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bluebeary-jay · 8 months

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Be still my foolish heart (don't ruin this on me)

Neighbor!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: you and Joel have been neighbors for a while but despite your mutual interest in one another, you never crossed this line. until, after one tense situation, Joel slips up (based on this wonderful request!)

Tags: friends to lovers, love confessions, fluff and angst, Joel is your sexy neighbor you shamelessly drool over, also his toolbelt is an important character in the fic (don't judge me)

Warnings: angst, 'nice guy' alert 🙄, attempted assault (stopped by Joel), some nsfw content but not actual smut (yar girl is gettin there 😌)

Word count: 6.2K

A/N: hiiii my darlings!! sorry for the wait, i know it's been a long time but life was crazy. here's sth i've been workin for a looong time and honestly i stared at it for so long i no longer know if i'm proud of it or not 🙈 anyway, i really hope you guys will like it and as always, happy reading!! 💕

“I really don’t know how to thank you, Joel. This is incredible.”

Joel watched, slightly embarrassed, as you walked around the table with a wide, bright smile. You gripped one of the legs – the one that was previously crookedly attached and broke down when you put something heavier on the counter – and tested its stability. After a successful inspection you looked up at him.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nah, nothin’ of the sort.” He waved his hand, feeling a big lump in his throat when you directed that pretty smile of yours at him. “M’just glad I could help.”

“You didn’t have to fix this, too, though.” You brushed the edge of the table which Joel sanded so you wouldn’t get a splinter from the rough surface. His eyes followed your fingertips before he coughed.

“Didn’t want you to hurt yourself. This side was practically smashed up, after all…”

“Still, I didn’t even need to ask you.” You shook your head in thoughts before glancing at him with gratitude. “Thanks again.”

“You really gotta stop thankin’ me.” Joel started to gather his things into the toolbox and wiped his palms on his pants (certainly not because they were slick with sweat). “It was a piece of cake.”

“But, you know.” You tilted your head to the left and right, scrunching your nose playfully, and it was so fucking adorable that Joel thought his heart was going to give out. “You already fixed the sink in my kitchen, that hole in the wall, my door, and now my table… Are you sure I’m not leeching off your generosity?”

A half-smile found its place on Joel’s face, and he shook his head with a chuckle. “M’sure. It’s only fair since we’re neighbors, sweet girl.”

Sweet girl.

Joel never knew if he wasn’t crossing the line by calling you that. You never gave any sign of discomfort or disgust when he did, but he also recognized that regardless of your reaction, he should stop. He couldn’t deny that his old heart harbored an embarrassingly big crush on you – after all, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on – but it wasn’t right to think about you in that way.

If he only knew that every time he let those words of endearment slip, your heart started to do crazy somersaults.

Joel Miller was an extremely handsome man, there was no denying that. And with his deep drawl, the salt-and-pepper hair, the warm, brown eyes and that dangerous smirk he sometimes sent in your direction… it was no wonder you fell for him.

It also didn’t help that he was so kind, always ready and eager to help you with the smallest inconvenience. Sometimes it made you want to smash something in your house yourself, just to have an excuse for him to come over again and for you to be able to watch him work.

But you weren’t that desperate, yet. Yet.

Your daydreaming was rudely interrupted by a series of knocks on your front door. Both your heads snapped in the direction of the sound, but when you recognized the familiar pattern of it, your mood dampened in an instant.

Joel noticed the change in your expression, of course, and immediately stood up, leaving the toolbox on the floor.

“What is it?” he asked with a hint of alert in his gruff voice, but you shook your head.

“It’s nothing. Don’t go yet, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You exited the room before he could ask another question, and Joel furrowed his brows. He stayed rooted in spot, listening to your heavy step as you walked to the door and opened it. And then… he heard a male voice that started to say something to you.

Joel couldn’t help but grind his teeth as he finished gathering his stuff, ready to go back home. It was the second time that some man came to visit you while you had him over, and the bitterness he felt in his mouth was even more noticeable than on the previous occasion.

He knew you were quite popular in Jackson, especially with boys your age. There was always someone offering to buy you a drink or dance whenever you went out with your friends, and once Joel had to even step in when two drunk guys kept pestering you. But as much as it pained him, some of those men who showed genuine interest in you were quite nice. And good-looking.

And a lot younger than him.

He knew very well that he was too old for you. He knew that he shouldn’t fantasize about sharing a life with you, and that thinking of any form of intimacy between you and him was making him a big old creep, but no matter how many times he swore to himself it’ll be the last, he could not stop. You were just so beautiful, so sweet and so nice…

He saw your smiling face when he went to bed late at night, and imagined your body beside him when he woke up early in the morning. He looked at your house on his way to work and wondered if you were eating breakfast already, taking a shower or still sleeping peacefully amidst the many blankets he saw once on your bed. He felt a rush of energy and endorphins every time you knocked on his door, asking him to help you with something, and it only enhanced his already existent protectiveness toward you.

Suddenly, Joel heard a raised male voice from the porch, which instantly got his guard up. He quickly followed the sound, and upon rounding the corner he saw you trying to close the door on Jack, a boy he recognized but never talked to. He saw him a couple of times at the bar, though he wasn’t one of those bothering you and never seemed to give anyone any trouble.

Still, you looked really uncomfortable, so when your and Joel’s eyes met, he nodded reassuringly and took his place in front of you.

“Is somethin’ the matter?” he asked dryly. The sight of him took Jack aback and he opened his mouth, looking lost for a good moment. Joel raised his eyebrows, and the young man cleared his throat.

“Nothing at all. We were just chattin’.” Then Jack looked over Joel’s shoulder at you, completely ignoring the other man. “What the fuck is Miller doing in your house, anyway?”

You stammered, but Joel kept his cool, leaning against the doorframe casually. Jack was tall and well-built, but still smaller than Joel, and he made use of this fact to intimidate the boy to the extreme.

“Mr Miller is helpin’ her with the sink that needs fixin’,” Joel answered instead with a pang of irritation. “And you’re kinda interruptin’.” Jack didn’t move, and Joel clenched his jaw. “Scurry. Now.”

The boy huffed, murmuring something under his breath before he bid you a grudging adieu. Joel shut the door behind him with more force than he intended and took a second to calm his breathing before turning back to you.

“Sorry if that was too harsh–”

“No, don’t apologize.” You sighed tiredly and went to the living room, plopping down on the couch. “It’s okay. Maybe he’ll back off a little.”

Joel bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should ask the question that was gnawing at him mercilessly.

“Are…” he started, and you lifted your head. “I mean, are you two…”

“No!” you quickly answered, blushing a little to Joel’s surprise. “No, no, nothing of the sort. He asked me out and I told him I’m not interested, but he still tries to…” You waved your arm in the direction when he saw the youngster last. “I don’t know, convince me?”

Joel sat down next to you, clasping his hands together. “Well… if he ever gives you any trouble, you lemme know, alrigh’?”

A small smile spread across your face when you tilted your head to look at him.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Then a playful glint appeared in your eyes, and your smile turned mischievous. “...Mr Miller.”

A breathless laugh escaped Joel, and he dragged his hand over his face, praying that he managed to stifle a groan wanting to escape his chest. He shook his head to regain some clarity, but could still feel all the blood in his body rushing down. It didn’t help that your couch was too small, and your knees were touching – though Joel couldn’t tell if it happened when he sat down or a little bit later.

Fuck.

“Shut up,” he just murmured, not looking at you in fear you’ll see what your words did to him. “I tried to make him leave quicker.”

“And he did. And I think you deserve a reward for your help.”

You stood up and for a second Joel panicked. A reward, you said.

He couldn’t help the images that flooded his brain in that moment – of you on your knees in front of him, or bent over the table he just fixed. His eyes went to your thighs, and his own flexed involuntary when he envisioned how you’d feel underneath him, what sweet sounds he could coax out of you, how soft your skin would be in those places you kept covered…

But then you walked past him, and he snapped out of the naughty daydreams.

“Wh-where are you goin’?” he asked, his voice strained, and you looked over your shoulder with an oblivious smile.

“I made a cake this morning. I’m gonna bring you a piece, yeah?”

You didn’t wait for an answer, and just left the room with pep in your step.

Joel groaned and let his head fall back, covering the redness of his cheeks with his hands.

Idiot.

Almost two weeks have passed since the last time you asked for his help with something, and surprisingly, Joel was okay with that. After that embarrassment he experienced in his own mind, he told himself that it would be prudent to distance himself from you for a little bit. At least until he could act normally around you.

He still thought about you constantly, that he couldn’t help. Every time he saw you in town he instantly felt lighter, but so very often you were accompanied by another man – and no matter if you seemed comfortable with the attention or not, Joel always had this urge to come over and protect you from any unwanted suitors.

He was being ridiculous, he knew that. You didn’t like him the way he liked you, and even if he somehow grew a pair and told you about his feelings, a pretty and young girl like you would never be interested in someone who could be her father’s age.

The thought of you thinking of him as a father figure churned up his guts, making him feel sick. Jesus Christ.

But it still did nothing to weaken his infatuation, and when you finally knocked on his door again, asking if he could fix the rack in your room, he didn’t even hesitate before agreeing.

So here you both were. Joel, looking at the problem at hand, and you, looking at (none-the-wiser) Joel.

“S’nothin’ big,” he finally said after some examination. “I’ll replace the shelf and reaffix it to the wall better. Shouldn’t take long.”

You nodded, but truthfully you were only half-listening. The sight of Joel in your bedroom was far too distracting.

It’s been so long since Joel was a guest in your house – well, only a couple of weeks tops – but you missed seeing him in your private space. Though one could say, he never truly left with how often you thought about him.

So maybe that’s why you were so shameless with your staring.

His broad shoulders were to die for, and you bit your lip absentmindedly as your eyes wandered across his muscular back and forearms, usually hidden under the sleeves. You knew you shouldn’t be ogling your neighbor who was nice enough to lend you a helping hand whenever you needed, but… well, a little admiring wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

And there was a lot to admire.

“You listenin’ to me?”

The brutal wake-up call of his voice pulled you out of your thoughts, making you blush wildly and your body hot with embarrassment at being caught staring.

Okay, maybe it would hurt someone.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, feeling your whole neck heating up rapidly. “Uh-huh. I understand.”

Joel’s lips stretched into a lopsided smile, and he turned to face you fully.

“I asked if you have some nails in the house,” he repeated, not breaking eye contact. If you allowed yourself to be delusional, you’d say his voice sounded almost… flirtatious. But that was probably only your head telling you what you wanted to hear.

“Yeah…” you breathed distractedly, but then shook your head quickly. “I mean, no. No, I don’t.”

Joel smirked, stepping closer to you and making you swallow heavily. Your gaze once again dropped to his strong arms, down to his big hands and… fuck. He had his thumbs hooked in his tool belt, already hanging low on his waist, and it made him look so ridiculously hot.

Lord have mercy.

“What got ya so distracted, sweet girl?”

Have fuckin’ mercy.

“Nothing!” you said, a bit louder than you intended, crossing your arms over your chest to do something with this splitting tension in your body. “I was just looking at… the shelf.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot upright. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he didn’t believe you. “The shelf,” he repeated blankly, and you nodded, trying to appear calm despite feeling like you were going to burst into flames if he kept looking at you like that. But then Joel chuckled, and his eyes turned as warm as always. “M’only teasin’. Stop lookin’ so scared.”

“I’m not–” you started, but your lips also spread into a grin when you saw his genuine smile. “God, you’re insufferable. Will you fix it or not?”

“So demandin’,” Joel mused, shaking his head and walking out of the room. “I’m gonna go get the nails from my house. Be right back.”

You whispered under your breath something he didn’t hear, but it made him smile to himself nonetheless.

It was so easy to slip back into this playful banter with you, Joel thought as he made his way back home. Maybe things between you two won’t be as awkward anymore (though he was aware all this awkwardness was his fault), and he could go back to being your friend.

No matter that he wished he could be something more. No, it wasn’t right to think that way. What you two had was enough.

Still, as he looked for those damn nails, he couldn’t get out of his mind the way that adorable blush spread across your face. And how your eyes lingered on his figure when he looked at you. But no, surely he was only imagining things.

…right?

Joel sighed, closing the door behind him and going back toward your house, his thoughts already on the best way to fix that shelf of yours and maybe stabilize it a bit more, because by the look of how it hung on the wall, it was only a matter of time until he’ll have to visit again.

Or maybe he’ll leave it be. Only to have an extra excuse to see you sooner rather than later.

He rolled his eyes at his own musings, but the train of his thoughts abruptly stopped when he saw your front door slightly opened. He slowed down, wondering if you went after him… but no, there was no sign of you anywhere, and he was pretty sure he closed it on his way out.

And then he heard a faint sound of glass shattering.

Joel’s mind went completely blank. In a blink of an eye he stormed into the house, his survival instincts formed over the last twenty years kicking in and screaming for him to find you, to make sure you’re safe and unharmed.

But your bedroom was empty and when Jeol yelled your name, no one answered him. You were within the safe walls of Jackson, and there was no way the infected or raiders could ambush you, but still Joel felt an icy wave of panic washing over him, his mind providing him with terrible scenarios that would explain the open door and your silence.

Then a small thud reverberated from the other room, and Joel’s legs carried him there without a second thought.

He slammed the door open, and his eyes immediately locked on the man holding you against the wall. Your assaulter – that fucking kid, Jack – had one hand covering your mouth, the other forearm pinning your shoulders to the wall. His knee was between your legs and Joel could see you standing on your tippy toes, trying to pull away as far as possible.

Joel’s hands were itching to get rid of the threat that guy was for you, but first his gaze involuntarily shifted to your face – and his heart clenched painfully when he noticed your terrified expression and tears streaming down your cheeks.

The blinding rage in Joel’s veins almost charred him from the inside out and he felt like he was about to explode from the fury seething inside of him. In two long strides he ran towards Jack and all but threw him off of you, stepping to the side to act as a shield between you and him.

“You just signed your death sentence, kid,” he growled and punched the other man in the face when he tried to get up. You screamed behind him, but Joel ignored it, the need to beat the living daylights out of this little shit almost overwhelming his senses.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Jack yelled from the floor, holding a hand in front of his face. “You broke me fucking nose, man!”

It was true, the blood was flowing freely from the already swelling nose, but it didn’t feel like enough. Joel had to utilize every fiber of his willpower to keep himself from venting his wrath on this kid. He knew damn well it wouldn’t end well for either of them – Jackson had hard laws when it came to violence.

“You deserve a lot worse,” Joel gritted his teeth and motioned with his head towards the exit. “Now get out.”

“She wanted it!” Jack shouted, as if he hoped that his explanations would make the situation any better. He wiped the blood flowing from his nose, glaring at you angrily. “Stupid bitch,” he snarled, “can’t make up her mind. Didn’t I do enough for you?! I was nice, always helped you–”

“Get the fuck out of here before I break your jaw,” Joel cut in, clenching his fists and taking a step forward. The young fucker seemed to size him up for a couple of seconds, probably wondering if starting a fight was worth it, but eventually spluttered contemptuously.

“Fine,” he snarled, and then looked below Joel’s arm at you. “I wouldn’t want to catch somethin’ from you, either way, if you’re already fucking this old geezer.”

Your face, and also Joel’s, grew hot – but while yours was red from embarrassment and shame, his was burning from barely concealed rage.

“OUT!!” he shouted, his thundering and powerful voice making both you and Jack flinch. His face was twisted in fury and the other man must’ve realized that staying here longer would only mean worse for him, because he scrambled to his feet and ran out without another word.

The front door slammed shut behind him, and for a few seconds a heavy silence hung in the air.

Joel took a steadying breath, trying to restore his cool, but he felt himself shaking from rage. If he didn’t come back in time… if he was a minute late, he didn’t want to think what that bastard would’ve done to you.

Trying to shut down the intrusive thoughts, Joel turned around and knelt by where you were still seated on the ground. He couldn’t will the tension in his body to lessen, and his muscles and tendons were so taut that he thought they were going to snap. But he forced his hands to unclench before he gently cupped your face.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked quietly, his brows knitted in worry. You shook your head, but your eyes were filled with tears, and it felt like something was ripping Joel’s chest apart.

“He pushed me. And I… the glass.”

You lifted your hand and Joel winced when he saw a shard of green glass – from the flower vase which previously stood on the table – embedded in your palm. A trickle of blood was running down your wrist, but he presumed there would be much more once he took it out.

“It’s alright, sweet girl. I’ll take care of it.” I’ll take care of you. “Let’s go to the kitchen so I can patch you up, ‘kay?”

You nodded, letting him pull you to your feet.

Once you made your way there and you instructed him on where some bandages and disinfectant were, Joel gently grabbed your waist and hoisted you up onto the table, seemingly without any problem at all. You blushed when you felt his touch, for a moment forgetting about the pain piercing your palm, but the gravity of what you just experienced crept up on you again soon enough.

Joel noticed your silence as he carefully removed the shard and bandaged your hand. He didn’t want to imagine what exactly happened when he was gone, but it was obvious it shook you quite strongly. So when he saw tears welling in your eyes, he threw all caution to the wind and wrapped his arms tightly around you.

Not one ounce of regret had time to haze his mind over, because you instantly clung to him, too, letting out a shaky exhale. Joel hugged you tightly, letting go of all the tension and fear in his body. He was never this close to you before, and he allowed himself to indulge in the warmth of your body and the feeling of your arms around him, reminding him that you’re okay, that you’re with him now. He breathed in your scent, hiding his nose in the crown of your head and pressing his lips to your hair, hoping to calm you down.

