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primofate · 3 years

Note

im feeling kinda akward since its my first time requesting,i really really really like your writings and im wondering if you could do some angst for albedo, anything you feel like tbh, but if may i be a little selfish i was thinking on something like he hurt you, so you break up with him or maybe he break up with you and regret later, im in love with the genius and your writings so why not lol, hope you are doing well, xoxoxooxox

Thanks for the request anon. <3 Sorry it took so long, but I’m feeling angst today so here goes. Let me know what you think <3

QUEUED POST

Scenario: Breaking up

Characters: gn! reader x Albedo

Warnings: angst, break ups, regrets, did I say angst?

Categories: angst in Part 1, comfort in Part 2 (It was getting too long so split it into two parts)

Read: (Part 2) (Part 3 - Final)

Albedo

Alone.

These days you found yourself alone in your shared home. It had been nearly a year since the two of you decided to live together. Maybe that was a bad idea.

You were smitten. He was such an intelligent man, and truth be told you loved how his mind worked. He was silent and mostly kept to himself at first, but with you, there were subtle touches, fleeting kisses. Oh and his eyes, the way his eyes brightened or the way his lips turned up at the sight of you. The way he held you close at nights, up until the morning.

Gone were those days.

He was hardly home. The intelligent man you had fallen in love with, was also a workaholic. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming. There were so many signs.

Maybe he changed. Maybe you changed. But the little things weren’t enough anymore. He came home just to sleep and wake up, and he was off again.

“Bedo, have you got some time off on the weekend? We haven’t been up to Starsnatch Cliff in a while,” you had prodded him a few days ago, wondering if the problem would be solved if you made the first move.

“Sorry, Y/N, we’re just about to discover more about the properties of electro crystals... It’ll be useful if we want to sustain higher energy concentrations on...” and just like that he had gone off a tangent explaining the whole thing. You smiled a little, it was still endearing how excited he got discussing those things.

But you couldn’t help but be lonely at how he seemed to love his research more than you.

‘Maybe I just need to be more proactive. That’s it! I’ll go and visit him at the lab today!’ Surprising him was one of the things that you had always wanted to do. But not a lot of things got past Albedo. He was observant like that. You made a quick run to the bakery, getting him some croissants and welcomed yourself into the Favonius Headquarters.

You looked up at the sign on his laboratory door. That sign was always there though, Klee had told you about it, and Sucrose had also talked about it once or twice before, telling you that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go in if the sign was up. But when was it ever down? So, you shrugged, and pushed the door open with a wide smile.

“What are you doing here?!” There’s a wild look in Albedo’s eyes the moment you step in. He didn’t appreciate being disturbed. You tilted your head a little at his reaction, you weren’t expecting that.

“Oh, since you’ve been so busy these days I just thought I’d drop by and give you something to--”

“Y/N, did you not see the sign on the door? No disturbances, even from you,”

“I’ll just be quick, I’m just dropping this off,” you lift the paper bag from the bakery and lay it down on the nearest table. Albedo closes his eyes with a sigh.

“...We’re working on something dangerous right now, I don’t have time to eat. Please take it back,”

Surprisingly, you obey quite quickly, and take the paper bag back into your hands. Annoyance start to pulse in your veins. “Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

Sucrose had been standing there the whole time, and you can see the slight wince on her face at your cold statement... But Albedo had returned it ten fold, snapping an answer back. “Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

You didn’t expect how much it would sting. Your shoulders slump downwards at the realization that this... had gone too far. You couldn’t take it anymore. Sucrose opens her mouth, but doesn’t know what to say looking back and forth between you and Albedo.

The Kreideprinz had continued with his task as if nothing had happened at all, but he knew what he said. He didn’t want any interferences nor accidents happening in the lab and that was the only thing he cared about at the moment.

Your foot moves to step back, but your eyes are glued to Albedo. You can only see his back. His hair tied up neatly, the shoulders that you loved to wrap your arms around and his hands that were always gentle. You took a good look, drinking the whole scene in like you hadn’t had a drop of water in days.

This was the last time you would lay eyes on him and it broke you into so many pieces. You turned away without another word, Sucrose staring at the door, before she decided that she needed to follow you. “I-I’ll be back, Master Albedo,” she rarely ever abandoned an experiment, but she knew that you needed a friend right now.

Ironic, because it should have been Albedo running after you, but instead the green-haired girl caught up to you just as you reached the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt. “Y/N!” she jogs, and stops when you do as you hear your name.

Tears prickled your cheeks, but they were more of frustration than sadness. You stand there for a moment, drying your tears and turning around towards Sucrose, gaze on the pavement. “Y/N...” Sucrose approaches carefully, hand resting on your shoulder.

“...I don’t know anything other than Albedo, Sucrose,” you start, a curtain of memories flashing through your mind. “...Without him, there isn’t much reason for me to stay in Mondstadt,” Sucrose shakes her head rather hastily. “H-He’s just... a little occupied right now, Y/N, I’m sure he doesn’t mean what he said,” You close your eyes, the scene repeating in your head.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

A hard lump forms on your throat at how hard you try not to sob. How hard you try to keep yourself together and Sucrose sees it from the way your lips tremble. “Sucrose, please watch over him,” and that is also the last that Sucrose sees of you.

That night, Albedo arrives home exhausted, just as he always does. But now that he was home, he could at least expect a warm meal and a warm hug. A soft smile tugs on his lips at the thought.

When he turned the lights on, he was met with a strange stillness instead. His hand stays on the switch as his eyes scan the living room. It was...quiet. There were no plates on the table, and there were no sounds from the kitchen.

Deep in the pits of his stomach there’s an anxiety that starts bubbling up. He brushes it off, opting instead to check the kitchen. “Y/N?”

Empty.

His footsteps hasten as he opens the bedroom door, expecting you to be curled up there, asleep.

Empty.

Albedo takes in a shaky breath. You were probably just out in town, doing some late night shopping. Yeah, that’s it, perhaps you just didn’t have enough ingredients for dinner today and--his eyes land on the bedside table.

The photo frame is gone. The photo of the two of you standing side by side together with comfortable smiles on your faces, his hand on your waist, and the house on the background.

He throws open the closet doors. Your clothes are gone. Your shoes are gone. Even your scent seemed to have disappeared. The anxiety that was once a small bubble in his stomach had started to claw it’s way out, wrenching his heart in places that he didn’t know could hurt. The tears pooling in his eyes were so foreign that he didn’t even know what was happening until he hears himself gasp back a sob.

You’re gone.

Suddenly it was so hard to breathe, but he pulls himself up and out the door. There’s no way. Where would you go? Perhaps you were just around Mondstadt, trying to get a breath of fresh air to calm your nerves. He searches everywhere. The church, the tavern, the Good Hunter and even atop the rooftop of the Favonius Headquarters. There was a decent view of the city there, and his eyes roam the streets, just to get a glimpse of you.

“...Please...” There’s another lump in his throat, his eyes dart around looking for any small sign of you.

“Albedo? Tired?” you ask as he returns home one day. He merely lets out a small “Mm,” and pulls a chair out from the dining table to sit on. You walk into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea, and he snatches your hand to press a soft kiss on the back of it. “Thank you, love,”

“...Please!” his grip on the stone walls of the rooftop tighten. His vision blurs.

“Al! Don’t do that!” you try to swat his hand away from the pot, a short laugh coming off of your lips at how mischievous he could be sometimes, trying to dip his finger into the sauce. He has a grin on his face as he successfully tastes the sauce off his finger, making a sound of approval as he draws you in for a light kiss on your forehead, “It’s good, as always,”

His legs buckle, and he finds himself on his knees, hands fisted upon the cold stone wall. “At least tell me where you've gone! I can’t--” he doesn’t know when the last time he cried was, but whenever it was, he doesn’t remember it to be this bad. The pain was unlike any injury he had, it grasped so tightly at his heart.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

He furiously shakes his head because he knows that it was his fault. “I didn’t mean it, please give them back,” as if there was someone else who took you away. As if there was a God listening to him right now.

He realizes that the worst of it was not that you had left, but that you had left no traces of you behind. No photo. Not a piece of clothing. Not a trace of your existence.

Nothing for him to hold on to.

That night, he dragged himself back home. Face flushed and hot from the tears he had shed and the ones he was attempting to hold back.

That night, he painfully got into bed.

Alone.

Taglist: @larkspyrr @rim0na @sweeti-pie @l3mon-mxshroom @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @kyquu @KimbapSana @fanfictionenthusiast

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#albedo #albedo x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin reader angst #genshin x reader angst #albedo x reader angst #genshin fics #genshin short fics #genshin headcanons #albedo angst

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mandos-sluts · 3 years

Text

The Missing Glove

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, kind of mutual masturbation, age gap

Summary: Mando goes searching for one of his gloves and finds you letting off some steam

It’s been a few months since you and Mando began working as partner bounty hunters. The two of you traveled on the Razor Crest from planet to planet collecting bounties. It took a while for Mando to admit it, but the two of you made a really good team. Mando was of course the muscle, and could physically take on any quarry that was unfortunate enough to resist. And you were excellent at extracting information from people and sweet talking your way to a bounty’s location.

Your attraction to Mando was pretty much immediate. How could you not be into a dark, mysterious, muscular, Mandalorian? His voice, his smell, his demeanor, they all drove you crazy. While you didn’t know his exact age, you knew he was a decent amount older than you, which only compounded your attraction to him. Your favorite was when the bounty would make comments about how hot you were, and Mando would respond by pushing them and saying something along the lines of “Shut the fuck up and stop looking at her.” Of course it wasn’t the offensive comments you liked, it was the way that Mando’s response was so aggressively protective and seemingly laced in jealousy.

Mando was infatuated by you as well, which is part of the reason he was so against the partnership in the first place. You were beautiful. You never failed to capture the gaze of everyone in every room you walked in. He knew that if it weren’t for him by your side during your travels, you would certainly be bombarded with male attention at every turn. The two of you were really a fruitful team, however, and your returns were not something he wanted to risk by crossing the line.

*************************

Aboard the Crest, Mando is piloting in the cockpit while you are relaxing in your and Mando’s shared sleeping quarters. The bounty you are en route to delivering was a fighter, and in the action, one of Mandos gloves tore.

Once in hyper drive, Mando walks to the back of the cockpit and opens the compartment where his spare pair of gloves is. To his surprise, only one glove is there. Confused, Mando closes the compartment and begins looking in other boxes and drawers for the missing glove. He knows that he put both gloves in the compartment, and why would he split them up? He descends the ladder to the first floor and begins rustling through the assortment of containers trying to find his damn glove.

Unsuccessful, he heads to the sleeping quarters to ask you if you have seen it. The door is a little less than a third of the way open, so he assumes you’re not asleep. As he gets closer, he hears you breathing heavily. Perhaps you are doing pushups or something? Slowly taking a few steps closer, he’s able to make out what he thinks are moans. Whatever it is you’re doing, he knows he should leave you alone and just ask you later. But the closer he creeps toward the door, the clearer your high-pitched moans become, and his curiosity gets the better of him. He can feel his arousal grow as he pictures what you are doing on the other side of the door.

He inches closer and closer to the door, being as quiet as he can. The sleeping quarters has two beds, yours and Mandos, against adjacent walls of the room. Finally arriving at the door, he stands in front of the part that is ajar, peering inside. He feels his pants grow tight as he finds you lying on your bed facing away from the door. You're lying on your back with your head on your pillow. Your knees are in the air and feet flat on the bed with your legs spread open, and your arm is circling between your legs. You're wearing a tank top and a thong, which is clearly pushed to the side.

Mando stands in awe with his cock pressed against his pants. He moves his hand to his bulge and starts rubbing himself over his pants. He can’t believe what he is looking at. Mando jerked off fairly often in the fresher, but he had no idea that you ever pleasured yourself. The pretty moans that escaped your lips were the hottest sounds he had ever heard.

He sees your arm begin to move faster, and your breathing picks up as well. Now you’re spitting out words in between your moans.

“Fuck”

“Ah yes”

He imagines this is what you would sound like if he were fucking you–

“Mando”

Did you just—

“Yes, Mando! Ahh fuck.” You moan out.

Mando’s hand freezes as he takes in what he just heard. You were moaning out his name.

Your arm starts moving even faster between your legs, and then one of your knees drops to the bed. Mando now has a clear view of your—

his. glove.

You are fingering yourself with his missing glove on your hand. Mando cannot believe what he is witnessing. He watches the index finger of his glove frantically circle your glistening clit while you breath out his name. His arousal skyrockets at the knowledge that you are pleasuring yourself while thinking of him and gives him the gall to confront you.

You’re lying in your bed, fingering yourself with Mando’s glove so it’s as if he were doing it himself. This bounty had been particularly unpleasant and you desperately needed to release some tension. You can feel your orgasm drawing near when out of nowhere–

“What are you doing.” You hear in a deep and commanding modulated voice.

It scares the shit out of you and you let out a yelp. You turn your head and see Mando standing at the door. Your face turns red with embarrassment as you sit up and quickly pull the blanket up to your waist, shaking off the glove underneath.

“Mando! Maker you scared me! I– I didn’t know you were– what are you doing?!” You say as humiliation washes over you.

Mando steps confidently toward your bed. “I was searching for my glove.” Mando says steadily, towering over you as you look into his visor with wide eyes. He reaches for the blanket that is covering your pelvis and legs. Your head turns to watch his hand grab the blanket.

“But it looks like you’ve found it.” He says as he slowly pulls the blanket off of you, exposing your underwear and the glove you are holding between your thighs.

Your heart is beating out of your chest and you can feel the redness of your face. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life. You quickly snatch the glove from your legs and shift your panties back into place.

“I– I’m sorry, Mando. Um, uh, your glove is soft, and I, I didn’t know you were looking for it. I’m really sorry.” You stutter out.

“You were fingering yourself with my glove, because it’s soft. Is that right?” Mando asks.

“Yeah.” You reply softly.

“Were you moaning out my name because my name is soft as well?” Mando says, slowly taking the glove out of your hand.

Fuck! You didn’t know he had heard you say his name!

“Uh, um—”

“Y/n” Mando interrupts you. “If you wanted my fingers between your legs, all you had to do was ask.” He stares at you. “And I can put more between your legs than just my fingers”

Arousal shoots through your body to your pussy and you bring your head down to eye level. That’s when you see the unmistakable tent in his pants.

“Fuck, y/n.” Mando says. “This is soaking wet.” He says feeling his glove.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Missing Glove Part Two

*************************

Masterlist

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars smut #mando x reader #pedro pascal smut #mandalorian smut #star wars fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #star wars x y/n #star wars x you #star wars x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #mando x you

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Note

ok can i request a din djarin x reader where the reader is a badass but usually seduces her bounties to capture them, and din is both jealous and confused (bc she could kick anyone’s ass) and she whips out the line “don’t work for misogyny, make misogyny work for you” thank you so so much

Atin’la (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Being a female bounty hunter is a pain in the ass. When you meet a Mandalorian man and begin traveling with him, you meet seemingly the only man in the bounty hunting trade that respects women. Too bad he’s a hopeless romantic too.

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, alcohol, misogyny, threats of violence, mentions of weapons, Din doesn’t know how to emotion. rude terms to address a female (whore, bitch, etc.)

A/N: I had so much fun working on this request you guys! Fic requests are definitely open if inspiration strikes any of y’all. The bounty they capture in the later part is a Zabrak! I did some research into different humanoid species, and for reference, Zabraks are the species with a ring of horns on their head; the most notable one is Darth Maul. I linked the wookiepedia page here so you can get a feel for what they look like if you aren’t familiar with the species.

atin’la- tough

Being a bounty hunter and a woman is much harder than being one or the other.

Sexism runs rampant in circles dominated by men, and bounty hunting was certainly one of those circles. Finding a man impartial to women was the best you could get in hopes of employment, a man who actually gave a shit about the women was a dream.

Luckily, you’d happened across a man who seemed to see directly past gender. A man who you weren’t even sure was a human, covered in beskar and refusing to even tell you his name. He asked you to call him Mando, and that was that.

You’d happened upon the man during a bounty hunt. You were an independent contractor, working for yourself. You’d pick up pucks from slain hunters, more often than not, or you’d run a spare job for Karga or his rivals. Money was the number one concern for you, over loyalty to a certain guild or a certain code.

The hunt was going somewhat easily. It all changed when you looked down and found a tiny green being sipping soup. It smiled cutely at you with tiny white teeth and you abandoned your mission for a moment to give the little thing a scratch on its head. He seemed to appreciate that, leaning into your touch and slipping his wide brown eyes closed.

The being’s father didn’t like that. You looked up to find a beskar-clad, broad-shouldered man pointing a pulse rifle at you. “Step away from the child.”

“Relax,” you said quickly, putting your hands in the air. “I’m not here for him.”

“How do I know that?” The modulated voice growled at you.

“I’m an independent bounty hunter. Let me show you.” You grabbed a puck and tossed it to the man, who skillfully caught it while balancing his pulse rifle, aiming it directly at your heart. The man- well, you assumed it was a man- pressed the button, illuminating the dark alley with a holographic image of a mythrol. “See? It was registered to Jido Korden. He’s dead now. I stole the puck from his body.”

The black slit in the helmet looked from the puck back up at you. “You’re not Guild?”

“No,” you laughed. “Why bother working for one side when you can keep your opportunities open?” You asked, a smirk on your face.

He shook his head. “I was assigned to this mythrol too.”

“That’s too damn bad, Mandalorian,” you shrugged and walked closer, snatching the puck back from his palm. “Unless you want to work together,” you snorted as you pocketed the little round piece, turning off the hologram. You looked down at the kid again. “Nice meeting you, squirt,” you hummed to the kid and scratched its head before turning to walk away.

“Independent, huh?” The Mandalorian asked, lowering his pulse rifle.

You stopped in your tracks. “Yeah. What about it?”

“You have skills. I’ve seen your image before.”

“Better not have been on a bounty puck.” You crossed your arms and turned around. “Where is this going?”

“I… am in need of crewmates. This kid is a kriffing handful, and I can’t keep watching him and running bounties. It’s just not working out.”

“That sucks,” you shrugged. “Is this an offer?” He stared at you for a second, unreadable. His visor stared directly into your face. “Yes. Come work with me. We’ll take turns running bounties and staying on my ship with the kid.”

“Oh, you have a ship,” you raised an eyebrow as you looked up and down his body. “I’m not a working girl, you do know that?”

“Of course I know that,” the man said, annoyance evident in his modulated tone. “This is not a… partnership of that kind.”

You bit your lip and tilted your head as you looked at the man, the child, and back to the man. “50/50 split of payment.”

“60/40.”

“Don’t make me negotiate a higher rate,” you chuckled. “50/50.”

“Fine.”

You smiled. “Looks like you’ve got a partner, Mandalorian,” you said, hands on your waist. You walked closer and offered him a hand. He took it and you shook on the deal. You introduced yourself and he nodded. “What’s your name?” You asked.

“You can call me Mando.”

That was how your partnership with Mando began. Now, you’ve worked together for a few weeks. His missions tend to run longer than yours, taking upwards of a week. That leaves you on the ship with the child more, but it’s nice. It’s almost fun to pretend domesticity when the Mandalorian man is gone, playing with the child.

Green bean, baby boy, cutie, kiddo, nugget. The kid had many names under your care. You wonder if Mando ever calls him sweet names when you’re the one gone. You hum to the child and put him in his little knit hammock, hanging above the technically-shared bunk. It’s not really yours or Mando’s. One of you sleeps in it when the other is on the mission. One side has a small shelf with some of your belongings- your glasses, wax for chapped lips, a durasteel flask for water. The other is bare. That’s Mando’s side.

