hips, knees and calves hooked over his ass. You reach up and run a hand up the side of his neck, over an ear, dragging him down for a searching kiss. He growls into your mouth, needy and tiring out, unable to purge those tablets from his system just yet.

“I want you to come on my cock,” he says, panting into your open mouth. You grin against him, exhausted and unsure if your body can enmven manage another orgasm. “Felt so good earlier. Again,” he demands, pushing up to slide a hand between you, flatten his thumb on your clit.

“Mando, I'm not sure I can. I’m so tired,” you whine even as you feel your core clench around him at the added stimulation.

“You can. What else do you need? I’ll give you anything, iisa. Tell me,” Din implores, bending his neck to lick down your throat. He nips at a collarbone, recalling dimly that you had thoroughly enjoyed Ezra’s mouth on your tits earlier. He ducks his head and noses, laves over a plush mound until he finds the peak of your nipple and sucks it into his mouth.

“Oh! Both- the other–!” You cry out, back arching as he hits that spot deep inside your cunt and sucks just right on your nipple.

Instead of switching, Din grips Ezra by the upper arm and hauls him over to his belly beside you. You drop a hand to reach for him too, and your hands bump when Din fists a hand in the man’s hair and drags him into place latch onto your other breast, all without pausing in the suckling of the one between his own lips. Ezra catches on quickly and, after a quick peck to your mouth he obeys Din’s demanding grip.

You sob out at the feel of it, two strong mouths sucking, nipping, and laving over your sensitive breasts while Din pummels away at your cervix, thumbing your clit, stretching your abused pussy on his cock and taking what he needs.

You feel a tightening, an impossible new winding-up in your core that seems to take all the muscles in your limbs with it. Din brushes your clit with his fingers again and you shatter, screaming behind your teeth, your face buried behind your palms to keep quiet because of the kid. Ezra mouths his way up your neck and claims your lips again, capturing your noises, letting Din drop his face into your sternum while he finds his end in your impossibly clenching insides. You’ve turned into a limp doll, boneless with exhaustion and at least four orgasms- damn, you lost count.

“Maker,” you pant, struggling to catch your breath with the weight of Din’s collapsed heft on your chest. “We’re disgusting. Dammit, Mando, I just washed him!” you snark, making the Mandalorian giggle into your skin. You crack up at the sound, struggling to laugh quietly as you feed off his suddenly effervescent joy. He rolls to his back between you and Ezra, the lot of you sweaty, sated, bone-tired and delirious.

“I’m not sure we can go to the service station just yet, iisa. I’m still –”

“Hard as a pike?” Ezra interjects, dropping his hand between Mando’s legs, earning a gasp. “Go to sleep, man. The lust seems to be over, even if your biology hasn't caught on quite yet.”

You all lay there a few moments more before Din’s soft snores are echoed by Ezra’s. You snort at them and roll to your knees, keen on a thorough wipe-down and a nap if the kid will stay down.

But of course, as all kids are prone to do, he wakes the minute you finish yanking Din’s bottoms back on. You’d wiped him and Ezra down with a damp cloth and slung the new bottoms on the bounty’s lower half, but Mando’s compression leggings were a squeeze for him, even when he wasn't passed out and deadweight.

Sighing, you scoop the kid up out of his hammock and take him up the ladder with a snack, leaving the lights off and Din’s helmet beside his shoulder on the pallet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I still have your arm,” Din says, apropos of nothing. He is checking the star chart as the Crest exits Coruscant’s atmosphere.

“Excuse me?” Ezra whips his head around to stare at the back of Din's helmet.

“Your arm. I slabbed it when we came back. You were unconscious.” Din sets the course and turns to find Grogu in the bounty’s lap with a tiny claw fisted in his tunic, staring up at him curiously. Ezra has his remaining arm hooked around the kid, making sure he doesn't fall off his perch on the man’s thigh.

“Why?”

Mando shrugs. “In case you died. Easy proof of destruction. But now… I'm thinking I might drop you somewhere else for a few days. Go to Canto Bight, turn in the arm, collect the lesser bounty. Pick you back up.” he pauses and the flat face of the helmet stares back at Ezra for a long moment, waiting on a response. He tips it to the side. "If you're interested."

Ezra, understandably, is flabbergasted. “Why?”

“Iisa likes you. The kid likes you,” Mando tips his forehead down at Grogu gurgling up at him. Ezra’s eyebrows shoot up and he stares down at the child. “Despite the fact that you never shut up, I like you. If you're not interested, I can cut you loose and still get the bounty.”

“No I– I appreciate the sentiment, Mando, I do. You’ll forgive my wariness, considering the circumstances. I am not accustomed to men wanting to keep me around for anything more than manual labor or to warm a bed, and even then only for a short venture. If I understand you- you are meaning for a while?”

“Until you want to leave,” Mando shrugs. “Same as any of us.”

Ezra chews his lip and his brow threads together. “And what does this life look like? A one-armed former prospector with little in the way of domestic skills, and a sharpshooting force-sensitive mechanic, and a force-wielding xeno child, and a bounty hunting Mandalorian living on a small gunship together with one bunk?”

To his great amusement, Mando actually snorts at him and ducks his head. Ezra grins and waits. “Exactly that. We make port most days, stretch our legs. When we’re in the stars, we stay above lightspeed and head to the next job. I’ve got- friends- all over, especially in the Outer Rim. Finding places to lay low for a few days isn’t a hardship.”

Ezra nods and thinks of you. They’d woken and Din had put on his helmet and tugged on his thin liner shirt and helped Ezra into his own tunic. After, they had discovered you dead asleep in the cockpit with the kid playing with his ball in your lap. Mando had scooped you up, limp as a ragdoll, and you'd remained sound asleep as he had lugged you down the ladder and into his bunk.

Ezra thinks he would very much enjoy more chances to wake up like that. Or in a tangle of all of you.

“Where will you leave me?”

“It’s a bit of a back track but you have two options. I can hide you with my covert on Glavis, or leave you with a friend on Tatooine. To be honest, I'd rather leave you on Tatooine. Harder for other hunters to find you in the Dune Sea, and environmentally safer for you. My covert is currently under the ring world, and footing is dangerous even with two arms for balance.”

“And you will come back?”

“Yes. I will leave iisa and the Child with you, if you like. My trip to collect the bounty from Canto Bight won’t take long.”

“Mercy, man. You’re offerin’ me a whole new life. I can’t simply accept that it’s just because you three like me.”

“Would you rather take your chances with your pissed- off investors?”

Ezra scowls at him. Din grins behind his visor. “Don't toy with my heart, Mando. You know I would not. It’s just going to take some accepting.”

“Well. We’ll be at Freetown in two days. Think on it. If you decide not to stay with us, I'm sure the Marshal can put you to work in his town somehow."

"And what? You would schedule conjugal visits?"

Mando snorts and turns back to his charts, setting coordinates for Tatooine. "If iisa wanted. If that's your intent I'd rather not leave you in Freetown, though. It might be a bit awkward for me to negotiate frequent visits."

"Ah, your lost love in the desert?"

He bites his lips against a knowing grin when he sees Mando's shoulders flatten with tension, but is surprised to get a response. "Something like that."

"Well then. A few days to stretch our legs and a pickup would suffice. And I'll let you know if it stops being sufficient. Do we have an accord, boss?"

Din turns around and eyes the hand Ezra has outstretched. After a beat, he takes it.

"Deal."

____________________ end _____________________

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