“It’s alright, baby. I’m here, you’re safe now.”

You tensed, but Joel just held you closer, not realizing he said something wrong. He planted a soft kiss on your hairline, sighing when you started moving your hands up and down his back soothingly. Despite standing up, Joel felt relaxed like never before, like he could fall asleep right here and now.

That is, until you spoke up.

“What did you say?”

…shit.

Joel opened his mouth, then closed it almost immediately. His eyes raced wildly across the room, trying to think of what to say, but he didn’t let go of you. There might’ve been a selfish reason behind his inaction, but mostly he didn’t want you to see his flustered face.

“Nothin’,” he answered after a pregnant and rather uncomfortable pause, and cleared his throat. “You don’t wanna… t’was nothin’ important.”

Maybe you really didn’t hear him. It would have saved him a lot of trouble and embarrassment, and probably another two weeks of his life of avoiding you. But judging by the silence in the room, he wasn’t so lucky.

“Did you…” You swallowed before finishing softly, “call me ‘baby’?”

Joel cringed, closing his eyes tightly, and prayed for some higher power to smite him off the surface of the Earth. But again – luck wasn’t on his side.

The silence prolonged, and you finally grew impatient. You pulled away, looking up to scan his face. “Joel?”

“I’m sorry, it… slipped out,” he mumbled, all red and not meeting your eyes. That was a shame, because if he did find the courage to look at you, he would notice a small smile forming on your face as you regarded him.

“So I heard you correctly?” you asked again, and he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face and rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, yes you did. M’really sorry, I wasn’t thinkin’. I just tried to comfort you and– fuck,” he whispered to himself, lowering his hand but still not looking in your direction. “I, I don’t want ya to feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry, I can go…”

“No.” Your uninjured hand shot out and grabbed his shirt before you could process what you were doing. Joel glanced down at your fist clutching the material, and then back up into your wide eyes. “Please, no. Stay.”

His lips parted slightly at your request and unexplained (at least from his perspective) hope filling your gaze. He looked so adorable that you had never wanted to kiss him more than right now.

“Come closer,” you pleaded, barely louder than a whisper.

Joel obliged, letting your hand guide him. You gently pulled him to you, so that he was almost standing between your legs, and your fingers loosened their hold, now smoothing over the material of his shirt.

You took a deep breath and leaned forward, bracing your weight on his chest. Joel looked puzzled by your behavior, but when he realized what you were doing, he stopped you gently by putting his own hand on your shoulder.

“No,” he whispered, his voice full of pain, but steady. “Don’t do that. You… you’re in a state of shock.”

“I know what I want,” you spoke equally quietly, staring at him with nothing but pure genuineness and need in your eyes. “And I want you, Joel.”

“Please, ba–” he cut himself off before he could finish this word. It pained him deeply to reject you, but he knew that if he let you kiss him, you’d regret it later. And that he wouldn’t be able to survive. “I’m sorry, sweet girl, but it wouldn’t be right. I don’t wanna be takin’ advantage of you.”

Your face fell in confusion and disappointment, but you didn’t let him go even when he put a light pressure on your hand.

“You never..” you gulped, searching his face, “thought about it? About… me, in that way?”

Christ, what was he supposed to say to that? He wouldn’t be able to lie to you, not if you kept looking at him with those innocent and full of desire eyes of yours.

“Don’t ask me.” Joel closed his eyes, the muscle in his cheek pulsing when he felt your touch on the side of his face. “Please, don’t ask me.”

“Because I have,” you continued in a sudden rush of courage. “I think about you constantly, and about us. Every time I invite you over or see you in the town working... And I’m only saying all that, because I thought maybe… maybe you felt it, too. I think you do.” Joel didn’t answer, and you looked up at him with determination you didn’t really feel. “Tell me.”

Joel clenched his jaw, exhaling heavily, but didn’t pull away. He weighed the options in his mind while you waited patiently, and finally, his resolve cracked under your hopeful gaze.

“I think about you,” he began slowly, earnestly, “every night. Every fuckin’ night and day, sweetheart.” His voice was raspy, but that drawl of his so soft and delicious to your ears. “But I shouldn’t. You and I both know that.”

He still hasn’t looked your way. You tried to lean to the side to fit in his field of vision, but Joel turned away even more, attempting to take a step back. You grabbed his shirt again before he could do that, and he didn’t fight you.

“Why not?” you whispered, transfixed on his handsome features.

“‘Cause you deserve better. I’m way too old for you,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, like you should know it already. “You have so many admirers who are probably much more fit for you, and it would be… it is so wrong that I’m lettin’ those thoughts linger.”

“I don’t want any of them, though.” Joel finally locked eyes with you, but still seemed conflicted. You slowly let go of his clothes and reached for his hands, then guided them to your cheeks. You saw his throat bob nervously when you placed them there and brushed his knuckles with your thumbs. “Look, it’s hard for me to open up, but… I really like you. Really.��

Joel swallowed heavily, his face contorted in pain – as if your words were wounding not only his soul, but his very flesh. Then the pressure on your cheeks became a little stronger, and he tentatively swiped his thumbs under your eyes in a loving manner. Your heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings as he slowly scanned your face for any sign of hesitancy, then let his eyelids drop and pressed his forehead to yours. You lifted your chin slightly, nudging his nose with the tip of yours.

“Call me that again,” you whispered pleadingly. His wooden, earthly scent was enveloping all your senses, making you feel so very calm and safe. You’d gladly lose yourself in him. “Please.”

Joel instantly knew what you meant. His resolve was wavering and his body giving in, but the doubt was still there in his mind. The fear that he was somehow reading you wrong.

“Don’t beg me, sweet girl.” His breath was on your lips, beckoning you even closer. “M’too weak for that.”

“Please,” you repeated more urgently, and when he didn’t move, you turned your head and pressed your lips to the inside of his wrist tenderly. “Joel.”

He cursed softly. It appeared that the tension between you both was getting to him, too, and Joel was losing the battle he fought with himself. He lowered his lips to the edge of your jaw, his pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy, almost as if he was under a spell. You whimpered when he withdrew one of his hands on your cheeks, but the loss was quickly replaced by relief when he moved it to the small of your back, pulling you closer and flush against his body.

“You sure about this?” he murmured lowly, making you shiver against him. His nose traveled along your jaw and the column of your neck, then back up until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “I don’t want ya to regret it.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “Please, baby.”

Your plea sent a shiver down his spine. Joel couldn’t hold back anymore, didn’t want to. It was clear you wanted him, and he never was a strong enough man to deny you anything.

Your eyes met, and Joel took a second to get his heart under control. You were so beautiful, and your skin so soft under his touch… He tilted your chin up, barely able to comprehend that all of it was really happening, that it was you who put his hands on yourself. And you wanted him to kiss you.

For fuck’s sake, you begged him to.

All the remaining traces of his self-control evaporated in a heartbeat, and he pulled you in, pressing your body closer before bringing his lips to yours, locking them in a soft kiss.

His mouth molded perfectly to yours, causing you to sigh with relief at the gentle caress. You felt heat pooling in your stomach, and you were glad for sitting down because your weak knees would surely buckle under you in different circumstances. The intensity of the kiss gradually grew until it became so heated that you had to grab a fistful of Joel’s hair on the nape of his neck for support.

At one point, Joel pried your lips away, searching your eyes with concern. You worried that he was having second thoughts, but the longer he looked at you, the more his own irises darkened with lust and insatiable hunger, making your face burn like it was on fire. His clear want and the knowledge that you were the cause of it made you feel powerful, but somehow at the same time completely naked under his gaze.

Without any warning, he dived back in, his wide palm enveloping one side of your face while he tangled the other hand in your hair. He tugged on it, probably a little rougher than he intended, eliciting a needy moan from your chest. You instantly felt embarrassed about your response, but when you tried to pull away, Joel practically growled, not letting you turn away.

“S’alright, baby,” he rasped, trailing hot kisses down your neck, making your breath hitch in your throat. “Keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me.”

You felt dizzy. Like he could make you melt from the tone of his voice alone.

Having his lips on yours felt better than you have ever imagined, and so perfect that you never wanted this moment to end. But one thought kept nagging at you, making it harder and harder to focus, and finally after some time Joel softly drew away. He sent you a soft, almost shy smile.

“What is it, sweetheart? Not havin’ second thoughts, I hope?”

It hit you in that moment that it wasn’t the first time he looked at you with so much warmth and affection in his eyes. You just never noticed before that he always looked at you this way.

“No, no,” you hurried to reassure him. “Just something… Something I wanted to do for a while.”

He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Somethin’ other than kissin’ your handsome neighbor?”

You clicked your tongue at his unexpected cockiness.

“Not exactly.” Your answer only made him more intrigued, and you grinned. “Indulge me and take a step back.”

Joel squinted suspiciously, but eventually humored you. You bit your lip, feeling giddy at finally having a chance to do something you thought about every time this infuriatingly handsome man was in your house.

His eyes followed the tip of your tongue when it ran across your bottom lip… and you took this moment to hook your thumbs on his tool belt and yank him forward.

Your lips connected again, though it was far from perfect – your teeth clashed together and your noses collided, causing you both to yelp in small pain and discomfort, but you didn’t let go of him. Your joy from this silliness lasted only a couple of seconds, though, because before long Joel started to laugh uncontrollably.

You huffed and tried to kiss him again, but he withdrew out of your reach, wrapping his arms around your waist with a big, goofy smile.

“Get back here.”

“What the hell was that, sweetheart?”

His eyes crinkled in amusement and you felt a bit foolish from what you just did. You turned your gaze down, but Joel lifted your chin with his fingertip, and you couldn’t help but smile, too, when you saw how happy he looked.

“It looked more romantic in my head,” you murmured with an awkward chuckle. “I actually wanted to do it the first time I saw you with that belt on.”

“S’that so?” Joel asked and kissed you briefly again, this time with a hint of hunger he was keeping at bay until now. “You like seein’ me in it?”

“I really, really do,” you whispered, hiding your face in his chest. “I don’t know why, but it look so fucking hot on you…”

“My dirty baby,” Joel purred into your hair. The bright grin on his face only grew when he heard you groaning in embarrassment. “Gimme a kiss.”

You didn’t move, not wanting to face him, so Joel opted to nuzzle the sensitive skin of your neck with his nose. “You’re adorable, y’know that? Don’t get all shy on me now, babygirl.”

A deep sigh escaped your chest and the tension in your shoulders lessened. Joel smirked into the crook of your neck, still planting soft kisses on your skin. His lower back was starting to ache from the position, but there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.

And then all the discomfort in his body was put in the shade when you moaned quietly, pressing yourself against him more and wrapping your arms around Joel’s neck.

“Do you wanna get back to my room?” you asked after a while, and Joel hummed into your skin, now littered with love bites his lips and teeth left in their wake.

“You want me to fix that shelf of yours?” he teased back, making you snort.

“Just wanna cuddle with you. If that’s okay.” You nuzzled into his neck, and added quietly. “I can still feel his touch on me. And I only wanna feel you.”

Though Joel would be more than okay with that, by the sounds you were making and the look you were giving him, he doubted that’s all you’ll be doing. Still, his back hurt like hell and he almost let out a relieved groan at the thought of laying down.

“If you want me, baby. If you want me, then I’m all yours.”

Not a week has passed, and Joel had to get his toolbox out again – this time to fix your broken bed.

Though now he knew exactly what caused the damage.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #joel miller fluff #i played with perspective a bit in this one as you can probably tell #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

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the-witchhunter · 2 months

Text

I’ve had an interesting thought swimming around my head that I swear I’ve been meaning to write

You know what would be an interesting combination of characters?

Jazz and Harvey Dent/TwoFace

Specifically a Dent just getting back on his feet, released from Arkham and trying to learn how to exist in the world with his condition

I’m thinking a reveal gone wrong, Danny has disappeared to ancients know where, so Jazz cuts ties and Stays with her Uncle Dent, or maybe her bio dad if that’s more your game. Just an soaking wet and miserable Jazz showing up at his crappy apartment saying she’s his daughter or niece and him resisting the urge to flip a coin because he has enough on his plate as is, only to let her in telling her they’ll talk about it in the morning and point her to the shower so she can clean up and dry off

Why do I think this would be an interesting combo?

Jazz’s interest in psychology. A lot of times, as a fandom we depict her as an expert, and in a future timeline where she went to school and has been practicing psychology maybe, but default Jazz? She’s not an expert

Jazz wants to be a brain surgeon, psychology is an interest of hers but her understanding is very limited. She quotes Freud and Jung and has some amount of academic knowledge of the field, but she clearly doesn’t understand that psychoanalyzing friends and family and offering unwanted psychiatric advice is actually rude and something she shouldn’t do. She lacks understanding of actual therapy and is clumsy in applying her knowledge to people she knows

And I find putting her in proximity of someone with DID and probably PTSD would really be an eye opening experience for her

Because Dent might humor her, TwoFace will call her out. They both have hung around Harley to know enough to tell her, “maybe don’t take Freud so seriously” because man does everything go back to sex with Freud, and maybe quoting a guy that says she wants to boink her dad is not as strong of a point as she thinks it is

And the thing is, Harvey would likely still be receiving therapy as an outpatient, potentially taking meds to help deal with his conditions, likely a mood stabilizer or anxiety med to manage PTSD symptoms, so she’s front seat of him learning to live as a regular person in Gotham with his condition. She’s gonna see his good days, his bad days, the side effects of his medication, and it’s going to change her idea of what psychology is. It’s not just quoting things at people, it’s not just saying “this is good for people” but she’d see what it being put into practice would look like

Maybe that’ll push her away from the subject. Maybe it’ll make her more inclined to study, to learn not just about it as an abstract but how to actually apply it to help people. Learning about actual therapy practices. Maybe living first hand with mental illness would be the push to switch from neurosurgery to clinical psychology in her future plans

Also I just think that Dent would be empathetic and do what he could to help her, meanwhile TwoFace would help her cut loose a little, get a little chaotic and have some fun

You can’t tell me there’s not something fun about her and “Uncle Two-y” having a night on the town that only results in a little property damage. Relax Harv, they didn’t do anything too illegal, because they didn’t get caught or nothing

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #writing #writing prompt #jazz fenton #two face #harvey dent #I spend a lot of time thinking about Harvey dent and two face #and how his DID affects his character #because it’s beyond there being a good side and a bad side #two face is a lot of Harvey’s anger and ‘base impulses’#Freud would call him the Id while Harvey is the ego #base impulses and the arbitrator between impulses and the rules society creates #the judge would likely be the superego if this version has him #all rules

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tumbleweed-run · 7 months

Text

Heart Beat

(18+, Explicit) kinktober 2023 Day 13 Heart Beat Bloodweave (background mentions of themxtav)

Gale’s heartbeat had been off-putting at first. Astarion had quickly been able to relegate everyone else’s heart sounds to background noise, except Gale’s. Gale’s heartbeat had been irregular to such a degree that even the constant irregularity hadn’t become regular. It sped up at the oddest times, skipped beats frequently, and when the wizard was at his least stable Astarion had actually become a little concerned he could hear the bomb’s slow detonation. Deep in the night while the others slept, Astarion could only hear the wizard’s.

In an act of self-preservation, Astarion worked hard to try and distance himself.

Even after the tottering wizard had stabilized the orb, it simply wasn’t normal.

It had been jarring when he first arrived in Waterdeep, the absence of chaos in the wizard’s chest. The wizard’s heartbeat had returned to a normal human tone, often syncing annoyingly with Tav’s. And maybe Astarion had spent more than one early morning watching Gale sleep, listening to see if there was any remaining tick. That was for no one to know but him.

Part of Astarion hated how attuned he’d become to Gale’s heartbeat, and through it now his moods. Months ago if he’d imagined which of their bizarre crew he might have allowed himself to be sweet on, well, he would have laughed at his own foolishness. Then he would have chosen Tav.

He was half right.

It was a strange comradery with Gale, one where they still spent the majority of their time arguing. But, admittedly, without the impending death from all sides, the wizard was… likable. Astarion had never been blind and had always acknowledged Gale’s attractiveness but he’d also done that with Wyll and Halsin and Shadowheart… As much as he’d wanted to strangle each and every one of them at times, at least no one could say they were an ugly group. Even the githyanki had her appeal.

He’d just never imagined Gale being someone he’d willingly kind of live with.

This is why when he noticed Gale’s heart rate kicking in a way that normally he’d only associated with Tav he was a bit less than personable when he spat out, “She’s not here you know.”

Gale looked at him utterly confused, eyebrows drawn together.

He didn’t know why the wizard was confused. Tav was… somewhere. Once she’d announced she was leaving for the day Astarion had lost interest. He couldn’t move about in the sun any longer so anything beyond these walls while the sun was out was lost to him. He’d never seen Waterdeep by day and that rubbed him the wrong way. It was best not to think about.

“You’re thinking about her,” Astarion provided once it was apparent Gale was never going to understand on his own.

“I wasn’t, actually,” Gale asserted with a shake of his head.

Astarion huffed, amused that the wizard was trying to lie to him. “Your heart rate jumps when you see or think of her,” he explained, “which it did just now.”

Gale’s head cocked to the side, he looked remarkably like Scratch waiting for someone to throw the ball. “My heart rate?”