The child is asleep, and you’re curled up against the back wall of the bunk, reading something on a holopad. Your home planet has a newsfeed you can stream, and you smile softly as you scroll through it. You take a sip of water from the metal flask and hear the child stirring. He wants to be near you, you can tell, as he reaches out a tiny three-fingered hand toward you.

Shaking your head, you chuckle. “Alright, bud. Come here,” you allow, and the child jumps from his hammock onto your stomach, causing you to make a soft oof as he lands on you. The child giggles and crawls up your body, cuddling in against your chest. You set down the holopad and stroke the child’s big ears. He makes a little coo of happiness, snuggling in and closing his eyes. As much as you’d tried to get the child to sleep in his hammock, every night was like this. He wanted to be held and sung to and kissed between his big eyes. He was a baby, you suppose. You wonder if Mando indulges the child by doing this when it’s just him and the child.

As you close your eyes, you find yourself thinking about the Mandalorian. You liked him, you had to admit, making you smile placidly at the backs of your eyelids. He had a dry sense of humor. He was good to you. He’d indulge in conversation with you between the times one of you would go out on a hunt. He’d listen to you talk and comment along on your stories. He was good at domestics, you’d notice when you came back from your turn hunting. He’d wash and fold the child’s brown robes and his own capes, would polish his weapons and sometimes you could even smell remnants of cooking in the hull of the ship.

Yes, you have to admit, you like Mando. He’s a good man. He treats you and his little green son well. In response to his kindness, you do what you can for him. You get treats at the marketplace with the child and leave them on his pilot’s seat for him to find. You polish his beskar for him at night when he sleeps, in just a helmet and his flight suit, up in the cockpit whenever the two of you are both aboard the ship. You write him notes of thanks and tuck them around the ship for him to find.

You fall asleep thinking about the man, the enigma shrouded in beskar and dark clothing, while you held the child close to your chest.

Mando likes you too. He smiles when he finds a note from you tucked in his pack he carries on missions. He snacks on the candies that you get for him, and even shares them with the child. He falls asleep in the same bunk, thinking about you, the child nestled alongside him.

When he’s on a hunt, he thinks about you and the child constantly. He wonders if you ever think about him the way he thinks about you. He wonders if you consider him a friend. He views you as one. He pictures the way your eyes twinkle when you and the child get into mischief. He thinks about the way you laugh at his dry humor, the way you send a snarky comment right back at him. The way you’re good to him. The way he secretly yearns for you, for your touch, for your lips and your arms around him.

Now, as he’s dragging a knocked-out twi’lek back to the ship, he hopes you’re asleep. He hopes he can catch a glimpse of how relaxed you look when you sleep, the way your nose twitches when you’re dreaming and you press kisses to the child’s head in moments of half-consciousness. He hopes he doesn’t wake you as he lowers the Crest’s ramp and walks up, quietly as he possibly can. The carbonite freezer is loud, and it wakes you. “Mando?” You call as you hear it, sitting up.

“Just me, cyar’ika.”

You don’t know what the word means, but Mando loves to address you by the title. It probably means bitch or snarky one or sassy, you sometimes think. “How did it go?” You ask as you hear the heavy footsteps of the man come to the end of bunk.

“Easily. He was hard to find but easy to take down.”

“The best kind. More time away from me,” you tease, rubbing your eyes and looking at the hulking man, the red and blue lights from various appliances just barely illuminating his shape.

“You like it that way, I’m sure,” he teases back, sitting on the end of the bed and stripping off the beskar, setting it on the floor with a clunk.

“Actually…” you trail off, smiling a little. “I was thinking we could do the next hunt together. I’d like to see your style. My next one is on Tatooine, we could leave the child with Peli. She adores him.”

He turns to look at you. It’s unbearably domestic, your hair messy and your shoulders bare in your sleeping camisole and soft legs visible with the shorts you wear, your glasses slipping down your nose. It’s hard to believe you’re a bounty hunter in this moment, he thinks to himself. You look so delicate and warm and soft. The opposite of him, rough and rude and harsh. “Who’s Peli?” he asks after a moment.

“Mando!” You laugh and smack his bare arm. “The lady with the wild hair. She runs the hangar?”

“That’s her name?”

“Yes, you bantha,” you grin and shake your head. “Her name is Peli. I cannot believe you.”

The child awakens at the noise and makes a noise of excitement as he sees Mando. “Hey, kid,” the Mandalorian chuckles and picks up the child, setting him on his lap. The child hugs him and Mando gives a soft laugh as he hugs him back, lightly.

“Go back to sleep, cyare. I’ll pilot us to Tatooine and you can finally show me how terrible you are at bounty hunting.” He pats your calf softly, with an ungloved hand, and you do your best not to shiver at the touch of his strong hands on your bare skin.

“You get some rest too,” you tell him with a soft smile, placing your hand on top of his. Your fingers are so much smaller than his, so much more delicate, and you trace the tips along the back of his hand. He nods and stands, setting the child back down next to your side. You lie back down and cuddle the child into your chest, trying not to think about how strong and warm his hand felt on your skin.

Once you arrive on Tatooine, you suit up. Your hair is slicked back to the best of your abilities, and your glasses are replaced with contacts. You pull on your skin-tight black tank top and black cargo pants, strapping your holster belt around your waist, slinging your ammunition belt over your shoulder, where it rests between your breasts. You strap one blade to your thigh and another to your upper arm, and pull on your trusted combat boots. You’re ready. “You can come down,” you shout up to Mando, who’s been patiently waiting in the cockpit for you to get changed.

The man climbs down the ladder in his full beskar. Tatooine is a hot planet, so he’s omitted the cape for this mission. You can see a peek of skin when he moves his head, showing a little bit of tanned skin, and it makes you bite your lip and turn away. “You ready?” You ask him as you sling his backup pulse rifle- which you’ve claimed as yours now- over your shoulder.

He nods. “Looks like you are too.” The child has already been left with Peli, so everything is set. He walks closer to you and removes one of his metal vambraces, strapping it to your arm. It looks odd against your bare skin, only ever having seen it against the dark material of Mando’s flight suits or duraweave shirts. “This button,” he says and points to a triangular button, “is the comm in case we get separated.”

“You’re gonna be the one needing it,” you tease, pressing the button on his other vambrace. It makes a screeching feedback sound from being so close to the other receiver and you wince before pressing it again to turn it off.

“Sure I will,” he chuckles.

“Show me the puck one more time?” You ask, looking up into the black T of his helmet. He nods and pulls it out, pressing the hologram. It’s a male Zabrak with a name listed beneath: Gar Thalcyon. Crimes: Bail Jumping, Resisting Arrest, Grand Theft X-Wing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Men are easy,” you chuckle and take the puck, putting it in a pocket of your cargo pants. “Let’s go.” You walk out of the ship, leading Mando along.

You walk through the crowded marketplace of Tatooine, the Mandalorian man trailing behind you. Your head is held high. You don’t necessarily fit in; many Tatooinians wear robes and hoods to hide from the sun, but you obviously didn’t bother. The Mandalorian behind you most definitely doesn’t belong, attracting stares, but he doesn’t mind either. He’s used to it.

Mos Eisley is, unfortunately, a dead end, you two discover after a day of searching. The bounty puck never indicates that you’re in the right location. Both you and Mando decide to get dinner at a cantina in town before you move on tomorrow. That’s what led the two of you to where you are: sitting in a more secluded booth, watching the cantina’s patrons get drunker by the minute.

You’re sipping a bright pink cocktail, and Mando watches the world around the two of you, sneaking glances through his visor at you. “Isn’t this a little irresponsible for a mission?” You chuckle, swirling the skewer of fresh berries sitting in the glass in front of you.

“He’s not around here. We’re not on mission time now,” he shrugs.

“Oh, so is this like a date?” You tease with a smile.

Mando freezes for a second. You hope you haven’t offended him somehow, but he tilts his head as he watches you. “Do you want it to be one?”

You bite your lip and swirl your drink faster. “I don’t know. It’s a little impractical for coworkers, for co-bounty hunters, is it not?” You chuckle, but there’s no humor in your voice as your throat goes dry.

“It would be,” he nods in agreement. “But our job is only a contract between us. One that can be amended.”

You have a shy smile as you look up at him. “Do you want it to be one, Mando?” You ask.

He’s silent for a moment. You mentally curse the beskar for hiding his expressions from you.

“I do,” he finally acknowledges.

The smile on your face breaks into a grin. “Then I guess we’re on our first date,” you laugh, sipping your neon-colored drink with a smile you can’t get off your face. “I suppose if we’re dating, I should know your name,” you ask him.

It’s the first time you’ve pushed. You’ve never asked him to take off his helmet, never asked why he didn’t. You’ve been kind and caring and patient and damn, he wants to tell you so bad, but his eyes drift to the side and he sees a Zabrak walk in, and he immediately recognizes him as your target.

Mando nods to the side. “Take him down and I’ll tell you.”

You look where he nodded and frown. “So much for a date,” you pout and look back at Mando. Sighing, you pick up your drink and stand. “Just know that I only have feelings for you, okay?” You ask, a hand on his shoulder as you walk to his side.

“...Okay,” he nods, and you walk off, an extra sway in your hips. You may be wearing cargo pants, but your tight top and cinched belt accentuate your body. You’re gorgeous, Mando has to admit.

The man sits at the bar and you pull up a stool next to him, smiling a little and sipping at your brightly colored drink. “Hey there.”

The man’s eyes look you up and down, and he licks his lips with an odd colored tongue. “Hey yourself. What’s your name, pretty thing?” He asks with hungry eyes.

You need a cover name and you need it quick. “Manda,” you blurt with a smile, trying to hold back a laugh at the fact that you literally picked your date’s name- well, the one you know him by- but slightly augmented.

You rest your hand on the bar and the man picks up your hand, kissing your knuckles. “You can call me Gar.”

“Hello, Gar,” you giggle and bat your eyes at him. “What’s a man like yourself doing on Tatooine, hm?” You ask him, swirling your drink and sipping it as you look at him with doe eyes.

He shrugs and looks forward, signaling the bartender for a drink. “I’m a wanted man, my dear,” he says with a salacious smile.

He sure fucking is, you think to yourself, and you can’t help but snort. Maker, men are ridiculously easy targets. Your plays into your theme, at least. “Oh, and for what?” You ask, leaning in closer. You sneak a sedative dart from a pocket of your pants, holding it in the hand beneath the bar.

“Stole an x-wing right off a Resistance base,” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” You giggle, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

He’s about to launch into a spiel when you stab the tranquilizer dart into the back of his hand. “Actually, don’t bother. I already know,” you chuckle, face close to his. He makes a noise of agony and surprise at the needle in his hand, and his body starts slumping. “Never lead by saying you’re a criminal,” you murmur next to his ear and stand, wrapping one of his arms around you and forcing him to walk along with you.

“You’re a wanted man alright,” you chuckle as you walk out of the bar. You press the button on your comm. “Headed to the Crest. Cover our tab?” You ask into the vambrace.

There’s a beat of silence. “Already on it, cyare,” the Mandalorian’s voice speaks through the beskar plate on your forearm. “How did you-

“Don’t work with misogyny, make misogyny work for you,” you grunt into the metal and drop your arm.

The man groans as you drag him along. He looks drunk to anyone else, just barely coherent. “Fuckin’ bitch. Mandalorian’s little whore, huh?” he slurs at you, weakly trying to wrestle free of your grip but failing.

You push him into a nearby wall, twisting his arm at an impossible angle. “Try it again and I rip the horns from your head one by one,” you hiss into his ear.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he whimpers and you let him go, pulling him into the earlier position.

Peli’s hangar is only a short distance away. As you enter, the green toddler squeals in excitement and runs over to you. “Hey cutie,” you laugh as you see him. Peli isn’t far behind. “Go sit with Peli a little longer, let me get this guy in the ship, okay baby?” You tell him, and he obeys, waddling back to Peli, who gives you a little wave.

“Goddamn,” the Zabrak man groans. “That mando is green under there, then? How could you fuck something like that-”

“I can and will slit your throat right now and let you bleed out. You want your life?” You murmur, grabbing the blade from your thigh and holding it to his neck. He nods frantically. “Then shut the fuck up,” you grunt to him and haul him up the ramp, into the carbonite freezer. He begs and pleads until the hiss of the freezer begins and the man is sealed. “Thank the fucking Maker,” you groan as the words stop.

You climb back down the ramp to find Mando already holding the child and paying Peli. He thanks her one last time and you take the baby from Mando’s arms. “Were you flirting with him?” He asks, wasting no time. His tone is deadpan.

“Clearly.”

“Why the hell-”

“I wasn’t doing it for fun,” you grimace at him. “This is my fucking method. It’s much fucking easier, and if I have the advantage I might a well take it.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“That’s too fucking bad, Mando,” you practically spit, whipping around and walking deeper into the ship with the baby in your arms. “It’s my-”

“Din.”

You turn around and look at him. “I’m sorry, what?” you ask, clearly annoyed.

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

The anger fades from your body quickly. “Din,” you say back to him, slowly.

He nods. “I… just got jealous, I suppose. I’m sorry.”

You finally offer a small smile, albeit a tired one. “Thank you. I don’t like doing it either but… it’s my way,” you shrug.

He walks closer, putting a hand on each of your arms. “I get it.”

You smile softly and put one hand over his beskar-clad chest. “I told you, I only have feelings for you,” you tell him.

He nods softly. “I’m glad. I like it that way.”

Chuckling, you shake your head. “Well, Din. I suppose we could finish our date in here. I could cook something.” You look down at the little green child in your arms. “With him, maybe it’ll be more of a family night.”

Din cups your face in a leather-gloved hand. “Thank you, cyare,” he murmurs, thumb tracing over your cheek.

“What does that mean?” You ask him, looking into where you think his eyes sit beneath the helmet.

He presses your forehead to his, the beskar cool against your warm skin from the Tatooine air. “Beloved,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing your cheekbones.

A small gasp escapes your lips before they form a smile. “Beloved,” you hum back as he wraps an arm around you. “I like being called that.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din and grogu #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #mando x reader #mando #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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brokenbowstring-cobbledcoffin · 2 years

Text

just a taste

i may or may not have completely rewritten the bite scene to be significantly MORE FUCKED UP.

this perfectly demonstrates elthiilith and astarion's relationship like. every facet of it.

this one's a little long for a tumblr fic, coming in at 3,605 words

andrick enjoyers beware, i put ur favorite cultist through the wringer in this one.

Elthiilith was blissfully in trance, flitting through memories of broad dance halls and faerie fire glowing around embarrassed and more-than-tipsy dancers. Her skin prickled at the sensation of closeness– but, no one stood by her in her memories. Her eyes snapped open to Astarion poised over her. He reeled back.

“Shit.”

Elthiilith was quick to move, bringing her elbow into his chest and tackling him to the ground. He grunted with the impact, and she growled at him.

“Are you serious?” She hissed, “I trusted you!”

“I-It’s not what it looks like– I swear!”

She snatched the dagger out of the sheath on his waist and held it under his chin. “Give me one good reason not to slit your throat right now,” She muttered, before she glanced down at her hand.

His dagger. Was still in its sheath. He was unarmed.

He must have seen the look in her eyes go from knee-jerk betrayal to confusion, because he breathed a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just needed– well, blood.”

Elthiilith narrowed her eyes, “Blood?”

He swallowed against the edge of her blade, throat bobbing. She couldn’t feel his heart beating against her palm, flat against his chest. The firelight flickered against her blade and reflected light on something she hadn’t noticed before– a scar, of just two puncture marks on his throat, about the same distance as humanoid canines.

“Yes,” He muttered, but confusion and a little bit of indignance laced his tone, “Blood– did, did you say you trusted me?”

She ignored his question, brow furrowed as she studied Astarion a little harder, “Are… are you a vampire?”

He looked back at her, his own brows creasing at her hesitance, “You… You’re a little slow, aren’t you? Technically just spawn, unfortunately.”

“Oh. That explains it, then.” She took the pressure off of him a little bit, but not by much. Vampires were dangerous, but Astarion was completely off his guard, now. She’d have time to react if need be. She kept awareness of the stray branch by her foot.

“I– explains what?!”

“Well with all the stories I’ve heard of vampires, I expected someone more… intimidating.”

His jaw tensed in the face of her goading, before he took a measured breath through his nose. “Gods, I hate you.”

She grinned, “I know.”

His hand seized her wrist and with a swift turn, she was pinned under him, arms over her head, dagger scattered to the dust. He grabbed the dagger and threw it further out of her reach, “But there’s no need for that.”

She yelped in alarm, pulling at his wrists. No match, his strength was inhuman. Well, that made sense, actually. She sighed, before glowering at him, “Well, this feels familiar.”

“Yes,” He purred, the cocky bastard he was, “It’s almost like you like this position.”

“Try anything and I’ll scream,” She threatened.

He laughed, “You? Hah, it would be a cold day in Avernus before you’d scream for help. I’m flattered, really.”

“I can’t stand you.”

He smirked, “I know.”

“So how long has it been?” She asked pointedly, “Days? Hours?”

“I’m not some monster– I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds– whatever I can get.”

Elthiilith’s brows shot up to her hairline. “Are you fucking joking.”

“I’m sorry, does it look like I’m joking?”

“You left your snack in the middle of the road? The boar? Wyll is a monster hunter, you’re aware of that, yes?”

“And yet, no one was any the wiser, were they?”

“Gods you’re insufferable. I take it you consider me an animal, then, which is why you were looking at my neck?”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m just…” He sighed, expression shifting– softening, “I’m just too slow right now. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” He looked back down to her, before his expression soured in response to her glare. “What?”

“And you thought I would be an easy meal?”

Astarion’s exhaustion with this conversation showed on his face, “Chalk it up to a temporary lapse in judgment.”

“I notice you’re asking now. You didn’t ask while I was tranced, though, did you?”

A smile fluttered over his features for a moment, “Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission?”

Her glare shut him up again.

“Fine. At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. I needed you to trust me. And you do, don’t you?”

“I only trusted you to not be stupid enough to pull something like this,” She gestured with her hand, although the meaning was lost with them both being pinned over her head.

“That’s not what you said earlier, darling,” His tone was his usual playful, but his face was stone serious.

“Khaless nau uss mzild taga dosstan. ‘Trust no one more than yourself.’ The one rule all drow follow, without question. Foolish of you to think I trusted you any more than your usefulness.”

His face remained stiff, but his eye twitched, almost breaking into a snarl. “To think I was trying to be nice to you. I could bite you right now and what could you do about it?”

His voice was a low, rumbling growl. She stiffened in his grasp, realizing her very, very dangerous mistake.

“Oh, so now you have the good sense to be afraid?”

“Does it come as that much of a shock that my blood is that valuable to me?”

“It would only be a taste, darling. Unless you continue to piss me off.”

Her jaw tensed. She squirmed harder against his hands, the predatory glint in his eyes making her pulse race. The more she squirmed, the harder his grip became.

“I can’t afford to be weak,” She whispered.

“What, don’t think I can protect you?” He grinned with only malice in that sharp-fanged smile.

“Astarion, please–” She couldn’t stop the words before they left her throat. Her eyes shot up to his face, as it melted from surprised to pleased to cocky.

