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thefanciestborrower · 11 months

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Haha lol Ice Emperor goes Brrrr part 10

Wind snapped at his face like blades, cutting in its chill, yet familiar in the ways it swept between his metal plating. At his back, Boreal’s wingbeats hit the air like drums, rattling the sky with the force of each downstroke. Below, trees blurred into indistinguishable stripes that raced Boreal’s shadow as they soared.

It was an hour, maybe two, that Lloyd spoke up. “I thought you sent the palace guards.”

Julien, who had thus far been doing little but staring blankly at the white landscape, blinked back to himself before answering. “I did.”

“And we’re flying out, too?” A hand against the inner lining of his stomach. Minuscule compared to him as it lightly brushed along the ripples, and folds, and scars. “Not that I want to turn around, but…?”

When he considered it, it was acid on his tongue. Burning and tearing as it dripped from his teeth in tar-like strings. As he made into words what had only been impulse and thought. As form took from shadow. And, in the end, he swallowed the fire and let only the steam rise from between his lips. “Something came up. It will be faster to resolve it now.”

While the warmth of implications drowned in his throat, he steered Boreal off the face of a cliff, keeping the cloud-muffled sun to his back and letting their combined shadow fall across the frozen fields below. A herald to his arrival in shades of blues and blacks, even as storm swept up behind him in a swirling mass that howled like the ghosts of those grieving. Flecks of ice gathered on his shoulders.

When the sun fell too low to travel, the group set down, and a simple wave was all he needed to raise a dome of ice. Vex, for all his muttered complaints, slept quickly that night as Julien listened to the woods. The hum of… something. A presence, almost.

Come daybreak, they were back in the air again.

It was early dawn when Vex spoke again. Lloyd was still inside, though the puff of his breathing against Julien’s nerves soothed his fears of hypothermia.

“M’lord, are you entirely sure you know where these… ninja are?”

Boreal passed low over trees, the thick rumble rolling from his chest shaking the snow from most. The powder that fell bloomed into the air in plumes, dusting what it touched in a fine white.

“I am sure.” He wasn’t. He wasn’t, but the snow stretched below in wide swaths broken only by sparse forest. He wasn’t, but Boreal hummed whispers of knowledge. Of something so quiet and subtle that it ran undetected through the air. A taste in the wind.

A taste that only grew stronger as his familiar dipped, brushing the snow with a wingtip, and skimming along a ridge with ice so fine, it barely glimmered. Such that there was not a point to gather light, nor a facet to reflect it. There, atop the claws of the world, the song of metal rang and danced to smile in their face and beckon them down. The sound of battle rose in a cry for blood, and the thump of ice samurai boots. In the smell of blood and the corroding metal. In the crumbling snow and reddening ice.

A beat of Boreal’s wings, and Julien’s eyes caught on the black-blue-red of dyed clothing. Backs pressed against each other, thin, blurry figures darted in a practiced pattern. Like a lotus unfolding, each struck individually, fanning out in ever-widening circles. Their movements spiraled in graceful loops, like a dance, pushing back the armored forces trying to press in on them with blades of ice.

His forces.

Boreal landed like a cataclysm, his claws coming down with a sound like cracking rock. Vex was nearly thrown from his back simply from the force of the jolt, and Lloyd woke with a startled movement inside.

The Emperor slid from his dragon’s neck, ice crackling in his footsteps as he raised his voice to be heard over the clashing of swords, and cracking of steel. “Enough!”

His army stilled as if they’d been struck, hundreds of wide, enchanted blue eyes turning to look at him. “What is the meaning of this?” The question spilled from his chest without any command from him, echoing against his teeth.

The army fell to one knee, a general appearing from the ranks with his hands folded at his back. He dipped into a deep bow at the waist, voice carrying a rasp as—

“Zane?”

His attention drifted lazily to the ninja despite the rattle in his chest as his systems stalled. A shudder as his breath came in a puff of blue frost that seeped past his mouthguard and crystalized against his face. The ice keeping his hand bound to his staff flaked even as black bled into it. Even as a thickness rose in his throat like tar. Even as Vex’s protests fell into the blank buzz that had taken place of his thoughts.