“Yes, darling, your heart rate.”

“You can hear it?” Gale questioned, eyes going bright with interest. He leaned forward where he was sitting and his hands folded on his lap. Astarion immediately knew this look was one of academic interest. Mentally, he kicked himself as he realized he unwittingly trapped himself into one of Gale’s ‘curiosities.’

“I hear a lot of things, I’m a vampire remember?” he sounded more irritable than he really was, hoping to deter Gale’s line of questioning with a sour mood.

Gale would not be deterred. “Well, yes but very few vampires have assisted in the books written on them. I had assumed enhanced hearing didn’t go that far. Do you hear other bodily sounds as well?”

“What a disgusting way to phrase that,” Astarion said, “and well, yes, I guess I can. But the heart is more important so it’s something I focus on.”

“Yes,” Gale mused his eyes darting toward his desk as if he were considering jumping up to record these details, “being related to the blood I imagine you would.”

Astarion realized he either needed to distract the wizard, leave, or resign himself to hours of torturous and invasive questions. He didn’t really want to leave, there wasn’t much in the rest of the tower but the questions were also something he wanted to avoid. So a distraction it was.

“What were you thinking about Tav?” Astarion asked quickly as Gale opened his mouth to no doubt ask another series of questions. “I assume it was something filthy,” he drawled.

Gale’s mouth shut. Astarion waited as a myriad of thoughts ran about the wizard’s face. “I wasn’t,” Gale settled on, his tone unusually neutral.

Astarion smirked, wondering what dirty thoughts had been going through the other man’s brain, especially given how hard he was working to cover up that he’d actually had them. He turned and stalked towards Gale, pleased to have been finally given something to torture him about.

Then he heard it. The kick of Gale’s heart once again.

Astarion froze as a realization washed over him.

It hadn’t been about Tav. It had been about him.

Oh, dear.

The way Gale’s eyes widened, he knew that he’d been caught. Curious was putting too mildly a point to Astarion’s feelings. He desperately needed to know exactly what the wizard was thinking.

“So,” he asked as he resumed stalking toward Gale, “if it wasn’t about Tav, what were you thinking?”

Gale clearly knew that Astarion had realized it had something to do with him, but he was sure the wizard would lie. Which is why it came as a surprise when Gale didn’t.

“That you look… nice,” Gale admitted.

Astarion smirked finally coming to a stop in front of Gale. “Darling,” he purred, “you don’t sound like that over nice.” He couldn’t stop himself from reaching forward to thread his fingers through the wizard’s hair, leaning over him just slightly.

A flush rose on Gale’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat but did not answer.

“What,” Astarion gave a little tug to Gale’s hair and his lips dropped open appealingly, “were you thinking about?”

Gale swallowed. “You know I find you attractive,” he was still evading the question.

Another tug, less gentle this time, forcing Gale’s head back so that his neck was arched enticingly. “Yes but what had your heart pumping like that? I don’t think all that blood was going to that giant brain of yours.” He glanced down and proved his point. Gale was hard against the front of his trousers.

Gale’s eyes had gone glassy with Astarion’s manhandling which was certainly a revelation.

“I want to suck your cock,” the words left Gale as if he hadn’t meant to say them. The look on his face confirmed that he hadn’t.

Astarion froze once again.

This was crossing a line that they hadn’t crossed before. Well, it was more like violently catapulting over it. Everything they’d done leading up to this moment had been in front of Tav. This would just be them alone. It removed all sense of security they’d wrapped themselves up in.

Gale was quickly beginning to look worried, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shut up,” Astarion growled.

Gale did.

Astarion glanced down at his hand and realized. Realized that he’d crossed the line several minutes ago, the exact moment he’d threaded his hand through Gale’s hair. The wizard of course would let him back out graciously, more than graciously if Astarion never mentioned that he’d actually announced he wanted to suck his cock. It was with trepidation that Astarion realized he didn’t want to back out.

The silence was weighing heavily on Gale, his eyes had begun darting around nervously. No doubt he would have fled from the room if Astarion’s hand hadn’t been keeping him in place.

“On your knees,” Astarion ordered after letting it go on just a bit longer.

Gale moved surprisingly quickly to his knees for someone who often lamented how they hurt. Despite this, once he was there, Gale just waited eyes locked onto the bulge in Astarion’s pants.

“Fuck,” Astarion hissed when he realized what the wizard was waiting for.

This wasn’t just Gale being overly cautious about Astarion’s sometimes panic attacks from certain situations. This was waiting for an order. This was submission.

In the rare moment he’d considered fucking Gale alone he’d assumed they’d both fight for dominance. He’d been almost certain of it after he’d seen how the wizard was with Tav in bed. He’d thought that at best they’d reach and understanding, at worst he’d have to be the one to submit.

Suddenly, the urge to wreck Gale’s composure was all-consuming.

“Take out my cock if you want it so badly,” Astarion growled through clenched teeth.

Gale's hands were quick to follow that order, Astarion didn’t miss the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Once again, as soon as he’d completed his task, he waited.

This was intoxicating.

Gripping his cock with his free hand, Astarion brought it to Gale’s mouth. Teasingly, he brushed the tip across his lips yanking, Gale apparently couldn’t resist darting his tongue out for it. Astarion yanked harshly on the hand still embedded in the wizard’s hair, jerking his head back again. The noise that spilled from Gale was more a moan than anything, and his heart rate enticingly sped up with arousal.

“Open,” Astarion ordered, tapping his cock off the wizard’s lips once he regained his balance.

Gale’s mouth fell open, but he did nothing else.

Astarion took the time to engrain this image in his brain, unsure if he’d be treated to this ever again. “Suck,” he said after some time.

Gale drew Astarion’s cock into his mouth, only deterred when his lips met the vampire’s hand. He let go, arm falling loosely at his side. Surprisingly the wizard managed to swallow most of him down before retreating.

At first, it was just as Astarion had expected: eager but skillless. Then Gale grew bolder, licking and sucking with a skill that Astarion recognized as not simply an inborn skill. Sure, the wizard spent a lot of time with his head buried between Tav’s thighs, but men were different. Cocks were different, and apparently, his wasn’t the first in the wizard’s mouth.

He desperately needed to know, having always assumed the wizard as some kind of sexually repressed prude in his youth. Too wrapped up in magic, in Mystra, to have given his body to others.

“And how many cocks have been down your throat?” Astarion asked, fingers tightening in Gale’s hair.

Gale glared up at him. Astarion found he welcomed that defiant spark, the one that fueled almost all of their conversations. But instead of arguing Gale did something devastating with the tip of his tongue against Astarion’s slit.

“Fuck,” Astarion hissed. He yanked on Gale’s hair, pulling him further onto his cock. He hadn’t meant to and was about to actually apologize when he felt the wizard swallow in an effort to relax his throat. Astarion’s eyes went wide, but instead of taking the invitation, he yanked Gale off of him.

“I might like it rough, but I do try not to cause lasting harm,” he warned.

“You wont,” Gale promised sounding very sure of himself.

Astarion studied the wizard’s face for any sign of reservation. He didn’t find any.

“I am going to find every man who’s fucked your throat and write him a thank you note,” Astarion promised.

Gale’s smile was wicked. “You’ll be writing a long time.” Then he greedily pulled Astarion’s cock back into his mouth before the vampire could even think to demand that he explain.

Gale swallowed him down, working his jaw and throat until his nose bumped against Astarion. Astarion let him do this a few times before tightening his grasp on Gale’s hair, a warning.

In response Gale very deliberately wrapped his hand around Astarion’s calf, digging two of his fingers into the muscle. Astarion realized this as the same motion he’d demonstrated to Tav not very long ago.

There was no perception in which Astarion was considered green or inexperienced, yet Gale was leaving him upended. All this new knowledge was seriously affecting the image of the wizard he had created. It was leaving him dizzy and far more aroused than it should have.

Astarion thrust into Gale’s mouth with no further warning, only stopping when he felt the ridges of the other man’s throat. Gale groaned, his other hand moving to hold onto Astarion’s leg for support. There was a soft scrape of teeth when he pulled back, and while Astarion could have ordered him to open wider or even jabbed his thumb into the wizard’s jaw, he relished in the feeling instead. Fucking into his pliant mouth again and again.

Astarion wanted to come like this, to spill down the wizard’s throat. He intended to, but while he was an asshole, he wasn’t cruel.

“I’m not returning the favor,” Astarion warned, “touch yourself.”

He lightened up on his thrusts, doing so shallowly allowing the wizard’s tongue to massage him instead. Gale took this reprieve to pull his cock out and begin fisting it. Seeing it, Astarion almost regretted his proclamation, at some point he did intend to torture the wizard.

“Suck,” Astarion ordered, hand falling to the back of Gale’s head.

Gale did as he was told, sucking even as he had begun fucking into his own hand. He was moaning, the vibrations doing horribly wonderful things to Astarion. His eyes slid shut against his will.

His head was filled with the slick sound of Gale’s hand on his own cocked, the wet moans around his, and the pounding of the wizard’s heart. It’s what betrayed Gale’s orgasm to Astarion. He opened his eyes to watch as the wizard spilled over his own clothing and hand.

Astarion pulled Gale’s head against him as the man went pliant. His jaw relaxed totally, allowing the vampire to fuck his throat once more. Astarion didn’t last much longer, the knowledge of whose throat he was fucking pushing him over the edge faster than just the sensation.

“Shit,” he cursed as he began spilling down Gale’s throat. He gagged now, pulling himself back enough so that Astarion finished in his mouth. Once he’d finished, Gale pulled himself back and held eye contact with Astarion as he very deliberately swallowed.

They remained like that for some time until the wizard groaned and pushed himself up onto the sofa.

“Perhaps some warning next time,” Gale complained.

Astarion didn’t even bother responding, too focused on the words ‘next time.’

#bloodweave #astarion x gale #kinktober 2023 #kinktober 2023 heartbeat #mmm bloodweave #bloodweave x tav #in the background #this goes in the 'all this is connect' file

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munson-blurbs · 10 months

Text

Inspired by a drawing by the absurdly talented @dr-aculaaa 💚 thank you for allowing Steve’s chest hair to live rent-free in my mind.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), sub!Steve, dom!fem!Reader, pet name (“Miss”), praise & degradation, chest riding, brief handjob

WC: 909

Everyone assumes the man formerly known as King Steve is also the king in bed. And he used to be, until you came along and showed him just how fun being submissive can be.

You’re laying in his bed—king-size, of course—legs on either side of his torso. He’s had a long day at work, and you’re great at helping him relax.

“Poor thing,” you coo, leaning over and pressing soft kisses along his jawline. “Need me to take care of you?”

Strong hands grip the back of your thighs as he whimpers a barely audible, “mhm.” You’d normally make him use his words like a good boy, but you decide to cut him a little slack tonight.

“Clothes off.” Steve does as you say, wasting no time as he yanks off his jeans and boxers, cock springing free. It might be his only body part that isn’t exhausted; just the opposite, actually. A bead of pre-cum pearls at the red, angry tip, and it takes all of your willpower not to get on your knees and lick it clean straight away.

He starts to lay back down, erection in hand as he slowly bucks his hips into his fist.

“Shirt, too, Stevie,” you tut disapprovingly. “C’mon, you know how much I love that chest of yours.”

Reluctantly, Steve lets go of his achingly hard cock and lets you tug his shirt over his head. You toss it to the ground haphazardly, climbing back on top of him. Your body is a bit higher on his now, and when you lower yourself onto him, your pussy makes direct contact with his chest hair.

Steve realizes it faster than you expect him to. “You’re not—are you not wearing anything under this?” he incredulously asks, giving the fabric of your bunched up skirt a small flick. The sight of your bare sex has his eyes rolling back, a wanting groan drifting from his throat. “S’pretty,” he finally manages.

“You think I’m pretty?” Of course he does; to him, you’re the most beautiful person in the goddamn world. But you’re not really looking for an answer. No, your favorite pastime is asking him simple questions during sex and watching him struggle to respond.

Right now, for example, you’re rubbing yourself against the soft brunette tendrils between his pecs as you say, “What makes you think I’m pretty, Stevie?” Your voice drips with feigned innocence, as though you’re not using his body to get yourself off.

His fingertips squeeze the plush of your ass, firm enough to stabilize your movements without anchoring you. “Eyes,” he mumbles, cock twitching when he feels his chest hair become wet with your slick. “Y’got pretty eyes, baby. An’ your lips…”

“What about my lips?” When he fails to answer—as you knew he eventually would—you heave an impatient sigh. “If you’re not gonna tell me why I’m pretty, I’ll just have to give you a reason to be quiet.” With that, you wrap your fingers around his neck. The slight pressure has him reaching for his dick, but you use your free hand to slap him away.

“Did you ask me?” you snap, scoffing when he only shakes his head. “And now we’ve forgotten how to use any words, huh? I haven’t even touched your cock yet and you’ve already gone dumb?”

“N-No. No, I did-didn’t ask you,” Steve stammers, voice low with lust and from your grip on his throat. “‘M sorry, s-so sorry, Miss.”

And there it is. He’s slipped into subspace just from being choked and watching you ride his chest. Fucking pathetic.

You grind against him faster, reveling in the way the hair feels against your clit. “I was gonna be so nice tonight, Stevie. Was gonna suck that beautiful cock of yours. Maybe even let you eat me out while I did it. But now,” you pout, “I’m just gonna use you to cum, and if I’m in a better mood after, I might let you cum, too.”

“Yes, Miss,” he whines, saliva pooling at the left corner of his lips. “I’ll take whatever you give me. I’ll be a good boy for you now, I promise.”

You dutifully ignore him, focusing on your own needs. You lean on him a bit more, a delicious friction building between your core and the hair now matted to his chest. All he wants is to grab onto your breasts that currently hover over his face, but he knows better than to push his luck right now. Not when he’s already gotten himself into trouble.

Your non-dominant hand digs into his shoulder as you bring yourself to orgasm, your sweet release sticky on his body. Steve is shaking, trembling, and you choose to take pity on him.

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you now,” you grin, watching as he gasps for air, relief flowing through his veins.

He’s writhing the moment you take hold of his dick. You’ve barely touched it, but the small, staggered movements within your grasp are too much for overstimulated King Steve. Thick, hot ropes of cum shoot from his cock and trickle down your knuckles.

“Shit, y’just—too much—had to cum.” He’s babbling, not making any sense. “Couldn’t stop—”

You quiet his blathering with a kiss to his lips, hand remaining on his softening length. “Get some rest, Stevie,” you murmur, noticing his heavy-lidded eyes already beginning to flutter closed. “Maybe you can be a better boy for me in the morning.”

—

#steve stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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awkward-tension-art · 1 month

Note

OMG HI, it's my first time making a request ever. So I just finished watching the first episode of Fallout and couldn't stop imagining a one-shot of Leon x reader being the couple getting married (but in this case, no one gets murder). Basically, just fluff and smut inspired from the line where the girl goes "are you're sperm good?" or smth like that.

PLS I'LL DIE IF YOU MAKE IT

Dawg, I’m gonna be honest, I had to find a reaction video on youtube so if I’m missing details, I'm sorry! But you kinda inspired a whole idea of Resident Evil Fallout AU lmaooo. I pictured RE2 Leon for this

I didn’t go smut just because I wasn’t in the mood, but I hope this is OK!

Also, SPOILERS (i guess?) and MINORS GO AWAY

So, lets just say the raiders didn't invade the vault and an actual blight had taken out half of vault 32

So both you and Leon went through the process of the selection. He was…a little less willing. I see Leon as a rather…intimate guy, so getting poked and prodded for a wife he didn’t choose was…not his favorite.

You, on the other hand, were doing what you were taught. You handled the whole process easily enough. You got your wedding dress, got dolled up, and were escorted to vault 32.

The doors were open and the two of you were revealed to one another.

He was handsome, in a boyish sort of way. But he was shy. Very shy. Leon wasn’t even meeting your eye.

He, however, thought you were beautiful.

I personally headcanon Leon as not really seeing himself as a looker. I mean, he wouldn’t consider himself ugly, but he doesn’t really consider himself attractive either.

So…you can imagine when he saw you, his heart pretty much jumped out his throat.

“Hi.” you smiled at him so sweetly, introducing yourself, “Your name?”

“Leon.” he cleared his throat

You could hear someone behind you whisper, “lucky…”

The wedding proceeded that same night. To you, this was doing a duty. While you didn’t know Leon, you had hope that you both would find love in eachother. Meanwhile, your husband-to-be was still nervous. He even looked terrified to a degree. He kept his face down.

You were the one who initiated the kiss when the preacher said “you may now kiss the bride!”

Luckily during dinner you managed to chat a bit. You found out Leon was trying to become vault security. He didn’t have parents after losing them years ago during the chaos of the blight. And he likes dogs.

That was all well and good, but finally you asked the important question, “What's your sperm count?”

Leon choked on his drink. Immediately he was flustered, “I…um…”

“You know it's important we have kids. For the genetic stability of the vaults. Didn’t your vault doctor tell you this?” You pressed.

“I…yea..she did…” Leon was clearly knocked off his feet, “Just…wanted to get to know you a bit more…”

“Oh.” You had to remind yourself that he was leaving his vault. His friends and home were being taken from him to come to your vault. He was in over his head and the least you could do was be understanding.