“Ooh,” He purred, “I never thought I’d get to hear you beg. I notice you still haven’t screamed, though, darling.”

“I’d like to think we could still be adults about this.”

“Really? Suddenly decided to grow up now that you’re scared? Finally putting away our playground insults?”

“Astarion, let me go.”

“Oh no you don’t. Give me one reason to believe you won’t kill me as soon as I let you go.”

“I haven’t started screaming yet.”

“Not good enough.”

“I don’t want to kill you. I need you, still. Don’t force my hand.” She hated the way her desperation made her words sound like pleading.

“Oh, so now the sweet talk comes out. Very flattering, darling. Now tell me what you’d have me do to sate my hunger if I let you go.”

She swallowed, drawing a few deep breaths to keep her from lashing out. “You want an easy meal? We’re just down the road from the goblin camp. I think there are a couple of cultists there that owe us a favor, don’t you? You saw them at the party, right?”

“Oh?” He raised a brow, before realization dawned on his face. “Oh. Oh, very clever, Elthiilith.”

“It’s not like you all keep me around just for my good looks.”

“Very well. You’ve convinced me.” He smiled at her, now just his regular amount of smug instead of that ‘about-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth’ look he’d been giving her. He sat up off of her and she snatched her wrists to her chest, instinctively rubbing the sore spots he’d been holding. He stood and brushed off his clothes, before extending a hand to her. She studied him for a moment, before hesitantly accepting it, and he pulled her to her feet. “I’ll have you go first. Do all the talking. Those cultists seem to have a fondness for drow, anyway.”

She studied him for a moment, looking him up and down. “You trust me to go in alone?”

“Did you want to give me a reason not to?”

“I wouldn’t, if I were in your shoes.”

“Good thing I’m not you, then,” He spat, “Besides, you didn’t scream.”

—

Getting into the goblin camp was easy enough. Even at the hour, the goblin guards stepped out of the way without question. Finding Andrick was almost just as easy, laying on a bedroll just within the camp’s entrance, fast asleep. She knelt down to his bedroll and shook him awake.

“I– What? O-Oh, True Soul?” His voice was thick with sleep and confusion. He scrambled to situate himself.

Elthiilith put the warmest smile she could muster, “Andrick, was it? Praise the Absolute, I’m so glad I found you. I’m happy to see you made it back alright.”

He blinked at the praise, chuckling nervously, “Y-Yes, both me and Brynn made it back. I-I’m glad to see you made it here, as well?” It was a question. Elthiilith didn’t blame the man, given what she was going to ask him to do.

“You were just the person I was looking for. The Absolute needs you.”

“M-Me? The Absolute–”

“Shh, ask no questions here. Others might get jealous,” She smiled coyly, tapping her fingers to her lips, “Come with me.”

“I-I– Of course, True Soul. Lead the way.”

He hastily pulled his boots on and Elthiilith led him out of the camp.

—

Astarion tapped his foot impatiently, waiting at a secluded spot between the goblin camp and where the rest of their party had elected to make camp for the night. It was well-forested, but still on the edge of a ravine– the roaring water below made it hard to hear anything.

Thankfully Elthiilith made no attempt to sneak up on him, lavender skin and pearlescent hair glowing in the moonlight. Drow were truly a gorgeous species, it was something he had known for ages but seeing Elthiilith step into the clearing with such ethereal grace served as a forceful reminder. Behind her trailed one of the novices they had met on the road, with that dead ‘true soul’– the male, the one who was more forthcoming with information of the two.

She smiled politely to Astarion in that way she did when she meant ‘play along,’ and turned sharply to stand beside him and face her captor.

“Andrick, this is Astarion– He’s a True Soul as well. The Absolute has shown him great kindness, but did not take away his unearthly hunger…”

The man– Andrick, he supposed– stiffened at Elthiilith’s forthrightness. Hells, even Astarion was alarmed at how plainly she put it. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye– but this was her expertise. If there was one thing he could trust about Elthiilith, it was her silver tongue.

“He– He’s a vampire?” Andrick couldn’t attempt to hide the horror on his face.

“No, no, my child,” Elthiilith’s voice was soothing– sickeningly soothing, “He is a child of the Absolute, now. But the Absolute needs him strong. And She wants you to help him.”

Andrick was still fearful, and Astarion was of half a mind to tackle him to the ground and drink his fill then. But he wasn’t running or screaming, yet. “Th-The Absolute wants this?”

Elthiilith stepped up to Andrick, blinking innocently up at him, “Yes, my child. She has spoken to me. Have no fear– I would not subject you to anything painful. He only needs a taste. It will be a prick, and then the two of us will take you back to your bedroll to sleep it off. You’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

Astarion could see Andrick’s face shift from fear to nervousness, Elthiilith’s closeness making him shy. As it should– Elthiilith was a master of pretty words. Lies, but pretty words nonetheless.

“You wish to be good, don’t you?” She cooed, and even Astarion felt his stomach drop, “You wish to devote yourself to the Absolute, mind, body and spirit, yes?”

Even in the darkness he could see Andrick flush under her praise. Finally he nodded, slowly, uncertain.

“Then let the Absolute hear you. Step up to Astarion, Andrick. No harm will befall you.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am.”

Astarion took a settling breath, putting on his sweetest, most compassionate smile. In his head, he reached out with the tadpole to Elthiilith.

Do you always make such a habit of humiliating your prey before you kill it?

The only sign she heard him was the way her eye twitched in discomfort. “You’ve seen me fight enough to answer that question yourself.”

He couldn’t help but feel a smirk stretch across his face. Andrick stood before him, head bowed, and Astarion mimicked Elthiilith’s performance, “Come, child. Let us make ourselves comfortable.”

I’ll have to take some notes.

“You’re already an expert, it’s just the killing part you seem to have trouble with.”

Andrick was seated on the ground, and Elthiilith sat in front of him, Astarion behind him. Elthiilith took both of his hands in comfort, but through their connection, he could see it was to keep them in place should he get cold feet. Astarion gently swept the stringy hair away from his neck and tilted his head oh-so-softly to the side.

Oh, this poor bastard is just putty in your hands. He doesn’t even know you’re lying through your teeth.

He didn’t miss the hint of a smirk that pulled onto her features for a moment, “It is my specialty, you know. Do make sure he doesn’t survive this.”

He smiled, before his teeth sank into Andrick’s flesh. With pleasure.

—

Elthiilith’s eyes widened at how easily Astarion punctured Andrick’s neck, the man grimacing at first, before it slowly faded. Astarion held Andrick tightly to his chest, caged him to keep him from squirming, while Elthiilith held his hands. She drew a breath.

She didn’t realize how lucky she was, to witness a vampire feed.

She felt a smile dance on her lips as she memorized the way the moonlight shined in Astarion’s silver hair, against his pale face, the way the shadows cast his face in such elegantly hard lines. How could he be a monster when he looked divine? His lips were pressed tightly to Andrick’s neck, nothing but the tiniest trickle of red leaking from his seal. His brow was furrowed deeply, clearly lost in the sensation. Andrick’s own face was going sort of slack– not like he was imminently going to fall unconscious, but that he didn’t know how to process the moment.

“Does it hurt?” Elthiilith asked, a tad too eager for her act.

Andrick’s eyes looked down from the heavens. “What? N-No… Not really.”

“How does it feel?”

“C-Cold,” He murmured, “L-Like ice.”

She could feel the sick excitement that danced over her face as she watched. She found herself momentarily envious of his position, held in reverence and like prey all at the same time. Andrick was not a pretty enough muse for her, but Astarion? Perhaps Astarion could make up for what Andrick lacked in beauty. He sucked down his blood eagerly, and Elthiilith could track each bob of his throat in time with the way Andrick squeezed her hands.

“M-Ma’am, please–” Andrick whispered.

“Please what, Andrick?” She tilted her head analytically, grinning in the face of his suffering, “Tell me what you need.”

“‘S… It’s too much–” He was beginning to slur his words.

“Shh, shh, my child. You’re doing so well. We would not take more than you could not give. The Absolute would not take more than you could not give. Trust in us.”

His breathing was beginning to pick up, “But I’m gettin’– Getting dizzy, ma’am, please let me go–”

“That’s perfectly normal, Andrick. Just take some deep breaths for me, won’t you?”

He sat like a deep gnome caught in a spider’s web, still and stiff and very very scared. Oh, it was beautiful.

He was quiet just a little longer, until his face started to grow pale and pallid, and his hands began to tremble.

“I– I can’t! Get off me! Please!” He jerked in Astarion’s grip, drawing a growl out of the leech. Astarion held him tighter, and Andrick tried to bring his hands to pry at the arms ensnaring him, but Elthiilith held him tightly. His eyes struggled to focus on her face. “Why? Wh– Why are you doing this to me?”

“I told you, the Absolute needs us strong. Needs him strong. This is your purpose.”

“N-No, I-I don’t believe it!”

Elthiilith felt a smirk break across her features, “Well, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

She pulled his arms further away from his body, preventing him from drawing any strength in them. He squirmed weakly, eyes unfocusing, breath quickening.

“Go gently unto sleep, Andrick. You have served us well, you know.”

“Don’t do this–” He drew a ragged breath, “Please.”

“Shhh,” She dropped his weak, useless arms to stroke a swipe over his balding head, perhaps a last act of tenderness to soothe the pain of betrayal, “Shhhh, Andrick. You did good, Andrick.”

His eyes fell shut and he went slack against Astarion. His breath was measured slowly in his sleep, until it wasn’t any longer. Finally, Astarion pried himself away from Andrick’s neck, gasping heavily.

“Gods– that,” He spoke between shaky breaths, “That was amazing.”

He met Elthiilith’s gaze, and she felt her heart stall in her chest. His eyes were wide, chin down, looking almost through his lashes at her. His pupils were blown wide like they’d be in the dark, and the moonlight caught that tiniest ring of red around it and made it glow. His face was like it was carved out of marble, and his scarlet delight trailed from the corner of his mouth down his chin. He pushed the body out of his way and stood up, fingers trailing to his mouth to wipe away the excess.

Elthiilith was on her feet, stepping over the cooling, exsanguinated corpse and weaving her way into Astarion’s space. Her wrist blocked his arm from nearing his face.

“Don’t,” She whispered, a reverent whisper.

He looked down at her, eyes flitting between her own and her lips, as if trying to puzzle out her message.

“Lolth’s silk, you’re beautiful.”

His eyes snapped into focus, before a pleased smirk stretched over his painted lips. “Oh, darling, you’re looking at me as though you want a taste.”

Elthiilith couldn’t find the words. For once in her life, she was rendered speechless by the sight before her. As soon as the words and their meaning registered her eyes flew up to Astarion’s. “I– mmph!”

She couldn’t speak, for in a moment of boldness, Astarion’s hand curled into the back of her head and pulled her sharply to meet his lips. She almost stumbled– knees going weak at his forwardness, but with a free hand pressed into the small of her back she simply molded against him. Her hands curled into fists in his clothes, and her eyes fluttered shut. His lips were so soft, it drew the breath right out of her. He retreated only a moment to move them; Elthiilith’s back planted against the back of a tree and Astarion’s hand was on the curve of her hip and Elthiilith’s hands were in his hair–

He kissed her again, deeply, passionately. She couldn’t suppress the soft croon she made into his mouth, as his tongue darted into her mouth. Oh, she could taste it– the sharp, metallic taste of blood that coated the inside of his mouth. She shivered. She felt the wetness on his chin smear against her; marked by the passions of a vampire, the thought sent a shiver down her spine. The deadly points of his teeth pricked her lower lip and she moaned–

Astarion pulled away, one hand pressing into the tree bark beside her head, looking down at her like she might be his next meal, but this time it sent a rush of heat through her. He licked his lips– the blood she had urged him not to touch was smeared over his pale skin, evidence of the heat of the moment.

“You’re right,” He breathed, catching his breath. One knuckle caught under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. In another hour or so she’d be embarrassed by her compliance. “You do look good like this.”

Her insides fluttered. She swallowed down the bats in her stomach. “Yes, that was– that was an experience worthy of poetry, I think.”

He got a devilish look in his eyes, and she absently thought she should have been more precise with her words, but the rest of her couldn’t care less.

“Oh, darling,” He hummed, voice oozing sultry and sex, “I could give you something to sing about.”

Had she not been already hanging onto him for dear life, her knees would have given out beneath her.

“But, not now. You are– this was… invigorating. But I need to find something a little more… filling. You’re very clever, Elthiilith. I won’t soon forget this gift.”

She nodded dumbly, gradually releasing her hands and letting him go.

He strode off into the night, shoulders back, head high– confident, fearsome, strong.

“I-I meant–” She muttered after him, but knowing he couldn’t hear her, drew a breath instead, trying to calm her racing heart, “I– oh fuck me.”

She found the strength in her adrenaline-shaky legs to shove Andrick’s body off into the ravine, to be carried with the water and hopefully, never found again. Then, wiping the blood from her chin, she made her way back to camp.

#elthiilith #astarion #cw minor character death #cw graphic death #cw slow death #this mf gets drained like a bloodbag and hes super scared about it #our protagonists don't give half a shit about it #bg3 astarion #bg3 oc #bg3 mc #scribbles n spilled ink #broken bowstring

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pagingdoctorbedlam · 3 years

Text

Ready for zombies, Zoro, and some hurt/comfort? Then take a swig of this potion for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event! (But please read the warnings first!)

Characters: Zoro x Reader; appearance by Bartholomew Kuma

Genre: Zombie/Apocalypse, Hurt/Comfort (a bit light on the comfort though, woops)

TW/CW: Violence, guns and swords, blood, light gore, mentions of cannibalism, undead bodies

Inspiration: The concept for zombies in this fic is inspired by the novel Breathers by S.G. Browne (at least, what I remember from having read it over 10 years ago...)

Word Count: ~3.1k words

...

"Hold still, we're almost..." You apply the last bit of blush before appraising your handiwork. Not bad, if you said so yourself. At a glance, Zoro doesn't even look dead. "There. Want a mirror to see?"

"I trust you not to doll me up too bad." Roronoa Zoro yawns, even though the legendary zombie hunter no longer needs to sleep, having recently been turned into a zombie himself. Which, contrary to popular belief, is not in and of itself a death sentence. Most zombies act as they did in life, even if their bodies no longer recover the way a living human's does. The danger comes from the zombies who try to stop this decay by feasting on human brains...and sometimes more dangerous are the humans who've decided that every zombie is a ticking time bomb regardless of said zombie's intentions.

At least Zoro had never been that way, but now he's got to hide from the hunters who once considered him a legend. Sure, it wouldn't be hard for him to fight off hunters, even if you've had to stitch each limb back on at least twice (and you're still not sure where one of his eyes ended up). But you'd rather your newfound partner in protecting innocent zombies not cause a scene simply by walking through the market.

"Remember, don't rub your face. This makeup cost me a fortune. And try to fake breathing this time, okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I got it." He manages to take a breath that's believable but isn't so deep that it rattles the loose bones and organs in his slowly decaying chest.

Both of you get to your feet and finish the rest of your preparations for the outside world. Your clothing hides as much skin as possible, even with the warm temperatures outside. You spray Zoro down with cheap cologne so he smells less like roadkill and more like a teenager trying to cover up a bad case of B.O. And you slip on filtration masks in a vain attempt to avoid the ever-present smoke and dust beyond your walls.

No one's sure if the zombies came about because of the bombs, or if the bombs were secretly launched because the powers-that-be learned about the first nascent zombies and failed with their pre-emptive strike. But now much of the world is a wasteland, and bargaining for resources is bad enough without half the population lobbing accusations of cannibalism at the other half. You can't hold off this trip any longer, because you've ended up looking after a number of innocent zombies, and they need medical supplies before they fall apart any further.

You shoo Zoro away from the driver's spot on your motorbike. "Nuh uh buddy, we aren't getting lost today." You've heard a new band of hunters is coming to town, and the last thing you want is to run into them before you have a chance to secure your supplies.

"I don't get lost! They just keep changing where the market is." Zoro still reluctantly waits for you to take your place at the front before he sits behind you and firmly snakes his arms around your waist. You pretend you can feel his pulse when he holds you, even though you know the heart in his chest has long stopped beating.

Markets are supposed to be neutral ground. Everyone needs resources to survive after all, and one of the few things that bombs and zombie outbreaks couldn't kill is commerce. Stalls line the aisles of what was once a grocery store, faded advertisements promoting foods that no one's seen in years, and someone has fixed the speaker system to play the same old pop hits in a vain attempt at normalcy.

You hold tight to Zoro's hand, both to keep him from getting lost and so he stays close in case of danger. He obliges, and even holds bags for you as you pull him around. You might've called this romantic in the times before, back when your purchases would've been far more frivolous than bandages and shelf-stable rations, but you're unsure how close you and Zoro would've been without being thrown together by circumstance.

You pause by one stall, eyes wide. Zoro doesn't notice and keeps walking until he notices that you won't budge. He raises an eyebrow when he finally joins you. "What, some kinda' plastic plant?"

"Not plastic. It's real." You forgive him the mistake though, as the plant has sturdy, waxy leaves that almost look sculpted. It feels like so long since you've seen anything green (aside from Zoro's hair), much less an actual plant. But you note the name scribbled in tape on its battered plastic pot. It's nothing useful, not medicinal or edible in the slightest. Just a begonia that hasn't even bloomed yet.

The shopkeeper asks, "Gonna gawk, or you gonna' buy?"

You know you can't afford a plant, what with how rare they are. You might be able to bargain and beg if it were something more useful, but...

"We'll buy." Zoro slams something down on the table. "This'll be enough?"

You catch the glint of gold peeking from between his fingers. Jewelry isn't useful anymore, but human greed has a hard time giving up old habits. The shopkeeper smiles wide and practically shoves the begonia at you with one hand while snatching up Zoro's earring with the other. You thank him and depart the stall without another word, clutching the flower close to your chest.

"What was that about?" You hiss at Zoro.

"Looked like you wanted it," he says with a shrug. You squint up at his remaining earrings, only to realize that in his haste to remove the one he traded away, he tore the hole in his ear a little in the process. Probably didn't even notice that he'd done so, the stubborn fool...

Well, what's done is done. "Thank you. I'll make sure to take excellent care of it."

"Don't mention it." Which you know is Zoro-speak for "you're welcome". So you smile back at him without saying anything more on the subject, and continue the rest of your trek through the market.

You make the mistake of thinking this is a surprisingly nice day. But you don't realize that someone has noticed how Zoro isn't bleeding.

When Zoro pulls out one sword and tightens his grip around your midsection, you don't have to ask why. You're being followed.

You absently wonder what gave you away. Never removing your masks? A smudge in Zoro's makeup that revealed the deathly pallor underneath? It doesn't really matter, you think. Whoever is after you will chase you down until they can swing their weapons and play at being heroes, so all you can do is fight on your own terms. You avoid going home and swerve the bike toward the burned-out husk of an abandoned store that not even the most desperate zombies would hide in.

You glance at the tilted rearview mirror on your bike. The figures chasing you are hulking brutes, but nothing compared to their ringleader. He's built like a brick house with legs, and his imposing figure is thrown off by the pristine white hat topped with small bear ears. Instead of a holstered weapon, he has a bible strapped to his side. You've heard of this man. Judging by the look in Zoro's eyes, he does too. One of the most notorious zombie hunters in the country: Bartholomew Kuma.

What is he doing here, of all places?

Zoro says, "Soon as we touch down, hide. It's me they want."

"I can't just leave you. You know who that is back there?"

"Doesn't matter. I already died once. They can't do worse than that to me. But they could still hurt you plenty. 'Specially if you came back before they were done with you." In the rearview mirror, Zoro's eyes are sharp and cold as his blades.

You know how to handle a weapon in self-defense, but you're nowhere near the master that Zoro is. And he has a point. You're still human, you can bleed, you can hurt. And that might chew Zoro up worse than anything Kuma and crew could throw at him. You resign yourself to your fate and think of where in that burnt-out building you might be able to hide, preferably while still keeping an ear out for danger.

You speed on, trying to shake your pursuers, but soon the road runs out. The bones of burnt buildings jut out before you like oversized tombstones. You remember scouting here before, trying to usher out displaced zombies before the remnants of the building could collapse on them. Much of the ruins have fallen since you were last here, but there's still a concrete bunker that was once a stockroom, and it's mostly intact. You can lay low there until the fighting's over.

You relay this plan to Zoro, and you tell him, "I'll be safe there, don't worry about me. Once the fighting's done, I'll come back down and patch you up. So don't die on me again, alright?"

Zoro nods, even though he surely knows the claim is more for your comfort than anything. He's a zombie, after all, and they don't heal the way humans do unless they devour human brains. He won't bleed, but if he looses a limb, or even his head? There's nothing you can do to fix that. And to be honest, you're not sure if that'll do him in, or if he'd continue living in pieces. You don't want to find out.

You park. And you know you should hit the ground running, but your heart is hammering in your chest. You turn to Zoro as he pulls out his blades.

You quickly put your warm hands on his cold cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. You two never attached words to what's simmered under the surface for so long, but in case of the worst...you couldn't handle him not knowing how you truly felt. He blinks as you pull away, briefly stunned. You wonder if he'd blush if he could.

You run into the burnt-out husk of a building. The touch of your lips on Zoro's is replaced by a sword between his teeth.

In another lifetime, before people stopped dying right and the world went to hell over it, this building was a clothing store. You shopped here for outfits you haven't seen in years. Once, a friend who worked here snuck you into the back room, and you ate cheap takeout while surrounded by wall-to-ceiling racks of clothing and shoes. If you took time to wipe away the dust, you might still find graffiti left by the workers during their final shifts. You wonder if your friend left one.

You cannot look because you are huddled on a shelf and trying not to make a sound. The shelves are sturdy metal and easy to climb even without the rolling ladder. You're hidden high above the heads of anyone who might come in and pressed against a wall. No one should find you here.

For awhile, you heard sounds from outside. Speaking at first, though you couldn't make out what was being said. Then battle, swords colliding and guns firing. Screams. Then...nothing. You don't know if it's safe to come out. You'll find out soon. There are footsteps approaching.

A voice you do not recognize says your name.

"Roronoa Zoro is dead. Again. I am sorry that it had to happen." Heavy footfalls contrast a voice that is soft, almost even kind. "I understand why you might want to save him. You've built quite a reputation for that, you know. But I'm afraid it ends here. We cannot allow you to keep any more abominations alive. You understand that is what they are, don't you?"

You know he's trying to goad you into revealing yourself. It takes everything in your power to hold still and silent.

Metal crumples nearby with a shrill squeal, as if it could protest its false bones being broken.

"If you were to go on a trip...where would you like to go?"

The question throws you off guard, almost enough for sound to escape your lips.

"We do not have to kill you. All the government wants is to talk. If you cooperate, you'll be transported somewhere safe. Free of zombies, even." More metal crumples, and you wonder how Kuma is doing it. Does he have a weapon, or is he strong enough to break the storage shelves with his bare hands? "All you have to do is come willingly, and when we're done, you can go wherever you'd like, and you'll be kept safe."

But the only place you can think of is home. With Zoro. No matter what might come after you there.

The shelf under you shifts, and your body spasms as if you fell in a dream and awoke with your mind still lurching. You reach for anything to grab onto, but your fingers only touch air. (For the briefest instance, you spy graffiti drawn by a familiar hand upon the wall.)

You do not immediately recognize the feel of the arms, because they are warm and pulsing with life. You stare up at Zoro's face in disbelief. He's missing an eye and his face is smeared with blood, mouth drawn in a thin line.

"You survived," Kuma intones softly. "You ate them." And you wish you could refute him, but even before he spoke, you knew it to be true. Zoro's bloody fingers dig into your clothes to hold you tight. You hear his heartbeat for the first time, and it rarely skips a beat. Kuma says, "Let your friend down, Roronoa. You don't want to do this."

"Think I'm some mindless cannibal? Think again." Zoro sets you down and looks you dead in the eye. "Told you I wouldn't die. And neither will you. Now, get out of here." Half a second before returning his sword to his mouth, his tongue flickers over his blood-stained lips. "Hurry!"

You do as he asks and flee to the doorway of the building. You know you should run to the motorcycle and drive out of here, but there are two problems with that. One is how you don't want to leave Zoro again. The other is that even if you admit the truth to yourself, that he finally gave in and consumed the brains of his enemies like the zombies he used to put down...you don't want to turn around and see what he did to the corpses of Kuma's followers.

The fight is swift and brutal. You've seen Zoro fight before, but while he's normally a whirlwind with his blades, now he's a demonic torrent. Much as he tries to stick to his traditional fighting forms, they slip into more instinctual slashes when Kuma pushes back, and the only thing that keeps Zoro on top is sheer ferocity. He moves so fast, you swear he's slashing three times faster than a normal man, leaving the afterimages of a three-faced demon. (You've heard rumors of zombies growing entirely new parts when they've eaten too much mortal flesh, but surely those are only rumors, survivors not understanding what they're seeing...)

Kuma is far quicker than his size would suggest. But even he begins to buckle. He blocks one blade with a bible far sturdier than it appears, and then lunges forward in a final desperate attack. Zoro braces to parry an attack, but is taken aback as no blow comes. Something metal and blinking is clasped onto his wrist.

"We will not meet again."

And Kuma is gone. You blink in surprise. You swore you didn't see him leave through the other holes in the building, didn't feel anyone pass you, and yet...

The normally composed swordsman growls as he sheathes his swords and tries to pry the blinking metal bangle (a tracking device, what else could it be?) off his arm. You want to approach him, but are unsure if you should; all you can do is watch as he uselessly paws at the bangle. Until he stops suddenly. You catch a glimpse of fresh crimson.

Zoro freezes as the reality of what he's done, what he's become, finally settles in. He's a statue slowly dripping red, most of which isn't his own. His breath shudders, and that too takes him off-guard. He sways where he stands, almost falling to his knees but somehow staying upright.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you toward him, and you reach out. Your fingers brush against his back. He growls, "Don't. I'm not..."

"It doesn't matter what you are. You're still Zoro."

Gentle pushes at his shoulders turn him around so he faces you. His face has more color than you've ever seen, blood red and flesh pink and mottled blues and violets of bruises. His closed eyelid twitches as the eye underneath regenerates. How long will it be until all the color's gone, and electrical impulses run short to leave his heart to hang heavy and empty in his chest, and how much longer than that until he gets a taste for life again regardless of the cost?

That doesn't matter right now. The future looms taller and more frightening than Kuma, but right now, you're two scared humans in a broken warehouse. You wrap your arms around Zoro and pull him close.

For the briefest moment, you feel his mouth open, hear the click in his jaw. His teeth brush against your ear. You close your eyes and refuse to think about it.

His chin rests on your shoulder. Mouth closed. Arms wrap around you right and your hearts beat together, lungs scramble for air together, blood and worry (and tears, you think, but you're not sure whose) intermingle and crawl to a slow stop until only a numb and temporary peace remains.

"You'd be forgiven for walking away." His voice is raw and tired with the weight of living again and all that took.

"Maybe. But someone has to keep you from getting lost." You give him one final squeeze before letting him go. "Come on. Let's go home and get you cleaned up."

When morning comes, you'll have to face what the future holds for a brain-eating swordsman and the one who looks out for him despite it all. But tonight, the both of you are miraculously alive and breathing, and there's a green new plant in the window ready to soak up all the sunlight tomorrow can offer.

#seas brew a love potion challenge #opfanfic #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zombie au #hurt/comfort #bedlam writes

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yamithediaperdork · 3 years

Text

Rewarded as a bully deserves (HunterXhunter)

Killua was in a rotten mode as he headed for the closet park in town, huffing and growling over him and Gon having a fight.

It was just so stupid! Here he was, a deadly assassin and for the 6th time this month they'd woken up in a bed drenched with pee. Lord knows Gon was trying to be kind and supportive but really, who could blame him for getting tired of waking up soaked?

Gon wanted Killua to start wearing 'protection' at night to bed, but the deadliest bed wetter alive refused to go that far, he had already comprised and let Gon put rubber sheets on the bed so hotel staffs stopped giving them a hard time hadn't he?

In any case they had taken a shower and gotten dressed, and Gon asked Killua to go for a walk by himself and think about what he had said.

'Screw that nonsense.. I'm go and cheer myself up the best way I know how!' Killua thought as he came to the playground area of the park. Nothing lifted his spirits like a little bit of harmless bullying.

Scanning the play area Killua spotted a good first target. a 5-6 year old with dark tanned skin and a black brush cut was digging away in the sandbox, making a moat around a sad looking sand castle he'd made with one hand, while licking away on a mint chocolate ice cream cone with the other.

spotting a plastic bucket with some water in it for the moat, Killua smirked and strolled over.

"Nice fort little guy." He said sarcastically, getting the boys attention and the kid gave him a smile.

"thanks! I was working on it for like ever!" The little guy said, apparently not recognizing the tone.

"Heh, Would be a shame if something happened to it though." Killua chuckled. "you did get house insurance against giants right?"

"Uhhh what?"

"well what if some big mean old giant.." Killua started, stepping into the sand box now. "Just came up..and did THIS!" Killua asked and stomped his foot down on top of the fort, snickering as the little guys eyes went wide.

"HEY! WHY'D YA DO THAT?!?" the little guy yelled, starting to stand up and with tears welling in his eyes.

"Because i'm better, stronger and therefore better then you. Little dorks have to get put in their place." Killua sneer and then grabbed the arm holding the ice cream cone and make the kid smuch it onto his hair. "Geez you little dorks are SUCH messy eaters!"

The boy squealed as the sudden cold on his head and how icky it felt.

"S-Stop this! I-I" the boy tried to make his threat clear but he was also trying not to full on bawl.

"heyyy don't worry about it, I'll help you clear up!" Killua laughed, then snatched up the bucket with the water in it and dumped it on the boys head, then tugged it down over the kids eyes.

"Hey, that's a good look for you, but it's missing something." Killua said and sneered, then turned the boy around and tugged back the kid's short then tanked up on the poor little guys briefs.

"Awww, a fan of sailor moon I see!" Killua teased and hooked the back of the briefs on the back of the bucket, then booted the kid in the ass, sending him sprawling out of the sand pit.

"Alright, I had my fun, get the fuck out of here before I decide to be mean." Killua said cheerfully.

the thought that all of this had been Killua being nice light a fire under the boy's butt, and he ran/crawled off, not even trying to remove the helmet or pick the wedgie out of his butt.

"well, I feel better already." Killua commented to himself, though he noticed a few other kids and adults glaring at him.

"Oh by all means, anyone who wants to try and punish me.. " Killua said, going from a happy goofy look to his slash smile. "Step up."

no one did.

After scaring two more little guys into give him all their ice cream money Killua was in the middle of getting a cone (Double chocolate mint just like the dork had had, it had looked good after all) when he heard a familiar voice.

"That's him Carlo! that's the bully!" cried the dork from before.

Turning around slowly Killua smirked, Carlo was clearly the dork's big brother, and while he was a little bit taller then Killua he had a slim build and the same tanned skin, though his hair was a bit longer while still being short.

"Ok mister, I'm going to give you ONE chance to say sorry to my little brother, and get him a replacement cone. If you don't.." Carlo said, crossing his eyes and glaring at Killua with a death glare.

Killua, who gave those out with ease froze for a tiny fraction of a second, and his bladder twitched, but he shook it off and took a long lick of his ice cream to show he wasn't scared, and to give him time to regain his composure.

"What? If i don't you'll do -what?-" Killua asked. "Try and fight me and end up hanging from the teeth ball pole by your undies? I mean, I'm mostly in a good mood now but if it's a ass kicking you want." Killua sneered.

Carlo rolled his eyes, then smirked.

"You know..I've been in a bit of a funk lately, and beating up bullies always makes me free better.. so thanks." He said.

Killua raised a eyebrow to thank but before he could react, Carlo was right next to him, and much like Killua had done before, taken a gripe on the arm with the ice cream cone.

On small difference though, Carlo wasn't going to make him put it in his hair and had tugged open the front of Killua's shorts and undies.

"W-Wait d-don't!" Killua shrieked, his plea fell on deaf ears though and he was somehow powerless to over come the taller boy power.

As such, a high pitch wail was heard as Killua's twig and berries got a double mint chocolate coating.

Killua's eyes crossed and a cartoonish image flashed in his mind as it felt like his private had just been transformed into two ice cubes and a Icicle, then there was sudden relief and warmth, making him stick his tongue out the side of his mouth in blessed relief.. at least until he noticed the warmth was traveling down his legs.

"heh, Carlo the bully wet himself!" The little guy pointed out, snickering and getting out his phone to take pictures.

"I can see that buddy, Aww, did the cold cold ice cream make da big bad bully go wee wee?" Carlo asked, folding his arms over his chest and baby talking to Killua.

"i..I uh.." Killua stammered, Sure, he was no stranger to soaking his pants at NIGHT while he was asleep, but this was a new one for him! "I..didn't go tinkle?" He finished lamely.

"Rightt then whats that making a puddle on the ground right now and staining your shorts." Carlo asked.

"..I don't have to answer that! In fact, I've had enough of false accusation's and I'm leaveing!" Killua huffed and turned around to do just that, but also exposed his back to his new found enemy.

Carlo, knowing that Killua had wedgie his little brother Hector, moved in and with on hand tugging Killua's shorts back the other grabbed the waist brand of Killua's Barney briefs and lifted up before the poor hunter even had a chance to fight back.

Killua's mouth opened as if he was screaming, and while dogs howled in pain no one with human ears could of heard the noise coming from his mouth, it was that high pitched.

Carlo smirked at the response and said "Awww, Barney briefs? that's just soo..fitting! But I wonder how strong they are?" then adding his other hand to the back of the waist band even as Killua looked over his shoulder and shook his head no, bringing his hands together pleading, Yanked the soon to be ex-hunter off the ground by a good 2 inches if now more and dangled him there as Killua turned pale and went blank eyed.

"Oh wow, those must be reinforced Carlo!" Hector marveled, recording this all for YouTube.

"I know, kinda a shame, if they weren't they'd of snapped by now and he'd know SOME relief." Carlo chuckled then turned him and Killua better into frame for the camera.

"hi I'm Carlo and this is a big bully who tried to pick on my little brother..Huh, never caught his name.. Hey wedgie boy, whats your name?" Carlo asked and holding Killua up with just one arm delivered a hard swat to Killua's buns, which also ended up making his shorts slide down around his ankles showing off his pee stained undies.

"A-AH! M-Mah name is Killua Zoldyck and I'm super super sowwy! Pwease stop!" Killua begged and pleaded, in a voice that sounded like he'd sucked on some helium.

"I dunno Hector, what do YOU think? Has Killua had enough?" Carlo asked, and Killua shot the boy he'd bullied a pleading look, bottom lip trembling and tears welling up.

"Hmmm you know I really think..that you should use him like a yo-yo till his undies snap. THEN I'll forgive him!" Hector giggled.

With both hands on the waist band Carlo went to work even as Killua started to blubber and cry for his mommy.

It ended up taking a record breaking 55 bounces before Killua's undies snapped, and by that time Killua had gone to la-la. with his undies snapped and ripped off off he was too out of it to notice that he was currently face down butt up with nothing covering his der rear and his bubble butt and little package showing.

"oh man.. that explains why he was in such a bad mood.." Hector giggled, having turned off the camera for now but uploading the video. (after all, even with a member as small of Killua's the mods on YouTube would of removed the video)

"man, makes me feel like I picked on a over sized toddler. feeling a little guilty." Carlo said, though in truth he wasn't really.

Killua's shorts were gone by this point as the boys who's ice cream money he had stolen had retrieved them, and after finding some of the cash and taking Killua's wallet, had tossed them in a bin meant for dog waste.

"Well, nothing we can do now, we don't have any spare pants for him." Hector pointed out.

"Well not quite..remember that weird vendor we passed on the way in?" Carlo said, digging into his pocket and pulling out some bill's.

"Heh.. you don't mean.." Hector asked.

"A yup. be a good boy and run and get widdle Killua something to wear." Carlo said, handing the money over and keeping a eye on 'sleeping beauty' while Hector ran off.

Killua was having a wonderful dream about having a endless buffet of candy and chocolates and it was so nice after what must of been a nightmare where he was tormented and bullied beyond belief.

He was slowly waking up and rolling over to sit up and rubbing his eyes. "Nggggh Heyyy Gon, you wouldn't believe the night..mare..I.." Killua started to say then opened his eyes, seeing Carlo and a semi crowd all around.

"Welcome back to the land of the living tiny!" Carlo said.

Killua huffed at that and stood up, about to tell Carlo off, he wasn't THAT much shorter when a breeze blew and he noticed how much he felt it on his on buns.

Looking down his face went crimson and Killua grabbed at his shirt and tugged it down, trying to cover up his privates.

"W-WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY UNDIES? MY SHORTS?!" Killua yelled, getting roars of laughter from the crowd.

"Well your undies were totally wreaked so we tossed them." Carlo said, nodding over to a waste bin for normal trash. "As for your shorts, there was a couple of boys you really seemed to annoy earlier and after getting back they're ice cream money with interest, they tossed them in the dogie waste bin..I doubt you'll want them back."

"but..but.. I can't go around with my ding dong on display!" Killua whined and whimpered.

"That's true. don't worry, I already thought of that shrimp." Carlo said and nodded behind Killua.

Killua turned to look and there was Hector, the brat he wished he'd never of picked on, running back with a pack of...DIAPERS!?

Killua whimpered loudly, a spurt of pee coming out and soaking the bottom of his shirt as he turned back to Carlo with pleading eyes.

"Please no! anything but diapers!" Killua whimpered. "I'm not a baby!"

"heh, Are you SURE about that?" Carlo asked, looking down and making Killua's gaze follow to the damp spot on Killua's t-shirt.

"i..but..that was because.." Killua mewed then shrieked and jumped, grabbing at his bun's as Hector came in range and walloped Killua's baby butt.

Ironically when he came down he landed in Carlo's waiting arms, like a blushing bride.

"Awww how cute, but you really think I'm gonna save you?" Carlo asked, then dropped Killua onto the hard ground and onto his tender buns.

"S-Stop being s-so mean to me!" Killua whined, on the verge of anther crying fit.

"Sheesh, I should of gotten him a paci." Hector said, handing the pack of diapers over to Carlo then tugging the shirt up and off of Killua, using it as a tear rag then tossing it out.

"Oh wow, Lookie here Killua~" Carlo said, reading the pack then holding it in front of Killua's face then read from the back. " 'New little poopers punishment diapers are perfect for your so called big kid who refuses to use the potty! extra thick to ensure they waddle, it comes with a embarrassingly babyish nursery print we promise to have your little stinker blushing bright red. with a special stink guard you and the big baby won't have to deal with their stink!' Heh wow, Oh look, they offer alt versions, that's something to keep in mind if you need more lessons."