Once the wedding was over, you took his hand and led him to your new living quarters. Leon was uncomfortable, anxious and very much not sure what to do. He listened and nodded along to what you were saying.

However, once everything was said and done, “Are…you ok?” You asked, seeing how closed off he was.

“Yea…just…overwhelmed is all.” He responded, not meeting your eye, “can…we…take things slow?”

You couldn’t help but smile, “yea, i’d like that.”

#reader insert #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #fluff #my writing #re2 leon #fallout au

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cherrysoulth · 1 year

Text

AIRPLANE

💕Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

✏️Genre/au: Canon, Smut, Idol x Idol AU

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 2849

⚠️chapter warnings: Explicit smut, daddy kink, dom behaviour

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Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

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It wasn’t very often that you would intentionally piss him off and besides his passive-aggressive attitude when something bothered him, his jaw-clenching was a difficult thing to see.

Either way, it was something that turned you on. Every time you would see him do that, even though it wasn’t something related to good, something inside of you awakened. Like a sinful pleasure. Like the extra piece of your favourite cake that you take because you deserve it but the little devil in you tells you that you’re gonna regret it later. Still, you love it.

So this time, you took pleasure in pushing his nerves a little bit while working. You were sitting at the table in front of each other, reading the questions from ARMY when you caressed his leg, using the advantage of being across from him, behind the camera eye. He looked at you over his papers, showing with his dragon eyes and how absolutely not in the mood he was for games. Later today,after the set of the Run special, the boys have to take a flight to New Orleans for the first episode of another Bon Voyage and he is always especially tense before a flight. For that, he snapped more easily.

You gave him an unbothered look, as if you had only done it unintentionally, although he went back to read, he wasn’t buying it. Then when he seemed to relax, you did it again, starting from his toe to the inside of his knee between his legs, and he closed them, without looking. You weren’t staring at him either as you read, but you noticed his hand on your ankle, gripping it and you flick your eyes up only to notice his warning look from the same position and how his jaw clenched.

Deciding to not bust your boyfriend's balls to a point of settling on a possible argument, you decided to leave him alone at that point. But as soon as you got onto the plane, the veto was over.

You walk through the plane observing the members take their seats before you reach yours. Namjoon’s eyes are on your every move as he sits diagonally from you, in a seat opposite to the direction yours is facing. By the way he looks at you, the awareness that you are in a closed space with nowhere to run to, enlightens your mind and you realise you have played with fire without an extinguisher by you. Only your flesh and bones to go through the flames.

When the flying vehicle reaches stability in the sky you find the moment to escape to the service area, anything to get away from the insistent glare of your boyfriend who has no intention to back off on the game you have started. He follows you there and stares at you in silence as he turns on the kettle and heats water for tea, you guess. The hostess offers to help with the food service but you both excuse her politely and keep going with the motions. You make yourself a cappuccino and rest against the edge of the counter; he takes his chance to enclose you in that position and he looks through the cabinets for something without even looking inside. His eyes keep on you as he invades your personal space further and you just give the glare back taking the mug to your mouth. ‘If this is going to be our fifteen hour trip, I’m screwed.’ you think, finally taking your eyes away from him in surrender, but not before you see him arch and eyebrow and also rest at the opposite counter. ‘Oh god… this is going to be a long flight.’

Some time later, mostly everyone is sleeping in their seats. Namjoon isn’t sleeping, trying to avoid the jet lag by staying awake, with a book in his hand as he sits cosy in his place. You look at him with endearment, his focus completely in the characters written in the pocket size version of a book, with a slay frown. A smile draws on your lips before you put down the notebook you were using to write down lyrics, or at least the outline of what can be good rhymes for the song you are preparing in the studio. You close it and put the pen on top of it. You hope Namjoon doesn’t get to see the secrecy in them until the whole album is out, but it’s practically impossible that he doesn’t, at least, get a hint of them when your group is buzzing over the beat and flow that the recording has.

Invested in your thoughts, you make use of the door next to yours and Sohyung’s seats to reach the ensuite bathroom inside the room. Taehyung and Jimin sleep in the bed tangled to each other cutely with dimmed lights that allow you to close the door and reach the bathroom, seeing your path comfortably.

After relieving yourself, you take time cleaning your hands and your face, using a bamboo disposable toothbrush to wash your teeth with the thought of taking a small nap. However, as soon as you open the door, you are face to face with a tall figure that pushes you inside the three piece space before you can even process who he is and locks the door behind himself.

“Namjoon– You scared me!” you whisper loudly, thoughtful to not interrupt the rest of the sleeping men at the other side of the thin walls.

He has you caged against the sink between his bulky arms and lowers his upper body to get at your eye level, dragon eyes on you like you are prey. That stare that he reserves only for you.

“Joon-ah are you okay?” you ask feigning innocence, playing along. “Do you need to use the bathroom?” But his stare doesn’t minimise its intensity.

“You think you're funny, right?” he asks with that natural deep voice of his. “Playing your little games while we are working knowing that I can't do anything about it.” Finally the rabbit is out of the hole and running free inside the room.

“Maybe?” you reply, playful, with a smirk. Never retreating your eyes from his.

“Yeah,” he chuckles and your skin raises in goosebumps when he closes his mouth and clenches his jaw again. “Do you think you're going to get away with it?”

Your smirk grows wider showing your pearly whites and you nod, raising your brows slightly, daring. His response has your eyes lowering to his lips where his tongue plays at the centre of them, moisturising the surface in another annoyed gesture.

“Hm.”

That’s all he says before he slowly leans with his pelvis against yours, hard on in full bust in between the fabrics of your sweatpants and he leans for a kiss to which you surrender. But as soon as his lips are about to touch yours and you move your arms up to his shoulders, he pulls fully away and moves to unlock the door. Your first instinct responds by grabbing one of the baggy sleeves of his hoodie, to prevent him from opening the door, and he turns around.

“Hm?” He arches an eyebrow, inquisitive.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper without letting go of the soft fabric.

“Hm? What?” The way he lowers his chin and curves his neck forward, makes you understand he heard you just fine but he wants you to repeat it.

“I’m sorry, babe,” you tell him, lowering your chin and making big pleading eyes for him.

“Babe?” he snorts and shakes his head raising his brows. You detect he’s about to turn around and leave by the way his body sways back.

“Daddy…” you whisper, changing your expresion to unbothered, only your eyes hinting your intentions.

He seems automatically paralysed from head to toe , looking at you with slightly bulged eyes. It’s the first time you call him that and he surely wasn’t expecting it when he mocked the nickname. He expected you to pull him again and pout for a bit until you got your way, but this wasn’t at all what he thought. In your case, you weren’t expecting his next move.

Without a word he’s all over you, mouth demanding yours to move against it, hands pulling your body, your clothes until you are against the wall of the open shower. His lower body is so hard against yours that you think he’ll mould you into another form. His tongue intrudes in such intensity, brushing your tongue in circles and finding your palate to make it deeper, that you moan slightly over the torturous muscle. His throat vibrates with a chuckle but he doesn’t stop or slow down until your hands crease the hoodie at the sides from all the grabbing, trying to get a hold of yourself from the dizzying experience.

He parts his lips staying an inch from your mouth, his breathing as unsteady as yours while his hands are tightly gripping at your waist. The idea of possible bruises in the area are the least of your problems when he turns you around and presses his shaft between your cheeks, pressing your front against the wall. He kisses your head and groans, thoughtful, or that’s what you can tell. He’s evaluating the risks, if it’s worth getting caught joining the mile club to get a tingle off.

It would be embarrassing to you too and you know that since he’s the one who has begun the move, he has in mind how it might affect you too. But you want it, you want him to push it in you and be accountable for this transgression. At least once, do something that goes against what anyone would expect from you. Not even yourselves. You move your hips, bringing your hands to his and just like that condemn any conscience he was making use of.

It’s memorable how quick his hand is in between your panties and skin. His index and middle finger are quick to find the moisture his actions have created in between your folds and he grunts, moving his hips against your cheeks again. He uses his now wet fingers to draw circles on your clit just as quickly and you close your eyes, trying to keep quiet while also allowing the pleasure to build. But the moment you feel his shaft trace the curve again you move one hand from his hip to the waistband.

He seems to read your intentions because his fingers stop for a second as he separates his lower body from you and you reach underneath his boxers to his shaft. The moisture in it, from the precum, draws a smile of pride on your face and you rub your thumb over the tip to massage the sensitive area. You hear his breath falter, making you chuckle.

You feel his hand leave your pelvic area and attempt to look at him in wonder before he uses both hands to pull down your undergarments. He’s just as quick with his own and when you see him take you by the wrist to put your hand away, you simply let him take control.

His head finds your folds and intrudes in between them slowly, aware that the delicacy of the situation might show in your body like an opposition, even moist. The hand that was previously exploring you returns to its duty in means to ease the intrusion and do damage control if he slips out. The other hand is his hook point to hold your body steady at the waist.

His slide fills you up, bare against your walls, gripping him like a vice, you can almost tell his form through the wetness and he doesn’t stop until his tip kisses your cervix, making you close your hands into fists over the grey surface of fake tiles. There’s no pain to it, however, he doesn’t push it further. He just pecks it, owning the whole space inside you where he fits so well.

He allows his chest to press against your shoulder blades and kisses your head again. “You feel so good…” he mutters in that almost unintelligible deepness his voice can reach.

“You too, babe,” you respond, mindlessly.

He twitches and says something again but this time you don’t understand it, or don’t really have the time to figure out the words because he pulls out to the middle and bangs in. The arm on your waist snakes up to cover your mouth with that big hand and muffle the gasp you let out when he hits bottom.

“Daddy.” he demands against your ear, letting the voice be raspy against his vocal cords.

He doesn’t move, only eases the pressure of his girth in you, awaiting for an answer. You nod obediently, having never experienced this side of him. His mouth retires from your face and he starts to thrust in you. He’s slow with measure, pacing at the same speed he is letting his fingers work and you rest your forehead on the wall. “Oh daddy…” you mutter unintentionally sultry, out of desire.

His hips snap against you and your eyes bulge when he suddenly speeds up. His hand snakes up again and he uses his forearm as his only hold of you as he tries to keep himself as silent as possible too, but grumbling behind you.. His efforts with your bud and the speed finally catch up with you and you clench around him, reaching for his hair as you hold your breath repeatedly to not scream. The thrusts don’t stop there, and he takes you in his arms by the thighs without pulling out, letting your feet set on the floor as you reach the sink and pushing your upper body over the counter. His hand returns to muffle you while the other holds you by the hips and he snaps inside you over and over until you are a whiny mess underneath him.

“Hold on a little bit more, baby. There goes another one…” he mutters and your eyes bulge again with the forth orgasm, prickling tears in your eyes. The hand at your hips has long abandoned your soft flesh for the wetness of your button where he doesn’t desist with his ministrations. This time, though, you’ve had enough of it and try to pull away from him, get him off or out by struggling, but the wet hand lands at your back and presses you in place. He snaps his hips with yours again and doesn’t move, still hard like iron inside of you. “What was that?” he asks, pulling his hand away from your mouth. It’s humid from your breath, the whole bathroom could be, if it wasn’t for the ventilation.

“Please, I can’t–with another one…” you mutter breathlessly.

He leans over putting his mouth in your ear as your head is tilted. “Will you behave then? Will you stop playing games when I can’t respond?” he inquires, nibbling on the earlobe and you almost groan.

“I will.”

“Good girl,” he replies as he stands straight. “Now try to be quiet.”

He takes hold of your waist to push in you and you use your own hands to cover up the unavoidable little sounds that his relentless pace makes you do. He is merciless and your overstimulation covers up the growing sensation inside of you. His hips snap one last time and he reduces the pace as he starts emptying himself inside, biting his lower lip so hard, as you see it in the mirror, that you are worried he’ll burst it. It’s then, when he pushes deep inside your core and he hits the end that the ditch of pleasure spills. You squirm underneath him. It’s not as strong as the other’s but with how spent you are, it’s lethal, and it makes you dizzy.

“Are you ok?” he says, pulling out and making you stand, turning you around in his arms. You nod but you lean against him as you try to regain your breath. “I’m sorry, baby… Did I go too hard on you?” His hands rest on your arms as he searches your stare with his eyes.

“I’ll be okay,” you say and a little chuckle escapes with the statement. His arms surround you as you meet his eyes and he presses you against his body, soothingly rubbing a hand at your back. You let your head fall over his chest, listening to his heart as it starts calming down but then realise where you are and move away. “We should clean ourselves.”

As soon as you walk out of the bathroom, you see Jimin in bed with his phone. Taehyung is still in deep sleep with a leg over him but Jimin is very awake. He looks at you and as he’s putting his phone away he chuckles while covering his mouth. When Namjoon comes out of the bathroom Jimin just starts laughing and turns his face shyly .

“Oh shut up,” you and Namjoon say in unison.

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

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~

Thank you @moonleeai for the beta work 💕💜

#bts smut #bts au fic #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #namjoon #namjoon x oc #Brat tamer Namjoon

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c-c-cherry · 1 year

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your fic made me insane. i’m an icu nurse and often work with patients in a similar boat to how you’ve depicted reigen— stabilized after having coded, but still pretty damn sick. i’m itching to write a drabble/mini-comic from the perspective of the nurses assigned to reigen; would you be okay with that?

Hello! Thank you for reading into this fic’s suspension of disbelief as I shamelessly harness the “undoubtably medical inaccuracies” tag, and thank you for working such a difficult but necessary job. I would be MORE than okay with that. I’d love to see it, so please send it my way if/when it’s created >:)

Also — if you’re in the mood and ever comfortable coming off anon and would like to talk recovery-related things that you think would be not often known/written about for Reigen’s case, I’d love to hear what you have to say in dms as someone with experience!

#area hysteria #anon ask #hysteria-verse is spreading??#I love to see it #mp100

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bebepac · 1 year

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The Galentine’s Day Queens

First off thank you @peonierose for sending me a Valentine’s Day pic, that got this idea rolling. I was planning to write on one of the gaggle of series I should be trying to finish but up popped this little one shot. This really wouldn’t have happened if you haven’t sent that ask to me, so thank you. :)

It crosses TRR x Open Heart as it features Casey Valentine as a friend to Riley Brooks the TRR Character.

I used the quote from @choicesflashfics prompt 2: I thought that if I acted like it didn’t matter, than it wouldn’t.” which will appear in bold.

This also can be a submission for @choices-february2023 prompt for Day 13 Galentine’s Day.

The Book: TRR x Open Heart Pairings: None: All characters are single Word Count: 997 Warnings and Ratings: None: minus the curse words in the mood board. LOL Summary: Daniel takes Riley and their friends on a special night on the town as Galentines.

Original Post: 02/13/23 at 3:01PM EST.

“I thought that if I acted like it didn’t matter that it wouldn’t.”

“Of course it matters, Von left. He left the both of us high and dry. Well not exactly dry, we’ve been covering his portion of the rent for months.”

“I didn’t think he’d really leave, or was serious, I mean just going to California without a plan? He has no money, no job, no place to live?”

“I know.”

“I need more stability in my life than what he attempted to provide, if you can even call it that. Things weren’t great between us for quite some time.”

“It’s true.”

Riley wiped away the tears from her eyes and took a long sip from her drink.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying right now.”

“It’s because it’s the end of your romantic relationship with him. But it’s also the beginning of whatever else is out there for you, and something great is out there for you. Hell for all of us. But we won’t find it sitting inside this apartment, eating chips and queso all night.”

Riley leaned in and rested her weight on Daniel; he always had a way of making her feel better.

“Get dressed.”

“What? I thought we were staying in tonight?”

“Um what? Not on Galentine’s Day, we’ve got reservations. Put on something nice, and I’m talking top shelf nice. The girls are meeting us there.”

“Who all is going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

Riley pulled out the outfit in the back of her closet that she had found at a small shop that because of a small tear in the fabric, they were selling at a steal. She had decided to fix it, and it was clearly a smart idea. A dress that would have cost thousands, she got for a hundred, and now she was wearing it looking like a million dollars.

It’s a pity, she didn’t meet Him that night. But we all know a woman that “looks like a million dollars” wasn't the thing that would get His attention. He was looking for more.

“Is it too much Daniel?”

Daniel himself was wearing a very nice fitted suit.

“Wow, you look handsome!”

“And you’re beautiful, and we look perfect for where we’re going tonight. Our rideshare will be here in ten.”

On the ride over he watched Riley. For the first time in a few weeks after Von had left, she looked excited.

“Just so you know, I’ve been saving for this night for a while. I’ve put in the reservations almost six months ago. You’re not paying a dime. We won’t let you. It’s something special for you, because of the person you are and you’re always looking out and caring for everyone else, but yourself.”

“Daniel….”

“It’s true.”

“This already sounds like too much.”

“Think of it as a belated birthday, friendsgiving, and just because, all combined into one.”

They pulled to a stop, stepping out of the vehicle she gasped, slapping Daniel on the arm, causing him to feign pain but he laughed out loud.

“We’re eating at the Manhatta!!!”

“Hell yes we are!” Mia screamed, giving Riley a hug.

“You know we’re going to totally have to act like we’re part of the upper crust for the evening right?” Casey chuckled.

“Whilst getting out of our rideshare that the hubcaps don’t even match.”

“Hey now, at least we all had ‘drivers’ for the evening.” Riley joined in the joking around.

“Exactly, now ladies shall we go?”

Linked arm in arm they walked inside.

Daniel, as if he wasn’t already a gentleman, started by pulling out all the chairs for the ladies in his company.

Once menus and first wine samples were passed out, Casey glanced around the restaurant. It was quite the scene, couples as far as the eye could see, and then them.

“I feel like people keep looking at us.”

“Do you blame them? Whereas most of these men here only have one beautiful woman to gaze upon, I have three lovely ladies here for my optical delight. Girl, they’re just jealous, and trying to figure us out what’s going on over here. But you know, as the saying goes, there are three places you can stay for free?”

“In your own lane!” Riley giggled.

“Over there,” Mia chimed in.

“And out of my business.” Casey finished up.

“Okayyyyy!!!!”

Dinner was the most amazing appetizers and dishes they had ever tasted, and everyone cleaned their plates.

Before dessert was delivered, four boxes were given to Daniel to which he smiled and glanced around the table at his friends.

He gently clinked his glass, to silence the others at the table.

“We had all decided months ago that we would come out tonight and celebrate our wonderful friend Riley, who is always there for us, and is always willing to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on if we need it, or a swift kick in the pants and give us tough love. We all know you’ve been a little down lately, and want you to know we’re here for you and appreciate you, for all that you are and who you are as a person. You can take this however you want to take this because in every sense of the words, it is true. You will find what you’re looking for, but more importantly, it will be more than just that, it will be exactly what you need.”

Riley’s eyes glistened with tears.

“Thank you, Daniel.”

“We all will. It’s what we deserve.” Riley pulled her friends into a group hug.

“But until then….” Daniel placed a box in front of each person at the table. “We’re The Galentine’s Day Queens. Put on your crowns.”

Each person put on their crown.

“I don’t know about you ladies, but I feel like dancing the night away.”

That’s exactly what The Galentine’s Day Queens did.

Daniel was also right about his declaration as six months later, Riley ran into Liam Rys, ACTUALLY, on the streets of New York City, and her life was forever changed.

#bebepac writes #galentine's #galentine's day #choices fic writers creations #choices flashfics #choicesfebruary2023 #choices fanfiction #trr x open heart #trr riley brooks #trr daniel #trr mia #casey valentine #open heart #you will always be my riley

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rogerzsteven · 1 year

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Astrological Placements of the 118:

Before I begin, these are my headcanons and while you are free to disagree, don’t rain on my parade pls and thank you. Also I’m not an expert and don't have every placement for each character, I just find astrology interesting and if anyone wants to add their thoughts on these then go for it!

Buck

Cancer Sun: Our sun signs is our egos, so when I say cancer sun, I’m talking about his persona. He’s sensitive, emotional, loving, in touch with his emotions, he is a feeler more than a thinker, he is overly protective of the ones he sees as family and I think cancer sun suits him very well. Also, Oliver is cancer sun, too, so that’s not really a reach (Also hello his head/heart tattoo).

Aries Moon: Our moon sign is how we process our feelings, like which sign we feel our emotions. Aries is a fire sign and can be hot blooded, passionate, driven and fiery. When you think of Buck, his mood go from 0 to 100 within seconds. Most of the time, he acts on his emotions and thinks later. He is impulsive and his feelings run high. That screams aries moon to me.

Leo Rising: Our rising sign is how people see us when they first meet us and their first expression on us. Leos are there. Your eyes just can’t ignore them. They are flirty, they are loud, they get your attention without even trying. They look sure of themselves. That’s Buck for you.

Leo Venus: I mean come on. Praise kink. Over the top gifts. Venus is how we show our love, our aesthetic so to speak. Remember that hot air balloon Buck got for Abby? Dinners in expensive restaurants? That expensive coffee machine for Eddie? He loves to pamper his lovers and wants to be pampered in return. Satisfying his lovers is so important for him because it also means he is good at what he’s doing, which boosts his ego.

Eddie

Virgo Sun: His petty ass is just screams virgo. He is sarcastic, organized, ACT OF SERVICE, calm, disciplined. That man is a virgo.

Virgo Moon: Emotional constipation. He tries to rationalize his feelings instead of actually feeling them. He feels deep, but doesn't show it and sometimes he doesn't even let himself feel. But he cares so fucking much. Also, having a routine definitely makes them feel better.

Scorpio Rising: Tell me this man isn't gorgeous. He is magnetic, he is sexy, he is mysterious, from the moment you see him you want to know everything about him, he is captivating. He has this vibe to him that leaves you interested.

Capricorn Venus: One word. Stability. He won't open up to you unless he sees you in his future (Hello, Ana). I also headcanon Eddie as demisexual so that may play some part in this, but he isn't the one to fool around just for the sake of it, he wants someone to settle with in the long term and if that person doesn't check every box, then it means nothing. Oh also, he is bossy so...

Bobby

Taurus Sun: He is just so fatherly, so warm, a good leader and a very good cook, Bobby exudes comfort and security, when I think of Bobby I think of a taurus.

Air/Earth Moon: I can't say for sure, but he is either an air moon or an earth moon. He knows when to switch off his feelings and do what needs to be done. He goes after what he wants and is protective as fuck.

Cancer Venus: I think he is very sensual, family oriented, playful, committed. He will make you feel loved in everyway, he will listen to your troubles and share your feelings even if he can't do much more.

Hen

Aquarius Sun: Her whole personality is about resistance to me. She is cool, unique, funny, idealistic, rebellious. That's Hen for you.

Libra Rising: The way she carries herself is so elegant. Libra's ruler is venus and venus is about beauty, aesthetics, and Hen just knows how to do it. The way she dresses, the way she talks. Always on point.

Gemini Venus: Geminis needs mental stimulation. Her wife is an astrophysicist 😃 she wants someone she can talk to about anything and who she can be free with, or she's out.

Chimney

Sagitarrius Sun: Literal light of the room. He is so positive, so lighthearted, so carefree, so fun to be around and so intellectual. I just know Chimney knows so much about philosophy and stuff like that.

Scorpio Moon: Hesitant and suspicious at first but once you earn his trust he is passionate and doesn't go down without a fight. He feels intense, he is sensual, he is a lover.

Fire Venus: Chimney is a freak in bed. I know he is. And, he is in it to win it.

Bonus

Athena: Capricorn Sun, Gemini Moon, Virgo Venus (she is kinky af)

Maddie: Pisces Sun, Fire Moon, Earth Venus

#911 fox #astrology #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bobby nash #hen wilson #chimney han #maddie buckley #athena grant

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lilaeleaf · 1 year

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I love your art so much! Do you have any of your brushes for sale, or any tutorials, especially on colour?

Hi!! Thank you so much! 💕

Honestly, my go-to brushes are all procreate brushes with slight adjustments (like stabilization, etc.) my personal preference is brushes that kind of mimic graphite pencils. The best thing you can do is find a brush that suits you & get very comfortable using it! Specific brushes won’t necessarily improve your work, it’s all about practice! (But yes, a nice brush does help!)

I do have a video on my favourite brushes:

I’ve never really made any tutorials, but I’m happy to try and relay what I know and what I’ve learned so far!

Colours are a big part of illustration! I could probably ramble on for hours, honestly—in any case, it’s always helpful to know fundamentals of colour theory. Once you learn and apply it, it becomes intuitive! I’m gonna stick to RGB colours because CMYK is it’s own thing (printing!)

There’s a handful of basic terms like hue (pure colours), shade (adding black to a colour), tint (adding white to a colour), tone (adding gray to a colour) and also opacity (transparency) that help us understand and define the complexity of colours.

My colour choices are more often than not a gut feeling—but that does come from practice! There’s loads of colour palettes available online like this one, but if you wanna come up with your own, there’s some neat ways to do that using a colour wheel! Colours can broken down into primary, secondary and tertiary colours. We can also categorize them as warm or cold. With this we can make colour schemes!

Some basic schemes!

Complimentary: two colours, opposites on the colour wheel

Analogous: three colours side-by-side

Triadic: three colours that form a triangle, evenly spaced

Monochromatic: using one colour (using different shades)

(Bonus) Monochromatic with accent colour : using one colour as a foundation and having an accent colour (similar to analogous, but one colour is used for a majority of the piece while the accent colour is used sparingly)

It’s also important to keep in mind that values (a colour’s range from dark to light) will look different on different colours. Sometimes, you’ll put two colours together and think “huh, something about this feels off” and it turns out, the colours just happen to be very close in value and melt together. Switching your piece to grayscale just to check on your values every so often can help with contrast and muddiness! A light tone on a darker tone will look brighter than it really is. Colours can also influence each other and trick your eyes.

Environment is also a big part of choosing your colours for a piece. Determining what the setting is important! A sunset will make a drawing warmer, while a scene set in the night will usually have colder tones. Using only local colours (true colours, like green grass or blue sky) vs non-local colours (atmospheric perspective, accent colors that give depth, etc) can help enhance your drawing too. Don't be afraid of artistic interpretation!

Also, there’s always the option to use gradient maps (at least on procreate & photoshop but I’m sure it’s available in csp and other programs) where you draw in grayscale & apply a gradient map. The gradient map basically applies a color to every value (e.g all the shadows become blue and the highlights become orange) it can look really nice (and help out if colours just aren’t working that day yk)

Another thing, when I’m drawing (and this is specific to me!) I tend to start with pretty desaturated colours. Once my illustration is done, I’ll duplicate & merge my layers to do colour edits. Most programs give you the option to play with curves or colour balance—menus that allow you to play around with the hue of the shadows, midtones and highlights. I tend to make my shadows more cyan-blue, my midtones a little warmer and my highlights warmer as well. Of course, this depends on the mood of the piece, whether it’s warm or cold, lighter or darker, etc!

You can always make adjustment layers on top of your work; a low opacity yellow, magenta or blue (or anything your heart desires) overlay to tie all the colours together.

I hope this helps a bit!! Happy to answer more questions to the best of my knowledge :^)

#askleaf #anon ask #art tutorial #color theory #digital art #illustration #brushes #long post #artandstuff

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marauderundercover · 3 months

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i didn't choose this town (you're on your own kid, ch. 1)

Look. He didn’t ask to be stuck in some scummy city in New Jersey of all places. If it was up to him, he’d still be in his mom’s apartment in New York, in the only home he’d ever known. But that was over. And he could never go back. Smelly Gabe would never let him back, not now that his mom was gone. And he definitely wasn’t gonna go back into foster care. Both of the houses he’d been in since getting to Gotham had been pretty bad. Like cigarette burns on his clothes and no dinner during the weekend bad. But that was fine. Percy was a New Yorker, and more importantly, he was a Jackson. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. Besides, it was New Jersey. He wasn’t going to let it best him.

---

Percy glares at the dog sized rat in front of him.

“Look, man, back off. This is my food.” He says, frowning at the animal. It hisses at him. Honest to god, the rat hisses at him. Percy jumps back, holding the sandwich higher up. Can rats jump that high? He glances at the fire escape ladder, noting how far off the ground it was. Sticking the sandwich in his mouth, he sprints over to it and jumps, just barely pulling himself up before the rat leaps and bites at where his ankles had been moments before. Grinning, Percy takes the sandwich out of his mouth and nods down at the rat. “Later, asshole!” He calls before scurrying up the ladder and flopping onto the roof. Letting out a huff, he stands and saunters over to the opposite edge and sits.

Letting his legs dangle off the roof, Percy takes a small bite of his sandwich as he glances out over the city. It was no New York, but it was his home now. He’d probably never make it back to New York, not until he was old enough to live by himself. Too many people would ask questions in New York, if they saw him wandering the streets. No one in Gotham cared though. Made it easy enough to do what he wants. Also made it a little lonely, but Percy was getting used to it. Just as he’s shoving the last bit of his sandwich in his mouth, there’s a big thud behind him. He whirls around, gripping onto the ledge for stability. He wasn’t really in the mood to fall off a roof. Tilting his head at the man, he turns around completely and plants his legs back onto the roof. All else failed, he’d make a run for the fire escape.

“This your roof or something?” He asks, trying to sound tougher than he felt. The man was…intimidating. He was way taller than Percy, with a red helmet and visible weapons and Percy felt uneasy. A staticy snort escapes the man, making Percy’s hand twitch.

“You’re in Crime Alley, kid. All of these roofs are mine.” He says, his stance loose.

“Crime Alley? Who named it that?” Percy asks, frowning. It seemed like a way to just invite trouble. The man’s head tilts to the side, and Percy has the feeling that the man is studying him for some reason. And whatever he’s trying to find, he doesn’t.

“You’re not from around here, are you kid?” Percy stays quiet. “You visiting Gotham with your parents or something?” The man adds, and Percy grits his teeth. He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t risk getting pulled back into the Gotham Foster System. Not again.

“Y’know, I’m really not supposed to be talking to strangers. So, uh, thanks for letting me know that this is your roof, but I’ll just be headed out now.” He says, starting to move in a big arc around the man, towards the fire escape. The man clears his throat, or that’s what Percy thinks he does, and Percy pauses.

“Look, I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything. But if you are new and you are sticking around, you gotta know that this area isn’t safe at night. Try and hole up somewhere if you can.” He says. Percy nods. Obviously this place wasn’t safe. Between the rat from earlier and the dodgy guys he’d avoided trying to get the sandwich, he knew that. But he guessed it was pretty nice of the guy to tell him.

“Totally. Uh, thanks Mr…” Percy raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Red Hood.”

---

Percy shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. He really needed to find a coat. Or even a heavier jacket. He’d been running around Gotham (mostly Crime Alley) for a little over a month. Honestly, he was pretty proud of himself. Gabe had always said that Percy was a wimp, but he’d been surviving on his own in one of the most dangerous cities in the US. He didn’t really wanna see the man ever again, but he also kinda wanted to rub it in his face. Well, if he could find a way to keep warm that is. He’d been living in an abandoned fire station, but he still didn’t have enough blankets or anything to get through actual winter. He’d probably have to try and pickpocket some more. He didn’t really like doing it, but he was small and people tended to not notice him. And he never tried anything with the people in Crime Alley. He knew better than that.

“Little cold to be hanging on rooftops.” Red Hood says, his boots thudding with every step as he walks towards Percy. He’d discovered early on that the man could be silent when he walked. But after Percy had almost fallen off a roof twice, the man had taken to making noise when he saw him. Percy shrugs.

“Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” He says. The man tosses something at him and Percy reacts immediately, snatching it out of the air before frowning. “What’s this?” He asks. The man shrugs.

“Just a hoodie and some more socks.” Hood says.

“You said-”

“I agreed not to give you food, kid. Never made any promises about clothes.” Hood says, and Percy can practically hear the smirk in the man’s voice. Percy’s stomach churns uncomfortably. It’s not that he didn’t want to accept the hoodie. He did. But he also hated the idea of owing someone anything. Nothing in the world was free, no matter what anyone told you. Percy’s grip on the plastic bag tightens as he tries to figure out a way to decline the clothes that won’t seem too ungrateful. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t go out and buy them.” Hood says.

“What?” Percy asks, the mental image of Hood grabbing someone’s clothes off a laundry line popping into his head for some reason.

“The socks were a donation I picked up from one of the shelters I check in at.”

“Oh.” Percy says, some of the weight of debt lifting off his shoulders. Hood nods.

“Yeah, and the uh, the hoodie is a hand me down. Hope you don’t mind.” He adds. Percy’s eyes widen.

“It’s yours?” He asks, the worry shooting through him once again. Hood shakes his head.

“No, not anymore. There’s no way it’d fit me now. But it’s getting colder, and you need something. It was that or throw it out.” Hood says. Percy falters again for a moment before tugging the hoodie out of the bag. It was thicker than he’d expected, and the faded Wonder Woman symbol on the front made him smile a bit. He’d used to be a big fan of heroes. Back before his mom died. Pushing down the wave of grief, he lets his resolve falter and tugs the hoodie on, making sure to keep the hood on to warm his ears. It helps immediately, and he glances over at Red Hood, relieved for the first time that he couldn’t see the man’s face. He’d definitely caved way too quick, but it saved him from another cold night, so it was mostly worth it.

“Thank you.” Percy says, pulling the ends of the sleeves up so that his hands would poke out. Hood nods.

“‘Course. You know how to find me if you need anything, right?” He asks, and Percy nods. He’d learned pretty quickly after their first meeting that Red Hood cared about keeping kids safe. ‘Specially kids like Percy who were on their own. “Good. Look after yourself, okay kid?”

“Always do.” Percy says cheerily, saluting the man before turning and scurrying down the fire escape. Time to head home.

---

Percy was screwed. He’d managed to make himself comfortable in the City of Crime, and had let his guard slip. And now he was gonna pay for that mistake. Somehow, he hadn’t managed to see any major bad guy attacks in the almost three months he’d been in Gotham. He should’ve known that couldn’t last. Darting into the first warehouse he sees, Percy runs to a corner and tries to calm his frantic heartbeat. His vision already looked weird on the sides, and he really wished he would’ve found a mask or something sooner like Red Hood had told him ages ago. But he hadn’t, and some dude with a freaking sack on his head had sprayed some crap in his face.

“Well, look at what we have here. Genius boy came crawling back.” Gabe grunts, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Percy’s eyes widen and he tries to scramble back even more.

“I, no. I didn’t- how did you-”

“Can’t even talk right, can you? Must be why your mom left you with me.” Gabe taunts, pointing his cigarette at Percy. He could feel the phantom pains of the burns on his arm, as well as the not so phantom tears rolling down his face.