Killua meanwhile was looking at the front of the package, showing sobbing pre teens in the bulky diapers and smirking parents.

"I-I changed my mind! I'll go home naked!" Killua whined.

"Nonsense! what kind of person would I be if I let you go without the diaper you CLEARLY need!" Carlo said, as if he was doing Killua a favor. "This is gonna go down one of two ways loser. You can either lay back and suck your thumb while I put as many of these as I can on you, or I can kick your ass, knock you senseless..then put as many of these as I can on you. Either way, you're going back to diapers. YOUR choice."

Killua pouted, started to ball a fist up.. then sighed and laid back, popping his thumb in his mouth and turning away from the crowd as laughter and taunts rang out.

"Loser!"

"Big baby!"

"Wuss!"

Carlo was a little disappointed that Killua decided not to fight back, but he had to admit seeing the wanna be bully accepting his big baby fate was kinda cute.

ripping the back open open Carlo smirked, dispute being the size of a pack that should be able to hold 16 diapers, there was only 6 of them in the pack and he pulled on of the massive things out, making sure everyone could see all the rattles and paci's and teddy bears and the like all over the diaper then unfolded it.

"Ok Shrimp, Butt up! If i have to lift you up I'm giving your buns a swat!" He said and wasn't shocked when Killua's butt almost levitated up in a instant to avoid any more punishment. "good boy!"

getting the almost pillow like diaper under the loser's butt, he gently pushed Killua's butt back down and smirked as Killua loudly sucked on his thumb, getting drool going down his chin as Carlo pulled the front up nice and snug and then taped it up.

"Welcome back to babyhood Shrimp." Hector said, leaning down and snickering, and making Carlo beam with pride.

In the end they only manged to double diaper Killua, the diapers were just too massive and they ripped a third one trying to get it on the babfied brat.

After he was all nice and snug in his diapers Carlo told Killua to try and get up and to Killua's massive shame, not only could he NOT get up on his own, but he couldn't even get close to bringing his knees together.

The fourth time he just plopped down on his butt trying to get up, Carlo rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"-sigh- Ok Shrimp, let me help you." Carlo said as if he was doing Killua a favor.

Holding out his hands Killua took them and got yanked up to his feet, legs wobbling as he tried to center his balance.

"heh, you might need a bit to get used to waddling in there. Try waddling over to that tree over there." Carlo said, pointing to a tree that would of only been 10 seconds away normally, but with this massive bulk taped around his hips it might as well been a mile away.

Still, Killua knew better then to argue at this point and took a wobbly step, then anther, and smirked, thinking he was getting the hand of it.

'I got this! I can-' He was thinking when his fourth step went wrong and with a loud yelp Killua plopped on his butt, a shocked look on his face but not hurt considering the thick padding under his butt.

"Awww, widdle baby Killua doesn't know how to walk!" Hector giggled, getting more laughter from the crowd.

"yeah, guess you better stick to crawling shrimp..you CAN at least do THAT can't you?" Carlo asked, tilting his head and smirking.

Killua huffed, he wanted to try and walk again but knew he wasn't getting any help and there just wasn't anything to help him get up to his feet with around. He toyed with getting in the crawling position and pushing himself up THAT way but had a feeling while he'd be in the middle of it Carlo would just smack his butt and send him face first into the dirt.

getting on all fours and trying to drown out the snickers and flashes of camera phones going off, Killua rolled around and got on all fours and then slowly crawled over towards the tree, glad that he had been right that he could crawl at least.

'at least i didn't have to do a diaper scoot across the ground, knowing my luck it would of ripped apart the diaper and I'd of gotten a spanking.' Killua thought with a sulk as he reached the tree.

"Well well, at least you can crawl, I was worried I was gonna have to carry you over." Carlo snickered. "Now use the true shrimp and get to your feet, and shake that diapered ass and sing us a song about what a big dumb baby you are and how happy you are to be back in diapers."

"..Your joking right?" Killua asked, jaw dropping. "There is NO WAY in hell I'm gonna d-" he started started to say but Carlo cracked the knuckles on his right fist and and light tapped his fist into his open left hand.

"You SURE about that?" Carlo asked.

"..W-what If I can't think of any lyrics because I'm a big dumb baby?" Killua squeaked out, flooding his pampers.

"I'm sure you'll think of something. It's ok if your dumb is lame though, your just a diaper baby shrimp." Carlo said.

Grunting with effort, Killua pulled himself to his feet, hands braced on the three and looked over his shoulder, the crowd was watching with delight and he trying to think of something, anything to sing.

"I...I'm big baby Killua and I'm so happy.." he started, wiggling his diaper, shutting his eyes.

"Because a big strong boy put me in a nappy!

Diapers are totally wear I belong!

so I hope all of you love my big dumb baby song!

I thought I was a bully but I'm just a dweeb

filling my diapers up with pee pee

If i ask for undies look at me like I'm a nut

then make baby poop with a punch to the gut!"

The act of singing the song and keep his eyes closed so he didn't have to see the crowd (though he could hear them laughing and cheering him on) had Killua's body getting into it and he was shaking his diaper booty like there was no tomorrow.

"Stupid babies like me we don't need to think!

we just sit in our diaper and super stink!

Watch me prove that as a baby I'm the best

I'm gonna fill my diapers with a super big mess!"

Killua's eyes shot open at that, had he really just promised that!? worse, his body was again moving on it's own accord and he was squatting down now, grunting and pushing, puffing out his cheeks.

'no no no no! why can't I stop myself! GOOOON! HELP!' Killua thought.

"Killua? whats going on?" Came Gon's voice.

Killua almost didn't believe it at first, it was just he wanted Gon to save him that he heard the voice of his boyfriend! But no, a look over his shoulder showed Gon standing there, eyebrow raised.

"G-Gon you have to s-save me! I-I-I.." Killua tried to tell Gon about what had happened, how he'd been victimized but before he could get the story out, something else came out in the back of his diaper. "I'M POOPING!" Killua cried out.

if the muffled farts hadn't of been hint enough, the back of the THICK diapers bloating out and getting even bigger would of given it away, and despite the diaper's boast of super stink guard, Killua's backed up stinky load (he hadn't gone in 5 days) was filling the area with a rotten smell, driving part of the crowd away.

Gon for his part just held his nose and then shook his head.

"Really Killua? You won't wear diapers to bed despite being a bed wetter, but you'll load them in public..Your coming with me mister man." Gon scolded and walked over.

"Um.. Should we tell him-" hector started to ask Carlo, holding his own nose.

"Nah, it's better this way. you can get out of the area of effect though, I'm gonna go say by by to baby Killua."

Walking over Gon was scolding Killua and swatting his boyfriends mushy butt as Killua whined and whimpered, sucking his thumb and still going.

"Hi, I'm Carlo...I was watching your little guy today." Carlo said, holding out a hand.

"Oh, well, thanks. I'm sure he was a handful." Gon said, giving Killua a look then shaking Carlo's hand.

"well he wasn't that bad. it was a lot of fun actually. anyways, here's the rest of the diapers Killua got and asked me to put on him, and if you even need a babysitter, give me a call." Carlo said.

"Heh, i just might, give me your number." Gon said, taking out his phone and handing it to Carlo, one hand still mushing Killua's tush.

"there we go. anyways, you two have fun! Byeeee baby Killua! you were LOTS of fun to play with." Carlo said and waved bye to the stinky big baby.

"Killua, don't be rude!" Gon scolded.

Killua whimpered, knowing there was no way he was living this down, he was gonna be in diapers for at LEAST a month..and knew it was pointless to try and tell the truth now.

Sliding his thumb out of his mouth as he finished loading his diaper, he gave a weak wave to Carlo and in a small voice said

"Bye bye."

The end

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idreamofplaid · 3 years

Text

Forget Apple Pie

Summary: Dean is living the apple pie life. The reader has a hard time accepting it, and is it what he really wants?

Characters: Dean x Reader; Lisa (barely); Sam mentioned

Word Count: 3344

A/N: I wrote this years ago in a Writing Challenge and Follower Celebration called The Seven Deadly Sins Challenge hosted by @waywardbaby & @aint-t-bovvered. My sin was envy and my prompt was “This will not turn out the way you think.” It remains one of my favorite things I’ve ever written.

It was everything you had ever wanted for him. The sight of Dean in an actual backyard with a fence, trees, and flower beds was something you had hoped for in the deepest, quietest part of your heart. But this was just wrong. You were sitting on his deck half heartedly sipping a beer. Dean was a few feet away from you standing at the bar-b-que grill flipping burgers. He’d given up wearing layers of clothes, like he had in his hunting days, opting now for t-shirts only.

The short sleeves hugged his biceps. Dean’s muscles were still prominent. He hadn’t gone soft, in spite of his civilian lifestyle. Your mind wandered back to the hunts you’d gone on with Dean. You’d had each other’s backs then. Now, the monsters were yours to face alone.

Lisa came out of the house carrying an empty tray. She walked over to Dean, whispered something to him, and kissed his cheek. He smiled down at her and lifted the meat from the grill piling it on the platter. You put your bottle of beer down a little too hard on the table and got up to go find somewhere you could get away from the cozy domestic scene and the happy neighbors. You heard one of those neighbors say to Lisa as you were leaving. “You’re so lucky to have a man like Dean. You’ve turned him into absolute husband material!”

The first escape hatch you found was the door leading into the garage. It was easy to picture Dean in here surrounded by tools and spending hours working on his Baby, keeping her in mint condition. Baby. There she was. Her silhouette was unmistakable under the tarp covering her. A tarp. She’d been forgotten. Dean didn’t drive his car anymore.

You walked toward her in a sort of daze. You’d been here to Dean’s new home only a handful of times, and you hadn’t entered the garage during any of those visits. This was the final blow. You ran your fingers up the edge of her windshield, and something inside you broke. Everything you’d held together for so long just cracked and shattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were standing in the same spot you’d stood in earlier in the day. You’d waited until almost midnight before picking the lock and slipping back into the garage. It had been surprisingly easy to get in here even after several shots of whiskey. Maybe Dean was going soft after all. You approached Baby again. This time running your hand along the edge of her roof. You whispered in the empty garage. “You don’t deserve this.”

You placed your hand on that hateful tarp and closed your fists around it clutching two large handfuls. You snatched the cover off revealing the Impala still gleaming and beautiful. “What are you doing?” Dean’s voice was low and steady. He had added another shirt over the clothes he had been wearing this afternoon.

Your mind was fairly fuzzy, but some things were perfectly clear. The wrongness of this situation was still glaring to you. “Why did you leave her here, Dean? Why did you forget about her?”

Dean walked closer to you and the car. He was staring at you intently. “I didn’t forget her.”

“Really? Do you come in and say ‘hi’ between backyard parties?” You teetered a little but managed to fling the tarp to the floor without falling on top of it.

Dean squinted his eyes. “What? Wha…”

“How long will it be before you get an SUV, maybe a minivan? Have you joined the PTA? A bowling league? Neighborhood watch?” Your eyes flashed at him. He just looked confused.

“What are you getting at? We talked about this. All the time. Having a normal life.”

Your voice lost a little of its edge. “Yeah. We talked about it.” In the silence that followed, whiskey inspired courage took hold of you. You moved close to Dean and touched your lips to his. His response was to put his hands on your waist and step back.

“Y/N…”

You rolled your neck to look up at the ceiling and shook your head. Your heart twisted, and you could feel the actual tightening in your chest. “You’re acting just like every man I’ve ever known. Chasing after the yoga instructor with her tight little ass.”

Tears gathered in your eyes. You swiped at them and carried on. “Come on, Dean. What’s wrong? Nobody has to know. We can do it right here in the garage. Just a little something on the side. Then you can go right back to Lisa and crawl into that bed you share with her. I bet it’s nice and big, pillows all over it, down comforter to match the sheets, and a big wooden headboard. So very married, that bed.”

You looked at Dean then, cocked your head to one side, and pointed your finger in the direction of his chest. “Tomorrow morning you can have a nice breakfast at your kitchen table with fresh squeezed orange juice and Belgian waffles with real fruit and pure maple syrup.” You dropped your finger, and your voice got soft. “I’ll be at one of those nondescript diners we used to go to, drinking cheap coffee. Maybe I’ll have scrambled eggs with soggy bacon, or if I’m feeling really festive, a stack of pancakes with some of that fake strawberry goo on top. While I eat I can enjoy watching all the people around me who aren’t alone.”

While you were talking, the tears had started to stream down your face. Dean stepped nearer to you and lay his hand on your arm. You shook it off. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare pity me, Dean Winchester!” You stumbled back and caught yourself on the Impala.

“Your life is so perfect now, isn’t it? Here you are in the suburbs with a mortgage. You don’t belong here, Dean. You’re playing house with a woman who doesn’t really know you. This will not turn out the way you think. You can’t forget about what matters to you, what…” You turned and braced yourself on Baby’s door. Your voice was broken and just above a whisper. “Just go back to thinking with your dick.”

Dean walked up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. You let it stay. There was no fight left in you. “You’re drunk, Y/N. Get in the car. Let me take you home.”

You laughed. It was a humorless sound. “I don’t have a home.”

Dean turned you around gently to face him. His eyes held a soft expression. “Then let me take you to where you’re sleeping tonight.” You didn’t protest when he led you around to the other side of the car, opened the door, and settled you inside. You dozed on the ride to the motel where you were staying. When you got there, Dean helped you inside. That was the last thing you had a clear memory of until the next morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In spite of the curtains being drawn, the light seeping in around the edges was harsh to your eyes. You rubbed your fingers over your forehead. “How do you feel?” You opened your eyes at the sound of Dean’s voice. He was sitting next to you on top of the covers, legs stretched out, back against the headboard.

You pulled yourself up slowly, eyes blinking. “You stayed here all night?”

“Yeah.” He swung his legs off the side of the bed and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. He reappeared in less than a minute carrying a glass of water and some aspirin. He sat down on the bed and handed you both. “Take those and drink all the water. All of it.”

You swallowed the pills and drank a few generous sips of water. “Shouldn’t you be home? Won’t Lisa wonder where you are?”

Dean took the glass from you and placed it on the bedside table. “I sent her a text. Told her not to worry. She probably thinks I’m with Sam.”

Bits and pieces of last night drifted through your mind, the things you’d said to Dean. Daylight had a way of making things embarrassing that seemed like the thing to do in the dark. You took a deep breath. “Dean, about what I said…”

Dean turned from you, made a fist on his lap, and grasped it with his other hand. “What you said was true. I have done a lot of thinking with my dick…but never with you. And I didn’t start last night.”

“Dean, I shouldn’t have…”

He turned back around, put his hand on your shoulder, and looked directly at you with his deep forest green eyes. “It would have been easy for me to accept your offer and take you right against the car or in the backseat if I slowed down long enough. I’ve wanted to for a long…long time. But you are not a quick roll in the sheets to me. You never have been. Know that.” Dean slipped his hand from your shoulder and looked away.

There was a hitch in your breathing, and absolutely no words would come to you. After a few seconds of heavy silence, Dean spoke. “I need to go. There are some things I need to take care of.” He reached for the notepad and pen on the table. He wrote something down, tore off the piece of paper and gave it to you. “Will you meet me there Wednesday night?” You looked at the address in your hand and nodded.

Dean crossed the room to the door. When he put his hand on the knob, he looked over his shoulder. “Y/N, you’re not alone.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More than once you wondered if you were in the right place. The long driveway meandered its way through the trees, big sturdy evergreens and oaks. There was a clearing at the end of the drive, and in that clearing sat a cabin situated by a lake. It was immediately clear to you it wasn’t a hunter’s cabin. It had rustic charm but looked way too polished to be the kind of place where a hunter would seek shelter.

You gathered your purse, dropped your car keys inside, and made your way to the front door. You lay your palm flat against your stomach, took a deep breath, and knocked. Dean opened the door wearing one of the plaid shirts you remembered so well. You tried not to notice how handsome he looked, but that was a fight you weren’t going to win. It would be easier to take down a vampire.

Dean smiled when he saw you. It was almost shy, just a slight curve of his lips. “Come on in.” He led you into a large open room. There was a kitchen to the right, the cabinets were made of light wood, and there was a window overlooking the lake. Just off the kitchen there was an open door which you assumed led to a bedroom. To the left, there was a living room area with cream colored furniture and a large rug in warm hues of copper, red, and gold. There was also a fireplace which you could imagine added to the coziness of the room during the winter months.

You searched for the right words and settled on “‘This is a nice place. Is it yours?”

Dean laughed a little. “No. Construction doesn’t pay that good. I rented it. It’s where I come when I want to get away, do some fishing, and think.”

You surveyed your surroundings again and quietly asked, “Did you bring Lisa here?”

Dean stumbled over his words. “No. Too far from civilization for her, and she hates fish.” He started to wave toward the sofa, his hand floundered in the air for a second, then he dropped it to his side. “Do you want something? A beer?”

Your thoughts returned to your last experience with alcohol. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“O…okay.” Dean motioned again toward the living area. You took a seat at the end of the sofa, and he sat in the chair to your side. He leaned over, elbows on his knees. “Look…um…” He sat up, back against the chair, then leaned forward again. “Something happened to me, Y/N.”

Dean rubbed his hand across his mouth then stared off into space like he was searching for what he wanted to say. “ I mean you. You happened.” His eyes sought yours; and there was a calmness in them, a certain kind of peace. “The other night when I stayed with you I was awake most of the night thinking about what you said. The stuff about not belonging where I was. I did try to fit into that world. It was what Sam wanted me to do, so I did my damnedest to do it. I didn’t even fire a gun that entire year. I didn’t scan the internet looking for a case. And sure it was normal, but there was this hole in me.”

Dean glanced down for a second and ran his tongue over his bottom lip before looking right back into your eyes. “You filled that. I know you were drunk and you don’t remember, but I do. You curled into my side and put your head against my shoulder. I held you while you slept. What I felt…I just wanted to protect you from anything that would ever hurt you, but the main thing that had hurt you was me.” His eyes were pleading with you to understand, to forgive him, to believe in him again like you once had, to trust him. “I thought I was still there for you. I didn’t know…I’m sorry.”

You looked away, your eyes landing on the wrought iron fire grate. While you stared your mouth fell open a little, and you closed it back. “Dean…I…” You looked back to him; he hadn’t taken his eyes from you. “What about Lisa?”

“There is no Lisa. The whole time I was with her I never felt anything like I did when I was holding you.” He paused. I ended it. I moved out, Y/N. I moved out because I love you.” Tears were shining in Dean’s eyes. He had shed so many tears because someone or something had died, but this time it was because something was alive. The same thing was living in you.

You reached for him. “Dean, why are you so far away?” He moved to sit beside you, and you wrapped your arms around each other. Dean held you to him like you were the air he needed to breathe to live. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he buried his face in your hair. You held each other until time ceased to exist. You’d been in that spot forever, and no time had passed at all.

When Dean finally moved, it was to take your face in his hands and kiss you. That awkward first kiss in the garage was forgotten; this was the one that mattered. He eased his tongue into your mouth claiming you with a gentleness only love could inspire. You held onto him through the kiss, and when he pulled away you opened your eyes. Your breathing had gotten shallow with the sweet intensity of that kiss. You brushed your fingers through his hair. “I love you too, Dean. I didn’t think you wanted to hear that from me.”