“My mom didn’t wanna leave me.” He says, his voice shaking. His mom didn’t choose to die, she never would have left him. Right? Gabe snorts.

“Yeah, sure, kid. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He says, and Percy can’t help the flinch as the man steps closer to him. He’d never liked Gabe. Ever. But he’d never told his mom that, never thought there’d be a day where he was left alone with the man. And now-

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Percy says, his voice sounding much stronger than he felt. Gabe smirks.

“You don’t have a choice, brain boy. You’re stuck with me. I’m all the family you’ve got.” The man steps forward so that he’s toe to toe with Percy, and the stench immediately invades his senses. Before he can protest, Gabe’s hand shoots out and grabs Percy’s wrist. He immediately pulls back, trying desperately to tug himself away. He didn’t want to go back with Gabe. He couldn’t go back there. Not without his mom.

“Please, no! Let me go! I don’t wanna go, please!” Percy pleads, his breathing getting faster as he tries to get free. A sharp pain in his neck makes him gasp before the world around him goes black.

---

A constant beeping wakes Percy up, and he immediately begins to panic. The walls were a sterile white, and he recognized the universal layout of a hospital room. He couldn’t be here. He really couldn’t be here. His eyes dart around the room, trying to take in everything he might need to know before trying to make a break for it. He frowns at the man slumped in a chair across the room. He didn’t look like the usual DFC worker. The guy was in regular jeans and a sweatshirt, his dark hair much messier than the usual business-like people that Percy had talked to back when his mom first died. But if he wasn’t part of DFC, then who was he? Before he can even attempt to get himself out of the bed, a woman in scrubs walks in, smiling softly at him.

“Look who’s up! How’re you feeling sweetheart?” She asks quietly. It didn’t really matter though, because the second she started talking the guy on the chair jumped up and started blinking rapidly. The nurse raises an eyebrow. “Alright there, Mr. Grayson?” She adds. The man nods, rolling his shoulders before dropping back down into the chair, giving Percy a small smile. Percy’s eyebrows furrow as he turns back to the nurse.

“Sorry, why am I here?” He asks, frowning.

“You were dosed with fear toxin. Nightwing administered the antidote, then passed you off to Mr. Grayson.” She explains. Percy raises an eyebrow. Nightwing, the vigilante, passed him off to some random guy?

“I’m a police officer in Blüdhaven.” The man in the chair speaks up. “I’ve worked with the bats a few times, so it’s not like Nightwing was just passing you off to the first person he saw.” Percy nods slowly.

“Right.” He says. The nurse finishes checking his vitals before giving him another smile.

“I know you must be missing your parents terribly. Do you know their numbers? We could try and call them for you.” She offers, and Percy feels the color drain from his face. This was not good. He was definitely going to end up back in the system. Or worse. With Gabe.

“They uh, don’t have cellphones and our voicemail is usually full. It’d probably be better to call later.” Percy blurts out, trying to ignore the way Mr. Grayson was intently staring at him. The nurse frowns.

“Are you sure, honey? I’m sure they’re worried sick-”

“They both work really weird shifts, so uh, they probably didn’t realize I was even out. But we can definitely call them later.” Percy says. The nurse’s frown doesn’t fade, but she eventually nods before walking out of the room. Percy lets his shoulders slump as he lets out a breath. One worried adult down, one to go.

“Are you afraid of how your parents are going to react?” Mr. Grayson asks, his voice softer than it had been earlier. Percy blinks at the man.

“Huh?” He says, intelligently.

“Your parents, bud. Are you- are you afraid of what they’re going to do when they find out what happened?” Mr. Grayson asks, a concerned look on his face and-oh. Oh. Percy shakes his head rapidly.

“No, they really are just hard to get a hold of.” Percy says. Mr. Grayson opens his mouth, probably to question him more, but Percy cuts him off. “Could you- do you know if I’m allowed to have food? I’m kinda hungry.” He says. It was the only thing he could think of that would get the man to actually leave the room. The man’s face softens immediately.

“I can go ask for you. Anything specific sound good?” He asks. Percy swallows, feeling a little bad for the disappearing act he’s about to pull.

“A burger?” He asks, and the man smiles.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He promises before leaving the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Percy swings his legs off the bed, trying hard to push down the nausea swirling in his stomach. He’d lucked out that they didn’t have him plugged into anything besides an IV. It hurt, but it wasn’t a big deal to pull that out himself. Glancing around the room, he spots his shoes and his Wonder Woman hoodie that Red Hood gave him. Slipping both on, he takes a deep breath before stepping towards the door. Hopefully, they didn’t have much on him. He really didn’t need people actually looking for him. Cracking the door open, Percy glances out of his room. He could see Mr. Grayson at the desk right across from his room talking to the nurses, and to the right, a door with a huge exit sign above it. Shaking out his hands, Percy takes one moment to ground himself before he moves silently towards the door. He’d gotten good at sneaking around, since he’d been living in Crime Alley. It was easier that way. Fewer ways to get hurt. Miraculously, he manages to slip out of the door and into a lobby without Mr. Grayson or his nurse spotting him.

“Young man, watch where you’re going.” An older nurse huffs as Percy almost runs into her. His cheeks flush red.

“Sorry.” He mutters, continuing past her and out the doors at the other end of the lobby. He takes in a deep breath of the (not so fresh) Gotham air, his shoulders finally relaxing. But he didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t. Not until he made it back to the safety of Crime Alley, the place he’d definitely started to think of as home.

---

That night, Percy climbs onto the roof of the abandoned fire station and stares at the sky. He was sure there were stars up there. He’d heard about them in school all the time, but he’d never lived anywhere where he could actually see them. He wasn’t sure if he’d like them, if he was being honest. So used to the lights of cities and the noise that came with it, he wasn’t exactly eager to ever go somewhere without all of that. A thud brings him out of his thoughts, but he doesn’t turn to look.

“Hey, Hood.” He says, tucking his knees close to his chest. He was definitely in for a lecture from the guy.

“You okay, kid?” Hood asks instead of launching into the lecture that Percy had expected. Hmm. But maybe that was expecting too much. After all, Hood had a million street kids he looked out for. He didn’t have the time to know what happened to each of them, or care enough to lecture them for making dumb choices.

“Yep.” Percy says simply. Hood hums, the noise coming out more static than anything. Percy glances at him and raises an eyebrow.

“So you didn’t get dosed with fear toxin yesterday?” Hood asks, and Percy’s eyes widen. He did know.

“Who told you that?” Percy asks, before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway, I’m fine.” Hood snorts, dropping onto the roof beside him and dropping a bag of fast food between them.

“Sure you are.” He says, before tugging his helmet off. Percy inhales sharply and turns before he sees the man’s face.

“Dude, what-”

“I still have a mask on, kid.” Hood chuckles, and Percy blinks at the lack of static in the man’s voice. Slowly, he turns and relaxes at the domino still in place on the man’s face.

“Scared the shit outta me.” Percy grumbles.

“Language.” Hood says, then frowns. “Ignore me. Can’t believe I said that.” Percy snorts, then glances at the bag of food between them. “Go ahead, kid. I’ve got enough burgers and fries for the both of us. Guy at Batburger gave me extra for saving his cat last week.” Hood adds. Percy frowns, but tentatively reaches for the food. He didn’t have the energy to try and scrounge for food today, not after everything that happened yesterday with the fear toxin crap.

“Thanks, Hood.” Percy says quietly before taking a huge bite of the burger. It was still warm.

“No problem, kid.” Hood says. And Percy glances at him, decides to trust the guy just a little more.

“Percy. My name’s Percy.”

---

Enjoying this fic? Head over to AO3. I'll add updates here as I remember.

#percy jackon and the olympians #batman #crossover #jason todd #dick grayson #percy jackson #kid percy jackson #ao3 #red hood is a worried mother hen but tries not to let it show #smelly gabe sucks but what's new #percy doesn't know he's a demigod #this will obviously cause problems #hurt/comfort #sally jackson is dead oops #i'm sorry sally

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handspunyarns · 6 months

Text

You Were Marked: Day Fifteen point Five

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 9.3K

chapter summary: Din makes a declaration, Grogu gives Marathel a new name, Din, Boba, and Cobb get drunk, and Marathel remembers something.

warnings:  fluff of Air Supply proportions, angst of Evenscence proportions, mention of blood and injury, alcohol use, drunken misbehavior, sexual innuendo and language, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Despite his desire to fly as if the hounds of hell were at his heels, Din dropped out of hyperspace three-and-one-third hours after hearing about Marathel. He had asked Cobb to send regular reports, which he had. The Modifier had brought a supply of synth-blood which stabilized Marathel to some degree. Cobb sent the holo he had taken of Marathel taking her awkward first steps in real shoes, which amused both Din and Grogu, lightening the mood briefly. “Silly Mahr, huh, kid?” Din asked Grogu, who chattered at the image, ending with the words Pree Mahr again. Cobb also sent a still holo of a smiling Marathel feeding a sheep, which made Din wonder where they were at the time Marathel’s health went south. What happened? he wondered. Did she encounter something infectious, like that sheep, that her fragile system couldn’t handle? Did the treatment just wear off?

Is there any hope for her?

Din tried to push that thought away to remain focused on entering Tatooine’s atmosphere properly and getting to the palace without incident. The last two messages Cobb had sent were disconcerting: the Modifier’s contacts were demanding cash — not that that was surprising — and Marathel had taken to quietly singing in a language that the protocol droids could not fully translate other than the words long sleep, rest, and be still.

Din hoped that the Ossum Aurodium coins would suffice for cash. It was for Marathel, to help her, so Din assumed it would be proper to offer it as payment from her bounty. Din was more concerned about Marathel’s singing. She was obviously singing the only song, but a part that Din believed was some sort of last rites based on the translatable words. He found it curious that the protocol droid could place some of her language, but not all of it. He supposed that neither here nor there right now.

The Razor Crest entered the palace landing tunnel; this time, Din’s approach was at a properly controlled speed, and he carefully landed on the far side of the small ship that stood ready to leave as soon as possible. Cobb stood watching the Crest, face full of worry, still wearing his blood-stained clothes. Silnima and another palace worker were scrubbing away what Din assumed were pools of blood from the brick walkway at the edge of the tunnel. As soon as the ramp was down, Din shoved the two crates of synth-blood down to a waiting Modifier.

Carrying Grogu on his arm, Din rushed down the ramp, asking, “Is she still …?”

“Barely,” said the Modifier. “We should have left hours ago.”

Din took off at a run to the other ship. Before he could get there, Cobb grabbed his arms, forcing him to stop. “Not now, Cobb!”

“Stop. Stop! You must know … he’s taking her to Imps, Din! To Imps!”

Din said in a low voice, enunciating every syllable, “I would take her to the Emperor himself if he would help her.”

Cobb gave Din a shake. “Do you not get it, man? You can’t take her! You can’t go with her!” Din stared at Cobb uncomprehendingly for a long moment, then he dropped his head. Cobb moved his hands to Din’s shoulders, listening to Din’s raspy breathing through his modulator. “I’m sorry, Din. But you know can’t go with her, not if she’s going even anywhere near Imps. You must protect Grogu. You know that.”

Din shifted his gaze to Grogu. “I know. Damn it, I know,” his voice sounding strangled in his helmet’s modulator. He pushed off Cobb’s hands and resumed his run to the Modifier’s ship.

He rushed up the ship’s ramp, shouting, “Marathel!” Hearing Fennec shout back to him, he went in that direction, turning a corner into a small medi-room. Marathel lay on a cot, looking about as bad as he’d ever seen her: pale, blood tracks down her cheeks, trembling. Boba was holding her hand, Fennec at her head, a medi-droid administering some sort of injection.

Upon seeing Din and Grogu, Marathel raised her head with a look of relief, and then, confusion. She pulled off her oxygen mask, crying, “Din … I ...”

“Out. Everyone out!” snapped Din. Boba and Fennec left immediately, and Din had to refrain from grabbing the droid and flinging it out of the room. Fortunately, the droid left directly after Boba and Fennec. Once gone, Din shut the door and flipped off the lights, plunging the room into darkness.

“Din … what … what are you …?” Marathel asked weakly. Din, still holding Grogu, went straight to her side, removing his helmet with one hand, dropping it on her lap. He placed his hand on her jaw and kissed her, hard and furtive, with desperation, Marathel mewling in her throat as she felt his lips pressing firmly on hers and what she assumed to be a mustache on his upper lip. Grogu squirmed loose, bawling “Ma Mahr, Ma Mahr, Ma Mahr!” as he climbed up her chest and put his little hands on her face. Marathel felt a warmth emanate in her cheek from Grogu’s touch, and she knew he was trying to heal her in any way he could. She raised her hand and found Din’s face in the darkness, feeling sparse facial hair and a soft warm cheek. His lips left hers, and she felt his forehead pressing against her hair. “Please, Din … I have to say …”

“I love you, Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa,” growled Din, his voice hoarse and breaking. “Nothing else matters! I love you! Now go!” he said fiercely. Marathel felt the helmet leave her lap, then Grogu’s hands leaving her face, and the door opened, spilling light into the room as Din — helmeted again, a howling Grogu in his arms — rushed out, shouting, “GO! GO NOW!”

Grogu began screaming “MA MAHR! MA MAHR!” at the top of his lungs. On his way out of the ship, Din saw Fennec — who was apparently going with Marathel on this journey — and tried to give her the bag of Aurodium coins for payment. She quickly parceled out some of the coins and gave the bag back to Din, pushing him and the howling Grogu to the ramp. By the time Din was running down the raising ramp, Grogu was shrieking, “MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!” They all watched the Modifer’s ship lift and leave the tunnel. Grogu continued to shriek, and Din could feel the very air molecules electrify around the boy as grains of sand began to lift from the ground, along with all the speeders — and to Din’s amazement, even the Razor Crest began rocking — as the boy screamed “MAMA!” over and over.

Silnima hurried over, saying, “The child needs help now, come with me.” Din nodded, glad to have to focus on Grogu instead of his dread that Marathel may well die. Cobb followed, miserable as could be, wanting to help somehow. Silnima led them all back to Marathel’s room, and she turned on a gentle fall of warm water in the fresher, tossing in fragrant melting tablets, instructing Din to take Grogu in there, to sit under the soft falling water to calm him. Cobb wrenched the cloth bag of coins still clutched in Din’s fingers, and helped Din remove his armor and boots. Din undressed Grogu and stepped under the shower, breathing in the soothing herbal scent of the fizzing tablets. Silnima said she would go get a calming tea for Grogu — for all of them.

“How long should we stay under, Silnima?” asked Din, weary from emotion.

“Until he’s quieted down.”

Din looked at her. Grogu was still wailing, whimpering Mama every few sobs. “That will waste a lot of water.”

Silnima, red-eyed and exhausted, drew herself up and announced, “I am Headwoman of this palace and in charge of water use. Stay in there until Grogu has settled.”

After Silnima left, Cobb stammered, “Din … I …”

“Later,” said Din as he carefully sat down on the floor of the fresher, rubbing Grogu’s back, water quietly pinging off Din’s helmet. Cobb found several towels and set them out before leaving, closing the outer door behind him.

Din sighed, and then removed his helmet. It hardly seemed right or necessary to wear it around Grogu anymore. Removing his helmet made him notice the herbal aroma of the scented tablets, putting him in the mind of Marathel’s bed on Unmanarall. He held Grogu close to him and sang the Mando’a lullaby a few times before simply humming the melody of Marathel’s only song, which seemed to calm Grogu. Then Din went quiet — his own throat too thick with tears to continue humming —comforting the boy only through touch, stroking his ears, kissing his fuzzy head, holding their foreheads together. After a while, the water was growing cold, and Grogu’s sobs had reduced to whimpers and occasional hiccups. Din reached up and turned off the water, grabbed one of the towels, and wrapped up Grogu so he wouldn’t get a chill. They remained sitting in the fresher for a while longer until Din felt chilled himself. Whether he was emotionally or physically chilled he couldn’t say, but he pushed himself up and grabbed the other towel to dry off the little boy. Grogu stared at him with those huge eyes of his, breathing little hitching breaths, reminding Din of the enormous emotionally crazed pod race they’d been running for the past fifteen days that started with landing on a distant planet to find a woman who threw rocks at him. Fifteen days? Seems like a kriffing lifetime. All he could say to Grogu was, “I know, buddy. I know.” And he did.

There was a tapping at the door to the room. Silnima opened it slightly and called out, “May I come in?”

Din replaced his helmet and left the fresher room, carrying Grogu in the towels. This kid’s spent more time naked than dressed in the past few days. Lucky him. “Come in.”

Silnima entered, carrying an earthenware pot in one hand and mugs in the other. She looked at Grogu. “It looks like the scented tablets helped?”

Din nodded. “Why are we in Marathel’s room?”

Silnima put down the mugs and poured the tea, and then pulled a flask from her pocket and put a tiny dollop of amber liquid in one cup, and a much healthier dollop in the other. “So Grogu will feel closer to her. I thought you two should sleep in here tonight.” She pointed a stern finger at Din’s visor. “Don’t mix up the cups. I don’t need a drunken miniature Jedi on my hands.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Din with a tiny smile, somewhat glad that the headwoman no longer felt he was simply an irritation to Marathel.

Silnima sighed deeply. “I’d give you the flask, but I might want it later. That poor woman of yours …” She scrubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Never met anyone like her. She is … fragile as spun dune glass and tough as durasteel. Only ever wants to please, like a sweet little child.” Silnima looked lost in thought for a moment, then looked back up at Din. “Oh, Marshal Vanth is outside the door. He seems to think you won’t want him in here.”

Din dropped his head, muttering, “For the love of Frith.” Din went to the door and poked his head out, seeing Cobb leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking at the floor. He was freshly showered himself and in a clean shirt, comb trails through his wet hair. In his arms he had clean sets of Din’s and Grogu’s clothes. Din sighed. “Well, c’mon, hilljack, you might as well join us.”

Cobb glanced at him with a smirk. “Ain’t no hilljack, I’m a dustfoot and proud of it.” He pushed himself off the wall. “How’s the little green guy?”

Din looked down at the boy, swathed in the giant towel. “He’s calmer. And Silnima is pouring some strong hot toddies in there. Want one?”

“Damn skippy I do,” said Cobb, following Din back into Marathel’s room. Silnima took Grogu, now exhausted from his weeping and getting cranky. She offered to get him redressed while Din changed and drank his tea in the fresher room.

Din took the damp towels with him and used them himself as he changed. He had pulled on his thermal bottoms when he happened to glance up at the large mirror, and his eyes fell on the bite mark on his chest. It was half-healed, and it looked like it would not scar, probably due to the healing salve he had used in Marathel’s hut. Din stared at it for a while, thinking of the scars Marathel would have to carry from now on.

She marked me.

Continuing to stare at the bite mark, Din gulped down the tea, heavily laced with whatever sour mash Silnima had poured in there. Feeling the burn go down his esophagus into his belly, Din reached up and raked over the bite mark with his fingernails, over and over until the skin was broken and irritated. Blood beaded on the surface of his skin, a minuscule amount of suffering in comparison to what Marathel had to endure.

Come what may, I will wear this mark with honor.

Din finished dressing, finding a pair of Marathel’s socks in a pocket. Before replacing the helmet, he looked closely at the repair in the back; there was only the slightest difference in the beskar used for the rebuilt section, as if there had been a marginal change of temper in the metal, or the most minuscule variance of mineral content in the ore. Din kissed the repair, knowing that Marathel’s flesh and blood, burned into the beskar in the forge, were now part of his burden. His Creed.

Now dressed, he left the fresher again to find Silnima holding Grogu as the boy drank from the cup of tea. She remarked, “These little togs Grogu is wearing are quite charming. Clever design. Marathel’s handiwork?”

Din nodded, reaching out to rub between his fingers the little embroidered Mudhorn on Grogu’s sleeve. Silnima noticed and raised pitying eyes to Din’s helmet. “I think Grogu is sleepy now, Sir Mandalorian,” said Silnima. Din lifted his hand to softly pet Grogu’s head; the spiked tea had done its work as Grogu’s head was nodding. Silnima continued, “If you like, I could sit with him … I think perhaps you might like a little more tippling than a single mug of tea? You have had a difficult time as well.”

Cobb said, “I know where there’s a near-full flagon of that stuff in Silnima’s flask, friend, and I’ve never met a liquor cabinet I couldn’t bust into.” At Silnima’s vexed expression, he said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Din was already shaking his head. “I can’t … I can’t leave him alone. He misses her so much already. He’s completely devastated. If he wakes up and I’m not there …”

“I will be here,” said Silnima. “He won’t be alone.” She handed off Grogu to Din. “Put him to bed now. Let him sleep.”

Din carefully put Grogu into Marathel’s bed, and the boy automatically burrowed into her pillow, breathing deep of Marathel’s scent. “Cobb, Silnima, please leave for a moment …” They complied, and Din went to one knee beside the bed. He placed a hand on the boy’s cheek and recited the traditional Mando’a goodnight. “I’ll be here when you wake up, buddy. I promise.” Grogu’s ears drooped with a sigh. “Hopefully we’ll hear more about Mahr tomorrow.”

“Mama.” said Grogu pointedly.

Din nodded his head. “Mama,” he croaked, barely able to get the word out. There was so much he felt he should say to Grogu. Should he prepare him for the worst, or just wait until the worst came? Sometimes we do our best, but it doesn’t work. Sometimes people get too hurt, and they can’t get better. Sometimes … Mamas die. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t say those things out loud to a little boy who had already lost so much, much more than Din even knew about. And Grogu’s eyes were too sleepy to speak of such dire things, so Din lifted his helmet and kissed the boy’s fuzzy little head, whispering, “Your Mama loves you.”

Grogu, finally succumbing to his exhaustion, mumbled, “Patu Mama,” as he fell asleep. Din — who had never watched those rom-com holovids, nor did he have a disc containing several of the best ones to watch again — had previously believed there was no such thing as heartache, certainly not in any kind of physical manner. Now he knew differently. He stood and quietly left Marathel’s room. Silnima was standing just outside, and Cobb had taken up his previous spot, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head down. Cobb looked up and brandished the bottle at Din. Din sighed and nodded. Silnima squeezed Din’s elbow and went back into Marathel’s room while Din and Cobb slowly walked to the far courtyard.

“When was the last time you got drunk, friend?” asked Cobb.

“Sometime during the Rebellion.” It was a time he was not proud of. Sometimes he still heard the screams as he tried to fall asleep.

“Then you’re well overdue.”

“You know I cannot drink with the helmet.”

Cobb held up a flexible straw. “Got you covered.”

Din sighed. “Why are you so insistent on getting me drunk?”

“One: I think it would be entertaining. Two: your ass is dragging so low you’re wiping out your own footprints. Three: … I like making lists of three.”

“Are you drunk already?”

“Working on it,” Cobb said, taking a generous swig from the bottle. “Kriffing hell. She was having such a good day. Smiling, joking, petting a damn sheep.” They had made it to the courtyard, where the very night before, a tipsy Marathel had leaned against Cobb’s arm while he fed her nuts, and shortly thereafter he had kissed her as she slept. And Maker love a dewback, I want her for myself. Cobb pulled out two cups from his shirt pockets and poured out the liquor nearly to the brims. He handed one cup and the straw to Din. The other cup he raised high as he said, “To Marathel.”

Din felt a rage flare in his chest. “Stop speaking of her as if she were already dead.”

Cobb and Din stared at each other. Cobb kept eye contact with Din’s visor as he amended, “To Marathel, may she live long and in good health.” Cobb drank from his cup, unblinking. “Why do I feel as if you’re about to beat the living shit out of me, friend?”

Should I, Cobb? Why are you looking so guilty, friend? Din knew his anger was completely irrational, but he relished it just the same. He roughly pulled out a chair and sat. “Tell me how it all happened today.”

Refusing to break eye contact with Din, Cobb took another swallow, and then sat down himself. “She woke up late this morning after going through the treatment twice yesterday. She seemed so much better. Her color was good, her wounds were closed. I thought she might like some time away from the palace, and there was a market today. I found her a pair of boots to wear, and we took that old piece of shit speeder of Peli’s, because I knew it would go too slow to scare Marathel,” — Din chuckled at that, which made Cobb relax a bit — “and visited the market. Bought some sweets, some honey, a pair of shoes that fit her. Had a bite to eat. Met a yarn seller, and she was as excited about that yarn as some other woman would be about jewelry.”

Din relaxed some. “Her first market, and she wants yarn. That’s … so like her.”

“And then she got to pet the sheep.”

“She’s never seen one before,” said Din. “The Bishop ordered all the wool critters slaughtered before she was born.” Din took a deep sip from the cup, enjoying the burn of the liquor. “Apparently, he itched.”

Cobb let loose with a colorful string of epithets that brought into question not only the Bishop’s parentage in terms of domesticated livestock, but also his sexual proclivities, making Din chuckle. But Cobb sobered quickly. “Then … it all started with a nosebleed. My first thought was that she was having a hard time with the desert air. It’s so dry, everyone gets nosebleeds now and then. But she kept on … Man, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I took her to the market. She was doing so well, and I just thought she’d like… like to have some fun. If I hadn’t taken her … she might not have …”

Din looked down at the cup he held in both hands. He couldn’t fault Cobb. “I think she would have started failing regardless of where she was. It’s good you were with her,” he said, before drinking again.

“No, no, man, I’m a piece of shit…”

“I know that.”

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize, Din, for taking her to her first market. It should have been you.” After looking at each other for a moment, both men drank in silence. “You, uh … you tell her you love her? In Basic this time?”

Din looked into his cup, wondering why it was empty. “Yeah, I told her.”

Cobb gave Din a refill. “Huh. Did you give her a chance to respond before you booked it out if there?”

Din sighed deeply. “Nope.”

“You chickenshit.”

“Who’s chickenshit?” asked Boba, who was holding a platter of sliced meat and cheese, as well as another flagon, this one of good old-fashioned nog.

Cobb snagged a hunk of meat before the platter hit the table. “Din is chickenshit. He told Marathel I love you and then scampered before she could say a word.”

Boba swigged from the flagon of nog before sitting down. “Yeah, that’s chickenshit of you, Din. Unsurprising, but still chickenshit.”

Din sipped on his straw. “Fuck you both sideways.”

Cobb ran his foot up Din’s calf with his lopsided smile. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Din lightly kicked his foot away. “Did Fennec go with her, Boba?”

Boba nodded. “Using the cover of Fennec pulling Marathel off a moving sex slave trade. Specializes in Red Rooms. It explains why Marathel has no chip — and the extent of her injuries. Fennec will say she found her in a spaceport in Mos Eisley … a chronic runaway.”

“A lot of the big moving slavers have their own chips, or their own marks,” remarked Cobb.

“She has a brand,” said Din, his voice almost mechanical. “They branded her as a little girl.” Din’s voice cracked on the words little girl. Boba and Cobb looked at each other. Then Cobb leaned over and squeezed Din’s forearm while topping off his cup again with the mash. Din took another sip. “When will they communicate?”

Boba took a breath before replying. “They won’t.” Din’s head swiveled to Boba. “Comm silence until they’re on their way back. Modifier’s going to dump the ship; the women will get a roundabout public transport.” Din looked back at the cup in his hands. “Has to be this way, Din. Fennec’s taking too much of a risk as it is. And then you gave her the Aurodium as payment; I thought that was going to your covert.”

“The covert wouldn’t accept it. The Aurodium must go to Marathel, according to the Armorer. It wasn’t mine to take. Except now I have to find buyers for the damn things; it’s not like those coins have been legal tender for the past 2000 years.” Din sighed. “Dank ferrik, it was just supposed to be an uncomplicated bounty.”

Boba laughed. “No such thing.”

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with her …” Din took another long sip. “But seeing her in that pretty yellow dress, standing in that tree, stamping her foot and yelling at me ...” Din began to slump in his chair; the alcohol was working. “Throwing eggs at me, tackling me and laying me flat out on my back …”

Boba shoved some meat in his mouth and muttered, “I dare you to make less sense.”

“So kriffing beautiful. Even puking her guts out, still so beautiful. Bent over a rock, puking because she breathed in Mist so that Grogu would be safe. One day, she’d known that boy of mine, and she’s already protecting him like a mama Wookiee.” Din sighed deeply. “She begged me to take my helmet off, just as a kindness, just so that she’d know the man who had invaded her home wasn’t the man she feared most. Offered her body to me if I wanted, all I had to do was take off the helmet, of course.” Din took another long drink. “Told her no. Won’t even toss her a mercy helmetless fuck when she’s about to sacrifice herself for my damn benefit.” He carefully placed his cup on the table using both hands, slowly removing his hands, making sure the cup was level and stationery before standing up and then throwing his chair across the courtyard. “What am I doing, telling her I love her? And I can’t even be a man about telling her I love her … I turn off the lights, tell her in the dark so I don’t show her my face, because I’m not allowed to.” He began pacing back and forth. “I can’t give her the life she needs. I live in kriffing outer space. She needs land, sun, a farm…”

“A sheep …,” said Cobb.

“Hush. He’s on a roll,” drawled Boba.

Din staggered back to his cup, where it took two tries for him to grab it. “You know what she needs? That woman needs a baby. She needs to be a mother to a whole mess of little womp rats. And you know what I can’t do?”

“Be a fun drunk?” asked Cobb.

“I can’t give her a baby because I stepped on a land mine, and I nearly blew off my balls. Back when I was running with that mercenary crew. Got a piece of shrapnel right in my sack and it sliced me up. That’s why that Xi’an bitch broke it off with me, because I was out of commission for weeks. I was like ‘hey, it still works, just not every time you want it to, you twat, maybe if you used your mouth for something other than talking, we might all be happier!’”

“This is so much more than I wanted to know,” muttered Boba.

“Hush. He’s on a roll,” said Cobb.

Din tried to take a pull on the straw and nearly shoved it up his nose. He tossed it away and lifted his helmet enough to drink directly from the cup. “Haar’chak, my mesh’la would be so kriffing hot if she were pregnant. That round belly of hers even rounder, her breasts would be massive. I’d just sit there and watch her waddle around all kriffing day.” Din started weaving on his feet.

“Sit down before you fall down, Din,” said Cobb.

“Well, I would but some asshole took my chair!” Cobb retrieved both Din’s chair and his straw. “Excellent. A straw. Now I can drink with you two.” Din sat down with a deep sigh and murmured, “Mesh’la, cyar’e, ner kar’ta. Ma’mwsh ha’laa.” He took the woven bracelet, still damp after sitting in the fresher with Grogu, from his pocket. He twisted it around his fingers, thinking of Marathel, surrounded by children, laughing, swinging in circles holding his Grogu, humming the melody of her only song. Mesh’la, my mesh’la, my … he took another deep pull on his straw, feeling the warmth of whatever the shab he was drinking, just knowing that it was as delicious as he believed Marathel’s skin was, and he slid down further in his chair. He began to feel a wobbliness like his concussion, when his brain was misfiring and nothing was making sense as he tried to help Marathel with her wounds. He suddenly fell into a drunken despair, remembering her suffering, and then a thought he’d previously refused to consider rose back to the surface, and he began to mutter, “Oh, haar’chak. Kriff kriff kriff kriff …” Din dropped his head into his hands.

Cobb and Boba looked at each other. “Now what?” asked Cobb.

“Didn’t think about it … didn’t even consider it … dank ferrik!” Din got up and threw his chair again. “You have to message Fennec … she’d know … why wouldn’t she tell me?!”

“Tell you what, you rancor’s asshole?” snapped Boba.

“All those men … she said her cycle didn’t follow the Dahls’ cycle … but she could be pregnant by one of them. One of those hu’tuuns could have bred her, and then she’d have to suffer through that …”

“Calm the fuck down, Din, she’s not pregnant,” said Boba, taking a swig from his nog.

Din stopped his pacing and pointed a wobbly finger at Boba. “And how the fuck do you know that old man?”

“Fennec tested her. She always does when a woman like Marathel comes in. Fennec tells me if they are because I have contacts for termination meds. It’s hard to come by out here.”

Cobb nodded. “Hard to get implants out here sometimes too. Too expensive for a lot of folks.”

Din sighed. “Well, that’s … something, at least.” He looked around him. “Why does my chair keep disappearing?” Cobb began to laugh. Din looked around, found his chair, and dragged it back to the table, where he slumped into it again. “Now I remember why I don’t drink often.”

“Because you’re a miserable bastard?” asked Cobb, still laughing about Din’s chair.

“I like it too much.” Din took another pull.

Boba snorted. “You are the epitome of drunken shenanigans.”

Cobb was slumped in his chair by now as well, looking up at the night sky; thinking about Marathel pregnant. She would be kriffing magnificent. Glorious. That woman might be the only person that would make me consider going monogamous. And fully hetero, that fabulous creature.

“And what the fuck are you thinking about, Cobb, with that shit-eating grin?” slurred Din.

Like I’d tell you that I’m half in love with your woman. “I’m thinking about whether or not I’m drunk enough to start singing.”

Boba grunted, his chin to his chest. “I’m not drunk enough to hear you sing.”

Din waved his arm. “You go ahead and sing, buddy. I bet you have the voice of a Naboo diva.”

Cobb belched. “Too fucking right, I do.” He took a gulp of mash, then sang:

“Look at the little Jawa Look at his little feet And his little nosey-wose Isn’t the Jawa sweet?”

“YES!” shouted Din, pumping his fist in the air.

Cobb laughed. “All right, Din. Truth or Dare.”

“Dank ferrik, no, Cobb. Ask Boba.”

“I would, but he’s passed out. Hey! Wake up, you old fart!” Cobb threw a piece of cold meat from the platter, and it stuck to Boba’s bald head. Both Cobb and Din laughed while Boba snorted himself awake, then plucked the flap of meat off his head and ate it. “You’re shit out of luck, bucket-head. Truth or Dare.”

Din grunted. “Fine. Truth,” he said, fully expecting some sort of question about Marathel.

“Tell me …” Cobb pointed at Din with his cup hand, the mash sloshing over the rim. “Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone else.”

Din nodded once, then twice, the motion making him slightly dizzy. He took a breath, and said in a rush, “I watch romantic-comedy holovids to learn how to interact with people. How to talk to women.  I’ve watched them for years.  Decades.  The problem is … no one behaves in real life like they do in those vids.” Certainly not Marathel.

Cobb raised an eyebrow. “Well, shit. Here I was, hoping to finally hear the damn story about the antique sofa and the freighter full of lube, but you have to go and be a fucking buzzkill, friend.”