Dean stood and lifted you into his arms. He carried you into the bedroom and lay you down on top of the bed. He pulled off his shoes and socks before lying down on top of you. He started kissing you in the hollow of your neck, made his way up to your ear and back to your collarbone. You moaned releasing a little of your pent up need for him. You pushed at his shirt trying to get it over his shoulders. He finished taking it off, and it fell somewhere on the bed behind him.

Dean’s lips sought yours again. This time his kiss was more insistent. Your hands slid under the back of his t-shirt touching the warmth of his skin. The weight of him on top of you made you feel so safe, made you feel so cared for. The taste of him was so comforting and stirred every passion in you. The sound of his moans while he kissed you ignited all the emotions you’d pushed down and denied. Everything about what was happening overwhelmed your senses, and you started to cry.

Dean stopped, and his eyes roamed over your face. “Y/N? What is it?”

The tears were still falling down your face. You placed your hand on his cheek. “Will you just hold me for a minute?” He rolled a little to the side and circled his arms around you. It was hard for you to catch your breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Dean kissed the side of your head and whispered to you. “I’m here, Sweetheart. I’m right here. I love you. It’s okay.”

He kept whispering the same things to you over and over. His voice was soothing, and it calmed you down. Once your tears stopped, you kissed him without holding anything back. You let go of the loneliness you’d felt without him, the torment of the nights you’d known he was with another woman, and the anguish you’d felt believing he’d never know how much you loved him. You pulled and tore at his t-shirt practically ripping it off him. “Dean, make me forget the last year. Please make me forget.”

He discarded the rest of his clothes and took yours off slowly, taking the time to kiss every spot of your exposed skin as he did. Dean kissed your shoulders, stomach, hips, and thighs. He kissed each of your fingers and along the curve of your breasts sucking each nipple into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue until you were calling his name. He entwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand while he kissed a line down your jaw, lingered over your mouth with deep kisses full of desire, and moved up the other side.

He let go of your hand to move his own between your legs. Dean glided his fingers through your folds feeling how wet you already were for him. A whimper escaped your mouth. “Dean. Please.” You felt the tip of his length touch your opening. When you felt him push into you, your eyes locked on his. “I love you.”

His thrusts were slow and rolling at first. The feel of him stretching you made you gasp. And every sound you made, he answered with one of his own. As his thrusts became faster and deeper, the sounds gave way to your name. “Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.” He was so beautiful. His face held a look of totally focused bliss. His full lips mouthed your name without a sound right before he yelled your name with one final deep thrust and came inside you. His hot release filled your womb. Your walls tightened around him with your own climax, and Dean kept coming shooting rope after rope of his seed into you. Dean rolled off your body and lay on his side next to you catching his breath. He was still panting when he pulled you close to him. “I promise you I won’t do anything to mess this up. I will make you forget. I’ll do everything to make you happy, and I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You kissed his shoulder wanting to hold this moment forever before you spoke. “What about a home? You had a home.”

Dean kissed you slowly, deliberately. Then he pushed your hair back from your face. “I have a home. My home is with you.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @petitgateau911 @thinkinghardhardlythinking

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05 @weepingwillowphoenix

#dean angst #dean smut #dean fluff #dean x reader #dean oneshot

97 notes · View notes

echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader) Chapter III

The next morning, Gladio dragged Noctis out of bed so they could leave. Ignis finished dressing himself and looked around the motel room. He couldn't find Prompto or (Y/n). Having no doubt the boy had taken the spirit again, he walked out of the room. Scanning the area, he immediately found the two. What shocked him was Prompto's position. He was laying down on the ground on his stomach, his legs swinging back and forth. His camera was trained on the skvader as she laid down on the ground.

"C'mon, work with me here, (Y/n)!" Prompto begged. "How about you hide behind the motel and transform? And when you're ready, you can call me."

The spirit yawned, her nose wiggling slightly. She flopped down on her side with a faint grunt. Lowering his camera, Prompto nibbled on his bottom lip. "Okay, that was really adorable, but not what I was looking for."

"Prompto," Ignis called out, stepping off the porch of the motel. "You'll soil your clothes laying on the ground in such a manner."

"Aaand Mama Ignis has appeared," he sighed. Pushing himself off the ground, he held his camera close to his chest. "Morning to you too, Iggy."

(Y/n) shot up at hearing his name. She dashed over to the advisor and climbed up his body until she was situated on his left shoulder. She threw her long tail around his shoulders, nuzzling her body against the side of his neck. Once she was comfortable, she flopped down and allowed her hind legs to dangle from his shoulder.

Just then, Gladio and Noctis exit the motel room. Ignis glances at his other companions before deciding it was time to leave. "Let's see ourselves to Galdin, shall we?"

"Might as well," Noctis mumbled tiredly.

The group climbs into the Regalia and departs from Longwythe Rest Area. (Y/n) remained on Ignis' shoulder as he drove, enjoying the sensation of the wind blowing through her fur. She looked around as they passed through a ravine of sorts as the radio came to life. The station was broadcasting the news of the upcoming wedding between Noctis and Lunafreya. She could hear Gladio teasing the prince slightly when the broadcast ended, but tuned them out and continued to enjoy the scenery. It was her first time outside of the Crown City and she wanted to enjoy every second of it.

When Galdin Quay came into view from the highway, Prompto stood up in his seat in excitement. "Hey! I see the sea!"

"I "sea" it too," Noctis replied, eyes focused on the clear waters of the ocean.

"That's Galdin Quay," Ignis informed the group.

"Kinda wanna go for a dip," Gladio commented.

Noctis noticed the strange rock formation in the distance. "That a big mountain behind it?"

"No, it's an island," the strategist answered.

"Nobody goes to Galdin for an island, though," Prompto stated. "They go to kick back and get massages!"

"And savor the seafood. It's famously delicious."

"Sounds great," Noctis said.

"Somethin' to look forward to," the shield claimed.

(Y/n) couldn't tear her gaze away from the beautiful beaches of Galdin Quay. The water was clear and the sand was pure white. She already knew what she wanted to do, even though it would risk revealing her human form to Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto. She was going to relax on the beach and nothing was going to get in her way, not even Ignis.

Arriving at Galdin Quay, Ignis backed the Regalia up into a parking spot located by the gas pump. Everyone exited the vehicle and headed towards the Mother of Pearl. Walking across the lengthy boardwalk, they reach the entrance of the restaurant/hotel. A member of the staff greeted them, bowing politely with a hand over his chest. Their destination was the docks, which were located in the back.

They didn't make it far before two men approached them. The taller one had unkempt hair and was cladded in multiple layers of dark clothing. The other man had spiky black locks and wore a faded green jacket with a black t-shirt underneath. Below the waist he wore matching combat pants and black boots. Around his neck swayed the dog tags of what appeared to be his identification as a hunter.

The auburn-haired man was the first to speak. "I'm afraid you're out of luck."

"Are we?" Noctis asked, slightly bothered by the men's presences. He wanted them gone as soon as possible and he had no idea why.

"The boats bring you here."

"What about 'em?" Prompto wondered.

"You're not leaving anytime soon," the spiky-haired man answered. "Better get comfortable."

Gladio crosses his arms, glancing between the two strangers. "And what're your stories?"

"We're impatient travelers, ready to turn ship. The ceasefire's getting us nowhere," the auburn-haired man replied. He then gestures to his companion, who tosses a coin at Noctis.

Gladio snatches it out of the air before it can hit the prince. He examined the coin before looking back up at the strange men. "What's this? Some sort of souvenir?"

Prompto saw the coin and gaped. "They make those?"

Noctis also saw the coin and shook his head. "What? No."

"Consider it your allowance," the taller gentleman remarked with a small, unsettling smile.

"Yeah, and who's allowing us?" The shield scoffed.

He bowed slightly. "Men of no consequences." He then patted his companion on the shoulder. "Come, dear friend. Let us set off."

The spiky-haired man stood still as if her feet were nailed to the floor. He didn't budge as his emerald eyes dwelled on the skvader resting on Ignis' shoulder. Her sapphire eyes locked with his, earning a smirk from the stranger before turning to follow his friend.

"Yeah, right," Noctis sneered under his breath.

Prompto fiddled with his fingers in wonderment. "You believe what those guys said about the port being closed?"

"I'm skeptical, though I won't discount the possibility," Ignis replied.

"I say we go check it out for ourselves," Gladio said.

Walking through the Mother of Pearl, they pass by numerous of people who were enjoying what Galdin Quay had to offer. (Y/n) jumped off the strategist's shoulder and flew to the docks ahead of the boys. She sat near the edge of the docks and gazed out across the ocean. There were no boats in sight.

When she turned around, her eyes landed on a well-dressed young man who was sitting on one of the benches with his legs crossed. She realized he was staring at her with a wide-eyed expression. Carefully approaching him, she sat down a few inches from him. Her tail swished behind her as she squeaked at him, startling him.

The young man, having never met a guardian before, leant down and outstretched his hand to pet her. He was hesitant, but he pushed his fear aside when she stood up on her hind legs and nudged her head against his hand. "Well, aren't yous a friendly one."

(Y/n) looked away from the man when she heard Prompto groan out, "Aw, man. Not a ship in sight. What gives?"

The guardian turned around to see the boys were searching the docks for boats. The young man who was petting her stopped and addressed her companions. "According to my sources, the empire, giving strict orders not to let any vessels leave the docks of Altissia. Real shame if you were late to your own wedding-right, Prince Noctis? Name's Dino, by the way. Pleasure. The crown prince of Lucis, bounty hunting in his fancy car... Surely you didn't think it'd go unnoticed-at least not by this reporter? Lucky for you, this reporter has integrity. If you wanna remain incognito, I'll respect your wish...in exchange for a favor."

Noctis glared at him and kept himself from lashing out in anger at the man's threat. "What do you want?"

"Hey, I knew you'd come around!" Dino cheered. "Lemme see your map."

Reluctantly, the prince hands over the map. Dino pulls out a pen from his pocket and circles an area on the map. Putting the pen away, he handed the map back to Noctis. "Marked where you need to go on your map. All you gotta do is find me some rough gemstones-like this one. Do this, and your ship'll come in. Don't, and the papers'll run you outta town. Capisce?"

(Y/n) stared Dino down as the boys walked away. She didn't blink, which frightened him slightly. Although he was trying to hide his emotions behind a mask, she could tell from his silver gaze he would never truly blow Noctis' cover.

Satisfied with her analysis, she let out a final squeak before flying off to rejoin the others. She caught up with them just as they were stepping off the boardwalk. She wound up crash-landing on Noctis' head. She hung limply from his head with a faint huff. The prince tensed slightly when she collided with his head, but this wasn't the first time she's done so. He grabbed her small body and held her at eye level a few inches from his face. "Don't think I didn't see you with that reporter. You on his side now?"

Outstretching her front paws, (Y/n) made sure her sable claws were retracted before placing her paws on Noctis' cheeks. She squeaked, tapping her soft paws against his face lightly. A smile blossomed on the prince's face. He couldn't help but find her actions adorable. "Yeah, I know you would never betray us. You and Specs are attached at the hip."

The skvader climbed across Noctis' arm the moment he released her. She perched herself on his shoulder as he entered the backseat of the Regalia. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto followed suit and it wasn't long before they left Galdin Quay to find what Dino requested.

Not far down the road, Ignis pulled the car over to the shoulder and parked. Everyone stepped out of the vehicle and followed Noctis up a stony path. They crossed over a rocky overhang that spanned across the road below. The prince, along with (Y/n) who was still on his shoulder, carefully examined the map before putting it away.

Eventually, they reach an outcrop where they find an enormous bird slumbering. It ruffled its feathers in its sleep, burying its beak against its puffed out chest. Prompto gasped at the sight of the immense beast. "Oh em gee. We're supposed to get near that thing?"

"Pipe down before you wake it up," Gladio hissed just above a whisper.

Crouching, Noctis took the lead and carefully maneuvered around the bird. The others were close behind him, eyes focused on the creature as they held their breath. (Y/n) flattened her small form against the prince's shoulder as they circled around the front of the bird. She could sense just how powerful it was due to its size alone.

Successfully making it past the zu, Noctis stalked over towards a mineral deposit. He grabbed one of the loose pieces of garnet stone and put it into his pocket. He glanced at (Y/n) from the corner of his eye once receiving a soft squeak in response to being able to find and secure what Dino wanted. "Better get it back to him," he whispered to her. She nodded her head in response.

Turning around, Noctis proceeded back the way they came. Ignis was by his side as they rounded around the zu. Unfortunately, the large bird was awoken by a seemingly unknown force. It unfurls its wings, flapping them as hard as it could and creating a powerful gust of wind. (Y/n) dug her claws into Noctis' jacket in a desperate attempt to keep herself from being blown away. Morosely, it wasn't enough. Her small body was sent sailing through the air as the zu took off.

Luckily, Ignis was close by and saw what happened. He snatched her body out of the air and held her close. He loosened his grip on her after the wind died down and the bird was out of sight. "Off it goes..."

Noctis inhaled deeply to calm his racing heart. "Oh, we made it out alive."

"Barely. I seriously thought we were at journey's end," Prompto whimpered.

"But that feat was fit for a king," Gladio commented.

"We've acquired what we came for. Time to return to Galdin," the advisor said. He released (Y/n) and watched her fly around without the fear of being blown away. She went ahead of the boys and returned to the Regalia.

Prompto had also been watching her until she vanished from sight. "You're not scared she'll fly off and never return, Iggy?"

"Not in the slightest," the tactician answered without hesitation. "The bond we share is unquestionable."

"In other words, you both like each other so much you stick together," Gladio smirked with a chuckle.

""Like" is not a plausible word to describe the bond between (Y/n) and I," Ignis corrected the shield. "What we share is far beyond "like"."

"Just saying how I see it."

The advisor's eyes narrowed at him. He wanted to question him, but he walked off before he could. With a sigh, he shook his head and followed after his friends.

During the car ride back to Galdin Quay, (Y/n) was in the backseat with Noctis and Gladio. Descending the windy road leading to their destination, she shoved her head into the prince's pocket, startling him. "H-Hey, (Y/n)!" Looking down, he saw her head pop out of his pocket with the fragment of garnet in her mouth. He wondered what she was going to do with it until he watched her fly out of the car and towards Galdin Quay. "Someone's impatient..."

The skvader was indeed impatient. She was eager to relax on the beach and that would only happen as soon as she could sneak away from the group and transform. She thought delivering the garnet to Dino herself would speed up the process. Why? She wasn't exactly sure.

Landing on the bench beside Dino, she placed the stone down and nudged it towards him with her nose. He picked it up, examining it closely to ensure it was what he asked for. A mix between a smirk and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Would yous look at that? Just what I asked for!" He immediately got to work creating his newest piece of jewelry. (Y/n) watched in amazement as he turned the small stone into a beautiful bracelet with what supplies he had with him. Once he was done, he admired his craftsmanship. "Gotta say, this is my best piece so far."

Just then, the boys arrived. Dino reveals his newest creation to them and handed it to Noctis. "Nice work, kid! Sorry for giving you such a hard time. I just had to get my hands on this, even if it meant blackmail. You understand, don't ya? Y'see, I'm a reporter by day, and an amateur jeweler by night. This elusive little beauty's gonna become a masterpiece. To make it up to you, I'll share a little scoop. That special coin you got-it commemorates the Oracle's ascension. That guy was tossing 'em out to everyone. Musta picked 'em up back in Niflheim. And speaking of freebies, here's one from me. Come back if you wanna buy more!"

Ignis eyed the fine piece of jewelry as Noctis accepted it from Dino. "I doubt a souvenir like that could make its way into the hands of an ordinary citizen."

"Well, it's our pocket change now," Prompto commented.

"As promised, I'm in the process of securing your ferry tickets right now. Told ya, I'm a man of integrity. Should be smooth sailing from here, so lemme know when you're ready to ship out," Dino stated.

The prince crossed his arms. "We've been ready."

"Guess I should've expected that," the reporter cackled. "The ship won't arrive 'til tomorrow! How 'bout you find a place to spend the night?"

Prompto glanced around at his friends. "Do we even have the money to spend the night?"

"We could always go camping instead," the brute spoke up.

"We do have the funds to secure a hotel room. Although, it will be the only one for a while until we procure more funds," Ignis explained.

"No way I'm camping if we can afford a hotel room," Noctis said. "You guys go do that. I'm gonna do some fishing."

"Can't let His Highness go alone," Gladio stated. "I'll go with you."

"Me too!" Prompto waves his hand in the air. "I wanna take pictures of the beach!"

"Then (Y/n) and I shall make arrangements," the advisor informed the others. Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto left the docks to head to the beach. Ignis and (Y/n) headed towards the rooms available inside the restaurant and paid 10,000 gil for one. They entered the large, beautiful room where the spirit changed forms. She sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds before flopping down on her back. Her (h/c) locks fanned out across the sheets as she stared up at the ceiling.

"Feeling enervated?" Ignis questioned as he had been watching her.

"A little," she confessed. "Sleeping has been difficult to do ever since we left the city. Even napping is difficult."

"Something plagues your mind?" He inquired.

"Nothing like that, but..." The sapphire-eyed girl sat up. She placed her hands in her lap, staring at the floor. "I hear a voice in my sleep, and even sometimes when I'm awake. I've tried to push it aside as nothing, but something tells me I need to listen. Maybe I'm finally going crazy."

"Shall we investigate this voice?"

She shook her head. "No, don't worry about it." Standing up, she walked over to the windows, which made up one entire wall of the room. She admired the beautiful, glistening ocean for some time. She then focused on her reflection in the window. Alongside herself, she saw Ignis sitting down in one of the chairs. He was flipping through the book that held all his recipes. With a huff, she spun around. Her heels clacked against the floor as she walked towards the door.

Ignis looked up the moment she strolled past him. Looking over his shoulder, he called out to her. "(Y/n), where are you heading?"

"The beach. I've been dying to relax ever since we first came here. It'll also help me sort out my thoughts," the guardian replied.

"What of the others?"

"They won't know it's me." She opened the door. "I'll be back soon, Iggy."

Stepping out of the room, she closed the door behind her. Walking through the Mother of Pearl, she could already feel eyes on her as she sauntered by many people. She tried her best to ignore the stares, knowing not many people have seen a guardian due to their scarcity. She clamped a hand over the sapphire gemstone embedded in her chest. She held her breath and sped up her pace so she could reach the exit quicker.

(Y/n) exhaled heavily. She dropped her hand from her chest the moment she was walking across the long boardwalk. She thought she was in the clear, but her eyes widened when she saw Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto were already on their way back. She thought they would've been gone longer. Pushing her thoughts aside, she looked away from them and prayed to the Astrals they would simply stroll past her. However, her prayer went unanswered. The moment her eyes locked with Prompto's, her body tensed. She immediately looked away and continued walking. As she walked past the blonde, she did force herself to look back at him and offer a kind, shy smile.

What she didn't see was Prompto's wide-eyed expression. His jaw was unhinged, hanging in disbelief. He nearly dropped his camera because of the shock he was in. Gladio also took notice of (Y/n), not recognizing who she was. He crossed his arms with a smirk as his eyes watched her head to the beach. "Now there's a woman."

Wondering who his friends were staring at, Noctis looked at the guardian. Just by looking at her, he could feel a sense of familiarity but pushed it aside since he didn't recognize her. He looked away and saw Prompto and Gladio still had their eyes focused on her. "Why're you guys staring?"

"Dude, are you seriously that blind?" Prompto gasped. "We just came across another goddess! That's two in two days!"

"If you're so interested, go talk to her."

"M-Me?"

Gladio smacked him on the back. "Go for it, pipsqueak. If you fail, I'll take over."

"I'll try...."

Meanwhile on the beach, (Y/n) took her heels off and walked across the sand. She didn't mind the sand sticking to the bottom of her tights since she could easily brush it off later. She admired the lapping waves and the various fish swimming around. The salty breeze blew through her (h/c) locks, a sensation she came to enjoy. Even the sun's warmth against her skin felt different. She wasn't sure what it was about the beach that made the sensation different from anywhere else.

A few peaceful minutes ticked by before (Y/n)'s attention was drawn by a small 'click' and a flash. Looking to her left, she saw Prompto with his camera raised. Her eyes widened in surprise at seeing him. She could even see the faint blush on his cheeks, not sure if it was from the sun or embarrassment.

"I-I'm so sorry!" He quickly apologized. "I-I should've asked before taking your picture."

The guardian smiled, desperately trying to suppress her shyness. Morosely, she wasn't successful. "I-It's okay. Is, um...is there something I can help you with?"

The boy shook his head. "N-No, I just thought y-you were really beautiful and it's my job a-as a photographer to capture everything beautiful."

Her smile widened at his pure heart. "That's very sweet of you."

Prompto quickly looked away, his blush deepening. "S-Sorry to bother you."

Before she could reply, he stormed off. She watched him run all the way to the Mother of Pearl, blinking in surprise at how fast he was sprinting. She hadn't expected Prompto to say such a kind, sweet thing to her. Now it was going to be awkward when she would introduce herself to him and the others in the near future.

Sighing, she combed her slightly disheveled hair behind her ears. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, listening to the waves as they lapped against the white sand of the beach. Just like before, her blissful moment was cut short when sensing the presence of another. This time, she was all-too-familiar with the presence and knew who it was before even looking. "Come to join me, Iggy?" Turning her head, she met his emerald gaze. Unlike with Prompto, she didn't stutter. Ignis was the only person she wasn't shy around because of how long they'd been together.

"I have," the strategist answered. "Although under false pretenses."

(Y/n) looked off in the distance and saw Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio watching them closely from the parking lot. They were trying to hide themselves behind one of the vehicles parked. "Oh, no... Is this their plan?"

"More of Gladio's than Noct's or Prompto's."

She placed her heels in the sand. "Is this another bet to see if you can get a woman?" It wouldn't have been the first time the boys had forced Ignis to speak to a woman to see if he did have any charm.

He pinched in the bridge of his nose. "Indeed..."

(Y/n) reminisced in the many memories she's made with him. "Now that I think about it, you never did bring home anyone. I know you're really serious about your dedication to Noctis, but that doesn't mean you don't have time for your own life. Your happiness matters, too."

Ignis casted his gaze to the ocean. He already knew why he hadn't brought home anyone, not even during his high school years. While he had been occupied with juggling school and his duties to the Crown, he always found time for himself in order to keep his sanity in check. Unlike many people his age who were bringing home a special someone, he didn't have to go search for someone who captured his heart. The young woman beside him already captivated his heart without her knowing. He'd been infatuated with her for many years now, but he kept his true feelings bottled up. He was frightened she wouldn't want him in return and even if she did, he was worried he couldn't commit himself fully to the relationship being the advisor of the prince. He didn't want her to feel as if she came second because of his duties.

What Ignis didn't know was that she already felt second in his heart. Ever since formally becoming Noctis' advisor, she was no longer first in his world. She was placed on the back-burner, knowing her life wasn't as important as Noctis'. In her mind, she was disposable. The prince wasn't. Just like Ignis, (Y/n) kept her deepest emotions buried in the darkest corner of her heart. She admired his conviction to his position, not angered in the slightest when she was no longer the most important person to him.

"Ignis?" The guardian gently called out his name after a prolonged silence.

The advisor reconnected his gaze with hers. "Yes?"

"You will find your own happiness, won't you?"

"I will in due time. As should you, (Y/n)."

She didn't care about her own happiness, only his. Faking a convincing smile, she nodded. "I'm sure I will find that special someone soon." It was a bitter lie on her tongue. She clutched the hem of her dress, bunching up the fabric before releasing it. Bending down, she grabbed her heels. Her eyes drifted over to the other boys, smirking slightly when seeing their flabbergasted expressions. "I think we can safely assume you win this bet. Make sure Gladio pays his dues. I'll see you back in the hotel room." She went to walk past him, but stopped. She decided to add a little spice to the mix and kissed him on the cheek. With a prideful smirk, she glanced one last time towards the trio hiding behind a car. "That'll give them something to talk about."

Ignis watched (Y/n) as she slipped on her heels and left the beach. He placed a hand on his hip, remembering how soft her lips were against his cheek. She'd kiss him like that many times before, but this time it felt different. He wasn't sure why, though. From where he stood on the beach, he could hear Prompto's wails of disbelief. He could hear him complaining about how he was able to score a kiss on a cheek from the girl before she left. His own smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, but it never came to fruition. (Y/n) truly did stir up the pot with such a simple action. Now, he would have to spin a tale to prevent the others from figuring out who she truly was.

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pitch-pearl-void · 3 years

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The Consort’s Circlet

Danny set the heel of his palms beneath the circlet and pushed upward at the same time he lowered his head. He made a low hissing noise when, instead of sliding cleanly off his head, the circlet glowed, burned, and squeezed his head all the tighter. The jewel nestled in the center of his forehead burned hotter than it had previously, becoming less like a warmed washcloth and more like a sun heated rock. He gasped in pain.

Princess Dorethea grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. "Stop this, my lord!"

"You stop it," Danny snapped back, tearing his wrists free. He backed away from the ghost until his back crashed against a wall. His hand went to his hip, reaching for a blaster that wasn't there. Instead his hand grasped uselessly at the rope they had tied around his waist to pull his new tunic against his sides. He gritted his teeth, feeling his face flush. "And give me back my clothes. Guys don't wear tights anymore, you can't just dress me up whatever way you please."

Dorathea sniffed and smoothed her hands down her dress. "I assure you, in this kingdom men do wear 'tights,' as you put it. Are they uncomfortable, my lord?"

Mulishly, Danny muttered, "No..."

"Then stop whining!"

Danny stuck his tongue out. Dorathea bristled, teeth bared, and Danny quickly dropped into a fighting stance he had practiced and used against ghosts for a little over two years, legs bent at the knee, feet flat on the floor, his arms raised in front of his chest. Annoyingly, the tights were as easy to move in as the jumpsuit his parents had made him. He almost welcomed the incoming fight, but unfortunately, Dorathea calmed herself, once more smoothing her hands down her dress.

"This is getting us nowhere," she said, her eyes closed. "You are to shortly become my brother's consort--"

"As if!" Danny shouted, not for the first time. "I'm not marrying a ghost, damn it! Just because you spooks have some sort of ghost hunter fetish--"

"You do not have a choice in the matter!" For a moment, it looked as if Dorathea's eyes were changing, but the moment passed as she once again began petting her dress. "My brother has chosen you as his consort. It is an honor and you should treat it as such." Danny snorted and she glared at him. "This...barbaric behavior is most unbecoming, my lord."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't know what you expected after kidnapping someone. Especially someone who fights ghosts every day. I'm not in the habit of rolling over."

Dorathea sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead, brushing against her own circlet. A smaller one, Danny noted, and one without a garish, creepy eye-like stone in the center. Danny moved cautiously away from her, toward a window in the stonework.

"I told him this was a bad idea," she moaned, sounding as though she was speaking more to herself, "I told him humans had moved beyond our rules and would not obey simply because he commanded it. I especially warned him about you and your kin. Foolish. Humans who can fight ghosts are the most dangerous of them all, but the moment my brother saw you defeat the warriors he had sent to distract your town's defender, he would not be swayed. I have lost count of the number of times he has demanded to watch the recording I took of you in battle."

Danny shuddered, his skin crawling. "I had help. It wasn't just me. Phantom was there too." He rubbed at the circlet, wincing as the stone burned. "We work together most of the time. Why isn't he here? Why me?"

Not that Danny wanted Phantom trapped in this predicament in his stead--

He hissed in pain and pushed at the circlet to no avail. "Phantom defeated the Ghost King almost single-handedly. He's powerful, brave, funny--" Tears sprang to his eyes as it felt like the stone was trying to burn its way to his brain. "--Damn it! Look, I just do what my parents taught me! If you ghosts are really infatuated with power over beauty, why is Prince Asshole trying to force this crap on me instead of marrying, like, Ember or something?"

"You have defeated Miss Ember in the past," Dorathea pointed out. "Numerous times."

"Yeah, with help! Phantom's!"

"Yes, and you regularly compete with Phantom in what you apparently regard as..." She raised an eyebrow. "Sparring?"

Danny felt his cheeks warming and hoped it was in response to the circlet's burning touch and not the fluttering sensation in his stomach. "It's practice," he muttered. "He's helping me get better."

"It is flirting, my lord," Dorathea corrected, "borderline foreplay. If strength is such a huge factor in how we ghosts find each other attractive, then what do you suppose it means when Phantom challenges you in mock battle so that you might test his strength while he witnesses yours?"

Danny's face was definitely flushing now. He spluttered and saw Dorathea's expression soften into something more girlish and, dare he think it, affectionate, before Danny had to slap his hands over his face in a weak attempt to hide. "Don't tell me that," he whined. "Oh my god, he's been flirting?"

"For some years it would seem," Dorathea agreed, amused. She sighed. "Not that it matters, now, of course. He waited too long, and now my brother has snatched you from beneath his nose."

Danny pushed his hands upward, tugged at the burning circlet once more before he moved his hands into his hair, pushing his bangs off his sweating forehead. It felt like his scalp was on fire. "Just because you guys caught me," he growled, irritated as pain traveled down his neck and along his spine, "doesn't mean you can keep me. Just wait. I'll get out of here yet."

Dorathea looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid it is not that simple. Your circlet...it is..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. More specifically, at his now visible forehead. "My lord, is your circlet burning?"

"Uh, yeah?" Danny taped a finger against the graceful, silver wires twining in a circle around his head, winced, and jerked his hand away. "It started a little while ago. I figured it was a 'ghost and human can't mix' thing."

Dorathea's eyes widened. "No," she said. "The circlet was made with a human in mind, it is perfectly safe, but it should not be activating. Not so soon."

"Oh wow." Danny braced his back against the wall again. He was almost to the window--Dorathea didn't seem concerned about that for whatever reason--but the fire was spreading from his spine to his limbs and the cool stones offered some small relief. "You guys are trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"Not kill," Dorathea huffed, sounding disgusted by the idea. "What use is claiming a human bride only to kill him? No, my lord, it is meant to bring you closer to my brother."

Danny squinted at her, suspicious. "Closer?"

"Emotionally. Like a true consort."

"That's never going to happen," Danny growled. Actually growled. He blinked and touched his throat where the rumbling noise was still coming from.

Danny's skin crawled with revulsion. He had met Aragon, briefly. When he had spoken to Danny it was as if he thought Danny was already his possession, a mute servant who would obey his command. He had sounded so smug. If Danny hadn't been so dazed and on the edge of unconsciousness from whatever warping portal they had used to transport him deep into the Ghost Zone, he would have decked the so-called prince just on principle.

Dorathea smiled sadly. "And yet it is working already if the circlet is activating."

Danny swore violently. He tried to push the circlet off again, but it was hot. He barely felt it on his forehead anymore, but it burned his hands. He hissed, frustrated, and the noise sounded as beastial as the growl.

"It is strange, though," Dorathea said thoughtfully.

"What is?" Danny spat, his voice like gravel.

"You only recently met my brother. In theory, the circlet should keep you bound to the castle until you learn to love him, at which point the circlet would activate and allow you to assume our second form yourself. It's responding far too soon."

Danny squinted an eye open to glare at her. "Your circlet thing must be broken then because the only thing I feel toward him is the desire to rip his damn throat out!" He shouted the last part, the words barely discernible over the growl shaking his chest.

A roar.

Dorathea's eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting up in alarm. Danny was pleased to finally see her take his anger seriously, even if he was losing his humanity to do it.

However, before he could feel too smug, Dora's lips curled into a smug smile of her own. "Would you now..." she whispered.

Alarm bells began clanging in the towers above them. Human and ghost rushed to the window, but Danny was closer and reached the sill before Dorathea. He searched the odd, cloud-filled skies for whatever had spooked the sentries until Dorathea slid beneath his arm and shoved her shoulder against his ribs, forcing him to retreat to the left side of the windowsill.

"Not very lady-like," he grunted.

She sniffed. "As if you have grounds to criticize me."

A black shape shot past their window, cutting their bickering short. It flew farther up and then away from their tower. Danny sucked in a breath. A dragon. A gigantic black dragon. It roared, spewing bright blue flames, and Danny mentally amended, A gigantic black ghost dragon that breathes fire.

It didn't bother flapping its wings but it soared upward all the same, flashing a purple belly and a spiked tail at those below. Was it attacking the kingdom? It was flying the wrong way if it was.

"What kind of kingdom keeps a dragon as a pet?" Danny asked, incredulous.

Dorathea choked beside him.

"You dare challenge ME?" Aragon's voice boomed from above them. From the dragon's throat, specifically.

"Oh..." Danny said weakly. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Aragon is the--He turns into a dragon?!"

"There is a reason he has ruled our realm for so long," Dorathea agreed sadly. "In this form, his second form, he is much too powerful for anyone to challenge. Even me." She touched her necklace. "Though I too have a dragon form..."

Danny eyed her warily. He inched closer to the wall, allowing Dorathea more space at the window. "Makes sense," he said archly. "You being a dragon..."

She favored him with a cool glance.

If she meant to reply--and Danny really hoped she did because he had a snarky quip lined up--the door to Danny's new room banged open. Two voices yelled out in sync, and Danny spun around, recognition already splitting his face into a grin. Sam and Tucker burst into the room. Sam, dressed as a knight, pointed her drawn sword at Dorathea while Tucker pulled back on a bow, an arrow primed and aimed at the princess as well.

"Unhand our friend, you fiend!" Sam ordered. "And stop looking so cute while you're at it!"

"Yeah!" Tucker chorused. Then, "Wait..."

"Sam! Tucker!" Danny took a step toward them, but Dorathea suddenly grabbed his wrist. It was the first time she had touched him, and he gawked at her a couple seconds before trying to yank his arm away. "What are you doing, let--ow, ow, ow! Gees!"

For such a dainty-looking girl, her grip was hard enough to bruise.

Or break, Danny thought, wincing one eye shut.

"Let him go!" Sam charged at them, sword raised.

Dorathea jerked on Danny's wrist, and he stumbled to the side, inbetween her and Sam. Dorathea's arm latched around his shoulders, pinning him to her chest. She raised a hand to his throat and five pinpricks dug into the skin around his windpipe. Danny swallowed. He couldn't see it, but he had a bad feeling Dorathea's hand had just grown some talons.

Sam lowered her sword and held up her free hand.

"Oh shit," Tucker said.

Beside Danny's ear, Dorathea leaned in to whisper, "If those two are here then who do you think my brother is chasing outside?"

A cold sense of dread pooled in Danny's stomach. "What are you--"

"Think, my lord. These two humans couldn't have arrived here, in the Ghost Zone, without assistance. Not when my brother posted sentries at the gate, not when our kingdom is so well hidden. So who did Aragon change into a dragon to chase into the skies?"

Danny's eyes widened. He barely managed to breathe, "Phantom..." before the circlet began sending fire down his spine again. He cried out and tried to reach for his head, but Dorathea's arm obstructed his own and the hand at his throat warned him against struggling.

"What are you doing to him?!" Tucker yelled.

Dorathea ignored him and brought her lips to the cartilage of Danny's ear. "Phantom has come to rescue you, my lord. He is using himself as bait while these two free you from the castle."

"No," Danny groaned, the word more a guttural growl than spoken.

"Yes. See for yourself."

Dorathea released Danny's neck and grabbed his chin instead, her claws digging into the sensitive skin of his face. She forced his head to turn toward the window, and Danny pried his eyes open despite the pain urging him to shut the world out. It was difficult to focus at first, but a bright green beam caught his eyes and stole every one of his thoughts. Small as Phantom was from this distance, his brilliant glow, the brightness of his white hair, stood out starkly against the angry gray-green clouds.

The sight of him made Danny's breath catch, his skin burn.

"My brother will destroy him," Dorathea continued, her tone cold, merciless. "He will burn his body to ash."

"No!"

"There is nothing you can do, locked in this tower." Dorathea taped a claw to his chin. "As so many before, your only duty now is to watch two men fight over you. Galling, isn't it? To feel so helpless while the one you love is slaughtered before your eyes."

"Sam!" Tucker cried. "His eyes--"

"I can see it, Tucker!" Sam snapped.

Danny struggled in Dorathea's iron grip, but as before her strength kept him from breaking free. "Let go of me!" he snarled. His gaze never left the two ghosts battling in the sky above. Phantom was quicker, more agile, but a lucky strike from Aragon knocked him to the ground, and Danny growled, teeth clenched.

"Phantom is no match for my brother," Dorathea continued. "He has defeated many enemies this way. Now that he has him on the ground, he will crush him, burn him. He will--"

Aragon pinned Phantom to the ground and reared back his head.

Phantom could feel his form condensing beneath Aragon's limb--never a good sign. Ghost bodies were incredibly adaptable, but Aragon had Phantom's core trapped beneath his oversized paw, and the bastard knew it. Phantom could see it in the way Aragon had pulled back his lips in a parody of a human smile.

"No!" Danny roared.

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

He means to kill me, Phantom thought somewhat frantically.

It was such an extreme reaction to a little bit of trespassing, especially from a ruler of a kingdom. Those sorts usually encouraged trespassing so they could steal the unwary into their realm and never let them leave. Even Phantom's attack--such as it was--should have been more of a nuisance than something Aragon took personally.

But Aragon was crushing Phantom beneath his foot. He was rearing back his head. Flames were gathering around his maw.

What had Phantom done?

Phantom was the one who should be angry enough to kill, not Aragon. Aragon had stolen his friend, dang it.

Phantom struggled uselessly beneath the dragon's paw. He couldn't even make a sarcastic comment with his chest crushed. He couldn't yell for help from Sam or Tucker either, of course, but priorities were priorities, and he wanted to go out having wounded Aragon's pride badly enough that the bastard would feel it for years.

At least Sam and Tucker made it into the castle...

Something crashed into Aragon. The prince, fully as big as Fenton Works, stumbled to the side, each step he took sending tremors through the ground, but none so much as the shake that shook the ground as a second set of clawed paws landed on either side of Phantom.

Phantom turned onto his side and curled inward, pulling his knees to his chest as ribs and organs reformed into the familiar shape Phantom had learned via the portal accident. It wasn't agony, he didn't register any pain, but it was...discomforting. As soon as his lungs finished reshaping, Phantom gasped in a breath, expanding his chest in a sudden burst. His lungs inflated and shoved the other still forming organs and bones to slot into their proper alignment.

He hated that feeling...

"What is the meaning of this?" Aragon shouted, outraged. "Why would you--"

The second dragon--Phantom was fairly sure it was a dragon--roared at Aragon, interrupting the prince in a rude manner Phantom would have highly approved of had he not screamed and clamped his hands over his suddenly ringing ears. He rolled onto his back and stared up--up--up--at the dragon above him.