“Yeah, no such luck.” Din hiccupped. “Never telling anyone that story. And anyway, you forgot about the Rodian.”

Cobb finished off his cup. “Oh, yeah, the Rodian.  Whatever happened to him?”

Din shrugged. “He’s a waiter at a Huttese restaurant on Coruscant.  I get a holotext from him every now and again.  Nice guy.  Dating a Twi’lek.”

“Speaking of, hey, Boba, have you seen that new Twi’lek dancer at the cantina in Mos Eisley?”

Boba was looking intently at his empty bottle of nog. “The pinkish gal?

Cobb made a rude noise. “No, man, the green gal!  The pinkish gal?  Not her!  That poor woman has the saddest tits. Damned depressing.” “Oh yes, you’re right. You should see these tits, Din, they’re sad. Beyond sad. Mournful.” “Yes!” cried Cobb. “They’re like two suicide notes stuffed in a glitter bra, they’re so damn sad, those tits.”

Boba sniffed. “Like two salt tablets on a plank of durasteel.”

Din looked between the two men. “So what I’m hearing is that this poor woman has gloomy tits.” Cobb leaned forward and whispered loudly to Din: “I wanna build two tiny coffins and give her tiny tits a tiny funeral.”

Din laughed. “And the tits of the green Twi’lek?”

“Round and full and beautiful and bright as the twin suns, friend.”

“Not a tit man myself.” Cobb opened his mouth to say something, and Din kicked him under the table. “Say word one about Marathel, and I will beat the shit out you.”

Cobb raised his empty cup. “Only that she is lovely and not mournful and in no way resembling a pair of salt tablets on a durasteel plank.”

Boba held up his empty bottle. “Our boy likes ‘em plush.”

Boba and Cobb laughed, but Din appeared to have not heard. He was focused on the woven bracelet again, still wrapped around his fingers. He’d meant to give it to her the moment he saw her, but the situation had changed. He hadn’t meant to tell her yet that he loved her, but … again, the situation had changed. He had wanted her to get better, to give him time to figure out what the hell he was going to do regarding all three of them, give her some time to figure out what the hell she wanted to do, and frankly … he had been looking forward to testing the waters of a potential rom-com holovid style romance. Of a courtship. His Creed had a standard of courtship practices, ones he’d have to modify as she was an aruetii, but apparently approved of by the Armorer.

Osik, the two of us … did this whole thing backwards. Hopefully, we can start over.

We.

Us.

A clan of three.

Din’s breath hitched in his throat, making Cobb look at him as he poured the remainder of the flagon of mash in Din’s cup. “What do you have there?”

Din hid the bracelet within his fist, suddenly embarrassed by the cheapness of the thing. “Nothing … just something I picked up for Marathel at the Nevarro market.” To hide his discomfort, Din took a swallow from his cup.

“Not nothin’. Let’s see it,” replied Cobb, holding out his hand. Din reluctantly handed it over, now worried that it was a ridiculous gesture, hardly worthy of the feelings he actually held. Cobb looked it over, held it up to Boba, who nodded with approval. Cobb said, “Well, I can’t think of a more appropriate bit of decoration for Marathel’s lovely wrist. However, considering it might be some time before she can wear it …” Cobb reached out and took Din’s left arm, pushed up his glove, and tied it securely around Din’s wrist before covering it back up with his glove. Din pulled his hand back, feeling his left wrist, imagining that his wrist now seemed warmer, like she was there gently holding his wrist. “I can take that knot out when she comes back — when — she comes back.” Cobb sighed and reached into his pocket. “I have something else for you. Earlier, before you got back … ugh. I know this is gonna sound weird.”

Din tilted his helmet, even though things kind of felt like they were sliding sideways as he did so. “What the shab did you do?”

Cobb pulled out something silvery, round, like an intricately tied ribbon. He turned it around in his hands and held it out like a fragile flower to Din. It is a flower, thought Din. A flower made of … “Her hair?” asked Din, a tremor in his voice.

Cobb looked at the flower in his hands and took a deep breath. “Me and my ma were poor. We weren’t even dirt poor, we couldn’t even afford dirt, that’s how poor we were. No holopads, nothing electronic. Ma would take in any kind of piecework she could: sewing, laundry, you name it. But Ma was also talented like Marathel. She knit amazing sweaters. She was the one you went to if you could afford a wedding dress or an anniversary quilt. She was the one you went to when you wanted a hair wreath.” Cobb gently stroked a leaf of the silver flower. “A hair wreath is what poor people made because they couldn’t have holos. When someone died, a family member would bring my mother their hair. She would braid it into leaves and flowers, and build a box around it, labeling their hair with names and dates, adding on to it when other family members passed on, for generations. I’ve seen hair wreaths that went on for a hundred years or more.” Cobb looked up at Din; his eyes were moist. “It was how Ma taught me to read and write. I’d practice those names and numbers every night until she was satisfied with my penmanship. Then she taught me how to make flowers. There’re only a couple styles I can do well.” Cobb reached further across the table and carefully deposited the flower into Din’s outstretched hands. “Now, I’m not sayin’ anything about what I think Marathel’s chances are. And I’m sorry I got familiar enough with her to cut off a lock of her hair without her knowing. But I can’t let you have only a couple of holos from a cheap pad as your only remembrance of her.”

I have a tiny raft, made by her hands. And a dried yellow flower, thought Din. A curled piece of driftwood, some shells. A bite mark that I will make into a great scar. Her blood and flesh in my helmet. Her blood and flesh on that monstrous hunk of metal in my weapons locker. And now her hair. “How much more of herself will she sacrifice to me?”

“What was that?” asked Cobb.

Din looked up at Cobb. “Was that out loud?”

“Yeah.” They both looked down at the flower, Cobb gently holding Din’s hands.

“It’s beautiful, Cobb, thank you.” Din swallowed; he felt like he was trying to swallow an Ewok.

Cobb squeezed his fingers, then drew his hands back. “You better finish that drink, friend.”

Din polished off the remainder of the sour mash, sucking air from the bottom of the cup. He carefully turned the cup over in his hand; the straw fell to the tabletop. “Someone took my drink, Cobb.”

“We’ll find him later and pants him, friend.”

“Wizard,” mumbled Din, weaving in his chair. He very, very carefully put the flower in the inner pocket of his flight suit, the one with the embroidered Mudhorn.

“Is he fading?” asked Boba with a yawn.

“I think so,” replied Cobb. “I’ll babysit, Boba, thanks for the drink.”

“I can hear you osi’kovids,” Din muttered, his head bobbing up and down towards his chest. He was fading, but he wasn’t about to admit he was a lightweight with liquor. He hadn’t been this drunk in quite a long time. It had been during the Rebellion, as he’d mentioned to Cobb … but he still wasn’t willing to admit why.

Boba took both empty bottles; after saluting them both with one of the empties, he went back to the palace. Cobb tapped Din’s knee with his foot. “Doing okay, buddy?”

Din, his chin to his chest, mumbled, “I’m great.”

“You’re toast.”

Din’s head bobbed up. “Toast? Yeah, toast. Let’s get some toast.”

“You betcha.” Cobb — who was much more of a heavyweight when it came to alcohol — stood up and helped Din out of his chair. Din stumbled; Cobb put one arm around Din’s waist. “C’mon, let’s go find that toast.”

“Marathel’s bread only.”

Cobb chuckled. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Don looked down at his feet, then he held up one foot straight out in front of him. “She fixed my boots,” Din slurred, pointing at his foot.

Cobb got them walking back into the palace. “She’s a talented woman.”

“She’s a fucking gem,” said Din, his heels scuffing against the ground as they slowly walked. Then he whispered loudly, “And I’ll bet you that Marathel’s tits are much nicer than the green Twi’lek gal’s. You know what I wanna do?”

Cobb couldn’t stop smiling; a drunk Din could be entertaining. “No idea, friend.”

“I want to push those tits apart so I can put my head right in between ‘em, and then let ‘em go.” said Din with a giggle.

“Well, I can’t think of a better way to go, Din.”

Din stopped walking and stabbed his finger into Cobb’s sternum. “Get those thoughts outta your head. She’s gonna be my woman.”

Cobb moved Din’s finger from his chest and got them walking again. “Yes, yes, she is, friend.”

“I think the very next morning I knew. Slept there one night and I wake up and she’s making me fucking breakfast, I’m there to turn her in and she’s cooking for me, wearing my boy tied around her chest and he’s dropping cracker crumbs on her bare skin, and I wanted to be a fucking cracker crumb so bad right then … his ear was dragging across her skin, the lucky little shitsnack, have I told you about her skin?” Din didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “I saw her with that frying pan in her hand and my boy curled up against her and I’m thinking, this could be my damn life, I shoulda just dragged her away right then and there, but she was just so damned insistent on me getting those coins and I wasn’t going to tell her no on any fucking thing except the one fucking thing that would have made a difference, this fucking helmet …”

Din made moves to pull his helmet off, and Cobb pulled his hands away, saying, “Nope, not doing that, buddy, let’s just keep walking.”

“That boy of mine calls her Mama already, you know. A boy needs a mama. Isn’t that right?”

“Too right, friend.”

“I love that little green frog-eating, egg-stealing monster, Cobb. At the time … I wondered what in holy blue fuck I was thinking, taking that boy back. And now … I don’t regret it for anything. Just like I don’t regret how I feel about Marathel. Just like the Dahl told me to do.”

“Wait, what?” asked Cobb, confused. He didn’t mention a Dahl talking to him before.

“Rodanthe, she told me …”

“Is that the Dahl?”

Din stopped walking and stabbed his finger into Cobb’s sternum again. “Yes, dammit, let me tell the kriffing story! Rodanthe came to me in the night and … she possessed me. Bonded with me. Climbed into my damn brain and told me to love her. I did already, anyway, so … that was easy. Anything Marathel told me, I did. Like I had no fucking control over myself sometimes. Like she was in my damn head, somehow, telling me what to do.” Din dropped his hand and began staggering away on his own.

Cobb frowned, trying to link what Marathel had told him earlier, about how she screamed be still, but in her head, towards Din. “Like … when she told you to be still.”

“… like what?” Din stopped and leaned against the wall while rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “What were you saying?”

Cobb sighed inwardly. “Nothing. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. You and your sour mash — just gotta sleep it off.” They had reached Marathel’s room, and Din quietly opened the door. The room was dark except for the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Silnima was dozing in the large, padded chair beside the bed, her feet up on the mattress. Grogu was buried deep in the blankets with only one ear sticking out. Din pulled back the blanket to check on the boy while Cobb gently placed his hand on Silnima’s shoulder to wake her up.

Silnima rubbed her eyes and yawned. “He hasn’t made a peep.”

Din remarked, “He’s down deep, all right. Thank you, Silnima.”

“And you, Sir Mandalorian? Are you … doing better?”

“Sufficiently tippled, as you say, ma’am,” said Din, sloppily saluting her.

Silnima arched an eyebrow at Cobb, who whispered, “He’s fine.”

“Then I’ll bid you goodnight.” Silnima swept out of the room, patting Din’s arm as she went.

Cobb began, “Well, then, I guess …”

Din grabbed Cobb’s arm. After a moment, Din whispered, “Stay with me, please … I can’t be alone. I need you to stay next to me. Just stay. Please.”

Cobb, who had hoped Din would ask, nodded. “I’ll stay.” Both men wordlessly pulled off their boots. Din crawled into the center of the bed behind Grogu, and Cobb climbed in behind him. Din reached out and turned off the light as Cobb draped his arm over Din’s waist.

Din took hold of Cobb’s hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” whispered Cobb. He interlaced his fingers with Din’s gloved hand. Still drunk, Din was close to passing out. He ignored the headspins by using his grip on Cobb’s hand, and the scent of Marathel on the pillow to center him. The last thing he heard before he lapsed into unconsciousness was Cobb whispering, “She loves you. She’s thinking about how much she loves you right now.”

She wasn’t. Not at that moment. Marathel had thought for quite some time about Din rushing in like he had, kissing her in the dark, the second time in her life a male had pressed his lips to hers in affection.

The first was when she was a child, and an ap Hunter boy — prettier than any boy had any right to be, with his brown hair and brown eyes and eyelashes twice as long as hers — had kissed her when she had successfully taught him how to tie his shoes. He’d been shamed for it; only Diwhyns kissed anyone — kissing was for babies. But the feeling exhilarated her, and she’d remained sweet on him for quite a long time, even after she’d left the Hold.

His name was Talric.

He was one of the men who had …

She shoved that memory as deep down as she could, ignoring it, relegating it to the deep dark depths of her shriveled soul, desperately trying to remember the pressure of Din’s lips, the tickle of his mustache, his warm breath on her face, which meant he had removed his helmet, which he wasn’t allowed to do before another, that was what he’d told her, but what he’d actually meant was not within the sight of another.

What were the point of rules, then? she thought. But then, on the other hand, girls were supposed to be virgins when they became Whyns but that wasn’t ever quite so, not in the strictest meaning of the term; otherwise, she supposed, every girl would be made a Belwhyn instead. Even she had had actions inflicted on her before she left the Hold, and she was the Bishop’s untouchable object of perfection.

Marathel surmised that Din had only kissed her and told her he loved her because she was so close to death again. But back on her planet, he had said to her — what was it? Ner kar’ta, he’d called her. My heart, according to Cobb. And he’d said something else to her, when she was reaching her climax with his fingers inside her, something in his own language. She dug deep into her addled brain, and all she could remember was — oh, what was it? Cyar’e, she remembered that. He hadn’t quite told her what that meant, but when she’d told him cwriad meant beloved, he’d said that it sounded like cyar’e, so, good enough for her.

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.

That was it.

What did that mean?

She remembered quite well, of course, what she’d said, in her own language: Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi.

Love me, hold me, I am yours.

She hadn’t known anything else to say, she had to say something back, even as overcome as she was by what Din was doing to her, and she was dumb about pretty words, about most things, really. All she knew were the words she had been taught to say when she was to present herself to the Bishop as his Whyn, right before he fully took her for the first time.

Marathel had though a great deal about all those things as she lay on that cot in the tiny room, a droid administering more of the false blood into her vein while Fennec sat beside her, telling her what they were going to tell the Reconstructionists when they got to their destination.

Marathel had also thought at great length about Grogu, and how he had called her Mama. At least, that was what she believed he’d said. Grogu started by saying Ma Mahr, as if he were trying to say my Mahr, just as Din often said my mesh’la. Hearing her little boy screaming nearly tore her apart, but to hear him screaming Mama made her want to drag herself off this cot and chase them both down the ramp so she could sweep them both into her arms. She had never thought that someone calling her Mama would simultaneously make her heart leap with joy and shred itself to nothing.

Yes, Marathel had thought about these things for quite some time. But there was something else she couldn’t quite remember, and it was about Din. And it had hurt her, somehow. It was a small thing, but something terribly important. Her mind was broken, she knew, from a lifetime of beatings and from her most recent sufferings. The droid had spoken to Fennec about her massive losses of blood, and something called deoxygenation to her brain. Lasting damage, it had said, and Fennec looked distressed upon hearing this.

Marathel played the scene over and over in her head: Din bursting through the door, shouting at everyone to get out. She had said something — that was unimportant — then Din had turned off the lights and he was kissing her.

She knew that the thing she was forgetting happened before the lights went out. Again, she replayed the moments in her head.

Din bursting through the door, that had to be the correct moment. Did something happen? Did he say something? What was so important about that moment?

He’d shouted Out! Everyone out! He’d sounded like himself, his voice back to that mechanical cadence that his helmet provided, not the melody of his deep voice when his helmet was off, and his words went straight into her ears.

Of course, he looked the same, his appearance never changed other than the removing of various layers of cloth and leather and metal. The weapons were all there. The armor was all there. Nothing was missing.

But it had hurt. Whatever it was had caused her immense pain, but then he was kissing her — which was all she had hoped it would be — saying he loved her — which was all she’d ever wanted him to say, and her mind had forgotten whatever the painful thing was.

Again and again, over and over in her mind. His head, the helmet, his chest, the armor, his arms, the brown jacket, his hands, the gloves.

His hands, the gloves.

You know my hands, these are not the Bishop’s hands, he’d said to her.

His hands, the gloves.

What was different about his hands?

The leather gloves. Dark leather and fabric with orange fingers, worn and stained. Were the gloves different?

They were the same gloves from early this morning, so deep in the night, and Grogu had bitten a hole in one of them when she’d asked to see his gums because he wasn’t feeling well.

If not the gloves, then … what?

Something … in his hand?

She remembered. The cloth bag in his hand, clutched in his fingers. She knew that bag. That bag had sailed through the air from the fingers of the Captain and into Din’s waiting hand. The bag of Aurodium coins. The coins she had sentenced herself to death for, so that they could benefit Din’s people. The bag of coins he had told her he was taking to his covert when he had left two days before.

Din still had the bag of Aurodium coins.

He didn’t give the coins to his covert.

He lied to me.

He kept them for himself.

It was all for nothing.

Marathel’s eyes filled with tears, and she began to cry, and the cries turned into sobs as she curled up on herself. She may be stupid as anything, but she knew what betrayal was. And even though a tiny part of her knew she was being illogical, she was being hysterical, of course there had to be some rational explanation, but her heart hurt too much, her mind was too broken and disjointed to bring it to the surface, and finally the droid gave her a tranquilizer and she fell asleep, where she wouldn’t have to think about that bag of coins any longer.

Next Chapter ->

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