Like Aragon, its scales were predominately black, but unlike the prince the underbelly was a bright blue, and the black-scaled arms on either side of Phantom shone an iridescent blue, highlighted by Phantom's glow. It had poised its front arms, its chest, directly over Phantom, making it nearly impossible for Aragon to reach Phantom without crossing those bared teeth first. Phantom assumed it simply a coincidence of the way the dragon had landed after shoving Aragon aside, but then he saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head. A tail, tipped with black hair--fur?--wavered up and down, ready to strike a blow on their left side if Aragon tried to strike from the flank.

Even that could have been a coincidence had Phantom not seen the tip of a wing, its underside colored a bright blue, dip down before rising again, proving that the dragon's wings were outstretched, mantled over them like a bird protecting its kill.

Phantom tilted his head further back, scraping the crown of his skull along the dirt until he could see the dragon's head on the end of a long, sinuous neck as it swayed left to right, fangs bared at Aragon.

The new dragon growled, and a voice Phantom never expected to come from the dragon's throat yelled, "I won't let you hurt him!"

Phantom's jaw dropped. "Danny?" he croaked. He rolled onto his stomach, wincing only slightly, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. "Danny, you can't just turn into a dragon--it took me weeks just to get this form right! Do you realize how long it will take me to match a dragon?"

Humans were just so insistent on their shapes matching. Danny was never going to consider Phantom mate material if he couldn't become a dragon. Personally, Phantom didn't have a problem with it. If Danny wanted to be a dragon, so be it. Phantom would love him no matter what shape or size.

But would Danny accept Phantom? It was already hard enough convincing him to look past the ghost/human thing, how was Phantom going to convince a gorgeous, overly large and powerful dragon to give him a fair chance?

Maybe...if Phantom could get the shape right...it would take some time...and he couldn't attain the correct size immediately, but Phantom could replicate Danny's shape again--with his own coloring, of course--so that he became a dragon the size of a human. Then, if he could convince Danny to stay in the Ghost Zone, he could steadily grow until he matched Danny in size again. It would take a while...but if Danny wanted a dragon as a mate then, hell, Phantom would become a dragon.

... Oh.

Phantom floated onto his feet and glared at the prince who had stolen Danny from him. Aragon was already a dragon. He could be a humanoid ghost or a dragon at will, but there had to be a trick to it. After all, Danny had only become a dragon after being taken by Aragon. And now Aragon was a dragon, Danny was a dragon, and Phantom, who had spent two amazing years as Danny's friend with little hope of becoming more due to the whole "enemies" thing, was the one on the outside.

Phantom willed ecto-energy to his hands. "That is so not on." He floated up to Danny's draconic head and whispered, "You attack, I'll defend?" It was a strategy they had used before on difficult opponents, guarding one another's backs. Phantom was especially good at it.

Aragon hadn't taken Danny to spite Phantom or to convince Danny to become his knight. He had taken Danny in order to make Danny his, uncaring about Danny's feelings on the matter.

Danny growled.

"I hope that means you agree," Phantom said. "I'm not sure how much control a human has over a ghost form like this. Can you even understand me...?"

Danny's large head swung over to Phantom and nudged against him. At first Phantom squawked, swaying, but then he braced himself against Danny's pushing and realized Danny was rubbing his cheek against him. Nuzzling?

Phantom cancelled the ecto-energy in his hands and laid a hesitant palm against Danny's scaled hide. Even through the gloves of the jumpsuit Phantom had copied and inverted from Danny's hunter suit, he could feel the pebbled scales, the heat radiating from Danny, so much stronger and hotter than Danny's normal body heat. Phantom scratched his fingers over the scales and looked up at Danny's eye.

There was a faint white-blue glow that hadn't been there before, an oval pupil expanding into a more familiar circle as Danny stared back at him, but it looked like Danny's eye--felt like Danny's eye. The same dusty blue iris, the same responding burn in Phantom's chest whenever he met that gaze.

The eye half closed and Danny nudged Phantom a little harder. The growl softened into a soft rumble. Phantom grinned. He still wasn't sure if Danny understood him or not, but he seemed to recognize him at least.

"No," Aragon hissed. Phantom and Danny swung their attention back to their enemy. Danny's growl sharpened, matched by a responding growl in Aragon. The dragon prince roared, "I will not be bested by him."

Phantom willed energy into his hands again. "Gee, Danny, what did you do to him?"

Aragon's burning red eyes shifted to him, ferocity and hatred clear in that gaze.

"What did I do to him?" Phantom corrected, uncertain.

Instead of answering, Danny lunged at Aragon. It was a foolish, bullheaded, very Danny-like thing of him to do, charge in without a thought like that, but Phantom sighed and flew after him. Phantom would fight as he always had, at Danny's side, following his lead.

But hopefully this fight would end with Danny returning to his true human form. Dragon Danny was awe-inspiring to look at, but Phantom had gotten more than a little attached to the one that smiled...

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #pitch pearl #pitchpearl #Dragon Danny #Listen; there was a Need

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himbodjarin · 3 years

Text

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking.

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight.

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

“How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them.

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier.

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck.

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing.

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm.

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.”

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies.

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.”

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray.

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity.

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other.

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food.

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall.

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act.

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought.

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl.

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer?

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever.

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before.

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower.

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness.

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him.

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace.

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.”

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap.

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.”

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.”

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real.

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her.

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-��

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight.

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79

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sirius · 4 years

Text

Heatwave (The Mandalorian x Reader) SMUT

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, rough sex, light choking, dom/sub (Mandalorian dom, Reader sub)

Word count: 🤷🏽‍♀️

Summary: You’re a thief with sexy fire powers. He’s a sexy bounty hunter who you’ve been playing cat and mouse with. When he catches you, Baby Yoda decides to play match-maker. It works. For once.

A/N: I found this baby after scrolling through my notes and had to post it. I wrote this when I was drunk so forgive the spelling errors. Baby Yoda is literally that one criminal dude from tangled (I think?) who bangs the two tiny wooden horses together. lol.

Also, am I wrong in saying that I think everyone wants to fuck the Mandalorian in his sexy Mandalorian armour?

(Not my gif)

***

You can’t deny that there’s something sexy about being handcuffed and taken prisoner by the Mandalorian.

While inconvenient to say the least, there’s still an undercurrent of sexual tension that demands to be felt, charging the air between the two of you as he straps you into the seat beside him. It’s why he always chases you, why you always allow yourself to get caught, and why he lets you escape into the night. It’s the longest, most amusing, most sexy game of chess you’ve ever played.

“Every time you handcuff me, I always imagine it in an entirely different context,” you purr, smirking up at him as he tightens your handcuffs.

As usual, he doesn’t say anything at first. Its becoming all too predictable.

The fancy, expensive, definitely-not-a-sex-toy handcuffs dig into the skin of your wrists, though not enough to make it arousing. He’s done it deliberately; he’s surmised you like it rough from your previous encounters with him. It’s a type of torture he’s managed to master exceedingly well. Which is arousing in itself. What a paradox the two of you are.

“Jokes on you, y’know,” you tease, tilting your head up at him, “I’m very much into the idea of you torturing me.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he warns, his voice tinny and deliciously husky.

“So he speaks.”

The Mandalorian remains silent, though you can somehow tell he’s glaring at you from behind his helmet.

“You’re not the first Mandalorian to come after me,” you say as he kneels to bind your ankles, “And you won’t be the last. I’ve killed your predecessors and I won’t hesitate to kill whoever they decide to send after you. You’re lucky I’m into you otherwise I’d have my legs around your neck right now — and not in a good way.”

The Mandalorian is silent at first. Then, when you think he isn’t going to grace you with a response—

“So you’re just going to keep running? What kind of life is that?”

You chew your bottom lip, considering his question thoughtfully, “It’s a life and it’s far better than the alternative.”

The Mandalorian rises, straightens the broad line of his shoulders, “Is it really a life? If you can’t settle down to enjoy it?”

You gracefully arch an eyebrow at him, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mandalorian.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

****

The strange, tiny child gazes up at you with large, innocent inky-black eyes and blinks owlishly.

He’s managed to scramble into your lap, blocking your means of escape while the Mandalorian hastily fixes the engine of his ship. You can’t help but smile at his innocence, contrasting the weight of your criminal ways.

Regardless, you focus on funnelling the spluttering ball of energy in your core to your ankle cuffs. The heated metal bites into your skin as it begins to glow bright orange, but you can take it. You’re one of the last Phoenixs — or Nixes, for short — in the universe; cosmic fire and heat is what you are, what you’re made of.

The child, however, doesn’t seem afraid of the heat rising from your skin, turning your hair a bright, fiery red.

“Look, little guy — or girl — I need you to get off my lap so I can bust out of here!” You hiss, imploringly, “My distraction will only last so lo—“

The Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps echo into the cockpit of his ship. You immediately stop melting the metal, allowing your natural hair colour to bleed over the reds and oranges, disguising your true heritage.

He stops, spotting the child now stroking your hair.

“He’s cute,” you remark, beaming down at the child, “Didn’t realise you had a kid.”

The Mandalorian marches forward and snatches the child from your lap. He cradles him protectively, eying you with what you suspect is suspicion as he safely places the child on the far side of the room.

“Don’t touch him.”

“He was touching me first.”

“I don’t care, don’t touch him.”

“My god, you’d think I’m infected with some hideous, flesh-eating disease.”

“No, you’re a criminal—“

“—Thief—“

“—you’re a criminal and I don’t trust you.”

Something about that stings. Your expression shutters, schooling into apathy.

“So why keep me around?” You ask, coolly, “Why don’t you just carbon freeze me?”

You have a feeling you know the answer. He doesn’t carbon freeze you for the same reason why he doesn’t bother stopping you as you escape the slippery clutches of the ego-bruised men you’ve stolen from. It’s the same reason you haven’t burned him to a crisp as soon as you’ve seen him, the same reason you allow him to drag you back to his ship, cash you in for his bounty, and disappear.

There’s tension, but it’s more than tension. It’s something you can’t articulate because you’ve never quite felt it before. You doubt he has either.

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. He seems to be staring down at the ankle cuffs, the metal twisted and deformed from where you’ve been heating it. He steps forward—

Suddenly, an invisible force loop around your waist and hoists you up, pulling you toward The Mandalorian. His arms are forced around your waist in jerky movements almost like an invisible puppeteer is pushing and plucking the strings. His helmet is yanked up over his neck, past his chin, stopping just above his nose, revealing plush lips and stubble and—

Your lips are forced together in the most awkward kiss you’ve ever had.

Both of you have your lips pressed tight, and the Mandalorian is rigid and tense, unsure of what to do. Still, energy blinks to life inside of you and you open your mouth just a little, embracing the kiss.

It lingers. It’s still awkward.

But then, he begins to kiss you back, his lips moving slightly, carefully, enough to taste hints of fine whiskey and your head begins to spin, embers sparking your lower belly, travelling up your spine, across your chest, down your arms—

It ends all too soon.

“Stop it, let us go,” The Mandalorian orders over his shoulder. You allow your eyes to follow his line of sight, snagging on the kid.

His tiny, pudgy hand is raised, his round eyes closed and you realise with a shock that he’s controlling you, bending the air around you both and forcing you into this kiss.

At the sound of his voice, the child stops, releasing his hold on you. He staggers a little, exhaustion seemingly crashing over him, dragging him under into unconsciousness. He collapses and the Mandalorian rushes forward to catch him, holding the child to his chest.

The Mandalorian disappears for a moment, giving you time to recover from your bewilderment. You’ve never seen anything quite like that before, and you’ve seen a lot of things. You have a feeling that in your past life, you may have witnessed a similar phenomenon, but you’re not giving enough time to dwell on it, however, because the Mandalorian comes storming back.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was all about?”

The Mandalorian ignores you, hunting around the cockpit for something.

“You’re not going to make me beg, are you?”

The Mandalorian stops, slants a look over his shoulder, “Maybe I will.”

You roll your eyes, “Please, Mando. Please tell me what the fuck just happened.”

The Mandalorian grasps a black bandage and whips it, stalking toward you, “Not what I meant.”

“What—?”

“—I’m sick of chasing you,” he growls, manoeuvring you around so he can fasten the bandage around your head; a makeshift blindfold, “It’s time you got what you deserve.”

Your stomach curdles, blood roaring in your ears. Carbon freezing. Your worst fear. You try to swallow, but it gets knotted somewhere in your throat.

“Kinky,” you rasp, trying your best to recover your slipping facade, “I hope my punishment involves whips and chains.”

The Mandalorians voice is in the shell of your ear, Mississippi hot and molasses thick, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Suddenly, he spins you around, and you barely have time to recover from the whiplash before his lips are on yours.

He’s ferocious, unforgiving. Just the way you like it.

He kisses you with a fiery passion, tongue darting into your mouth, tasting, teasing, his teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. You moan, arching against him, wishing he’d free you so you could tug him closer but the Mandalorian keeps you bound and at his mercy.

You pull away, panting, as the Mandalorian trails kisses down your neck, sucking and biting and bruising the tender flesh. He’s obviously taken his helmet off while you were blindfolded. Curiosity strikes you but is dissolved when he finds the spot on your neck that makes you gasp.

“If—if I had known this would happen, I would’ve allowed myself to get caught a lot sooner,” you tease, a little breathlessly.

The Mandalorians fingers grasp your waist, pulling you closer, gripping you with bruising strength that dampens your panties. He chuckles against your skin, breath hot, tongue wet as he licks along your jugular.

“God I hate that mouth of yours,” he breathes, scraping his teeth across your skin, “It gets you into so much trouble.”

“It’s good for other things, too.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he grasps your waist with strong hands and spins you around, breath fanning across the back of your neck.

Your spine shudders and melts. He makes quick work of your clothes, starting with your sleeveless turtleneck top. He pulls it over your head and tosses it aside and unclasping your bra. With one hand pawing at your breast, he uses the other to tug on the zip of your skirt, pulling it down until the fabric pools at your feet. He helps you out of your thigh-high boots and undoes the holsters strapped to your thigh. Next, he uncuffs your wrists and ankles until you’re wearing nothing but skin. His breath audibly tangles in his throat.

You snicker, biting your bottom lip, “My, my. Have I rendered the great Mandalorian speechless?”

A sharp stab of pain ripples across your ass cheek, followed by the rough ministrations of a strong, calloused hand. You gasp, relishing in the sting of pain and burst of arousal.

You moan. Your darkest fantasies have spilt from your daydreams and splashed themselves against the backdrop of reality. Finally, after three years of chasing and catching, the sexual tension sizzling between the two of you is resolved.

He steals the breath from your lungs as he kisses you deeply, your moans melting on his tongue. His fingers grip your breasts and you gasp, head lulling back as he rolls them in the palm of his hands.

“God,” you sigh, “You’re good at this.”

Suddenly, his lips are biting into your nipple and you arch into his mouth, fingers combing through his hair as he slurps and sucks on your nipple. Your thighs quiver as you tug on the roots of his hair and he groans. You can feel him poking into your thigh and your excitement builds quickly, your fingers pulling at his cape.

He steps away from your grasp with a low, drawling chuckle, rich with husk and desire and pure sex appeal.

“I’m in control,” he snarls, “You obey me. You hear?”

“Yes, master,” you whimper, skin crawling.

“Good.”

You hear the rasping of fabric and the whirr of zipper teeth being pulled apart. His footsteps, heavy with purpose, move around you; there's a clang of metal and then he’s behind you again, loosening your blindfold until it falls away.

The Mandalorian whirls you around, pushing you up against the control board. He’s still fully clothed and his helmet is now fixed onto his neck and while you had been curious about the face that hides behind that helmet, you can’t deny that the thought of him fucking you in his bounty armour is unbelievably sexy.

The only thing that’s missing is — of course — the codpiece. Your shiver completely rattles your entire frame, anticipation bubbling deliciously in your veins.

The Mandalorian steps forward and reaches into his pants, pulling out his cock.

You salivate.

He’s...huge. Probably the biggest and thickest cock you’ve seen (and you’ve seen a lot in your lifetime — part of the job). It makes you wonder how he jams that beast into his pants without damaging something. You slide your tongue over your lips as you watch him stroke himself, smearing precum over the bulging, purple helmet.

“Touch yourself.”

You obey, spreading your legs far apart so he can watch your fingers dance. Behind his mask, you can feel his eyes smouldering as you tease your clit, rubbing the pearl of nerves with your index and middle finger. You moan, tossing your head back, building up quite the rhythm while the Mandalorian watches.

You startled slightly when the Mandalorian runs his hands over your smooth thighs, mapping you out with his fingers. He’s gentle, appreciating the warmth of your skin, how you glow with desire and emit a natural, golden aura common among Nixes.

“It’s been a while since...” he trails off, shaking his head.

With a sudden burst of strength, he grips your legs and hoists them around his waist. And, impatiently, unceremoniously, he slides inside of you.

“Fuck,” you curse, gripping his broad shoulders.

Moans spill into the air as the Mandalorian begins to move, rolling his hips against you. The cool metal of his armour shocks your hot skin but the contrast of steaming heat and icy cold makes your eyes roll back and your heart hammer impossibly fast.

“Yes, yes, oh Jesus yes!”

The Mandalorian’s pace begins to build as he slams into you. He’s rough and unapologetic and reaching depths inside of you that you didn’t know existed. He pounded with frenzied, sharp movements, his hand snaking up your side to your neck where his fingers hugged and tightened. His other hand stays secured on your hip, bruised already starting to form from where his grip burns into you.

Your fingers skim across your damp skin, trailing down to your clit where your fingers circle and pinch. The Mandalorian — silent until now — groans as he watches you, his pace speeding up ruthlessly.

“I’m close,” he grunts, giving your neck a squeeze.

“So am I,” you hiss, locking your legs around him.

The friction of his armour against your hot skin, the pressure of his strong hand gripping your begging neck, his cock ploughing into you with incredible strength; it’s an overwhelming indulgence to the senses and you feel your hot core begin to glow, crackling with cosmic energy.

The air, thick with sex and insatiable heat, shimmers and ignites with tiny tongues of fire like hovering fireflies. The Mandalorian hasn’t noticed yet, but it doesn’t take him long until he does.

“(Y/N)––“

He’s cut off by the cry that issues from your swollen lips. Your pussy clenches and quivers around his cock as you tumble over the edge, crashing into a release that completely drowns your body in mind-numbing pleasure. The Mandalorian is right behind you, grinding out pieces of your name as he meets his own release.

Panting, you sit up and he rests his head on your shoulder. Around you, the small flames have exploded into tiny fireworks, lighting up the air with vibrant light.

You slide off the control board, climb back into your clothes and pull on your boot. You reach for the other boot but the Mandalorian grabs it first, kneeling to slide the boot onto your foot. You watch, mesmerised, as he pulls the inner zip up your leg and along your thigh.

Moments later, the electronic doors to the cockpit slide open and the child waddles forward, gazing innocently up at you. You step forward and give the Mandalorian a questioning look. He nods.

You bend down and scoop the child into your arms and he snuggles against your chest.

“I really love this kid,” you murmur, beaming down at him.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” The Mandalorian shrugs, approaching you so he can tug at the child’s cloak. He pulls it over the child’s face, keeping his neck warm.

“We have to name him,” you decide, “I can’t keep referring to him as the kid.”

You say it like you’re staying with them, trapesing across the universe together.

The Mandalorian, however, doesn’t disagree.

The handcuffs and ankle cuffs stay in their place on the floor.

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