When his voice rose to the backs of his teeth—when the ice cleared to let a breath pass—when his eyes blinked in and out of functionality—when he managed to speak, it was little more than a whisper. As if they may fade away if he spoke too loudly. “I… I could be called that.”

The last piece moved on Zane’s mental chessboard, trapping the memories of The Falcon. Whispering the names of what he once may have known. Pushing the guilt, and loss, and grief into his eyes as silence reigned between them. As his mind remained quiet, and blank, and empty.

“Zane!” They were coming toward him. Running. Weapons in hand, yet they only smiled at him even as Vex shouted. Even as he slipped out of their way with a step, the ninja turned just as quickly, gesturing, and talking, and cheering.

And yet, as he turned to face Vex, his voice, no more than a whisper, carried to his advisor.

“Did you know?”

Silence fell on the mountain. Boreal flaked away one shard of ice at a time, head lowered and rumbling quietly in the back of his throat. Something that Zane thought may be a sound of mourning.

“My—my lord. You must understand—”

“Did. You. Know?”

“No, my lord. I didn’t.” And the Emperor smiled at him. A soft, sad sort of smile as the words of the formling he’d imprisoned hissed a symphony.

“But you still lied to me.” Lloyd was active again. He was moving, and shouting, and pushing at the synthetic walls. Zane did not hear him. “Why did you lie to me, Vex?” The ninjas’ presence behind him was like a rock wall. As if he could back up and be pinned between them and Vex. As if he could not simply fly away.

Then again, as Boreal’s eyes shattered upon hitting the ground, Zane supposed he couldn’t.

“Zane…” From behind. Quiet, pleading, he would say if he considered it. A raised hand was enough to silence them.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I—I recall no such thing, m’lord! I have been your loyal advisor for decades—”

A tilt of his head. Just slightly. He did not blink. “I was not the original emperor, Vex. Grimfax usurped no throne, for the throne was never mine to begin with, was it?”

His advisor’s face turned hard. A dark scowl twisting into something like a snarl as white teeth flashed at him in the light. “You seem to have made up your mind.”

“I have.” He could not have been the emperor before Grimfax. He lived with his fellow ninja… brothers. He could not have been usurped by formlings, for he had no throne to usurp. “What else was a falsity?” A step forward. “Who else have you misled?” His space encroached on Vex’s.

“You never really loved me, did you?”

Vex’s eyebrows raised. Two black streaks that grew clouded in Zane’s wavering vision. “No—no, my lord—I promise—”

The knot in his throat unraveled into something hot. Like lava had been poured down his throat and into his core. Like everything he’d never said tied him at the wrists and forced his mouth open. “Your promises mean nothing!” It was a roar more than a shout. Such that it rattled his plating and he loomed over Vex. Such that he found a hand ripping Vex’s helmet off in a single movement before he could even think about it. “What do your words mean to me when you have fed me nothing but lies? Did you—” a crackle in his voice. Like his modulator failed. “—did you lie about the formlings, too?” A breath. Inhaled sharply through his teeth as he raised a hand to unclip his mouthguard. To tear it from his face in a crackle of shattered ice.

His voice gave rise to the thought even as it spilled something warm and wet down his eyes. “What… what have I done? What—what have you asked of me?”

Hurt. Hurt and grief and emptiness settled in his frame. Weighed down his metal even as Vex’s face shifted from something unreadable to… to angry. To rage and anguish.

Lloyd’s voice. Echoing in the depths of the dungeons. The barest sound before he changed his mind.

“It was you who ordered the attack on the ninja, wasn’t it?”

Vex’s back straightened, and acid rode his voice as he pressed himself into Zane’s space. “You question my motives? After all these years? My Emperor—”

“I. Am not. YOUR EMPEROR!”

Like a wave, ice rose behind him, arching up in nothing but solid black ice. It cut out the sun, swallowing the sky and parting Vex and Zane from the world. An unbreakable dome, it surrounded them in cold darkness.

“And you will die for what you have done.”

He was across the makeshift arena in a heartbeat, ice coalescing into a blade-sharp shuriken in the same instant he pushed off.

Vex’s blood steamed as it hit the air.

It was barely a scratch, really, dripping crimson lazily into the snow and melting spots in the ground. “Tell me the truth, Vex. Tell me what happened. Tell me or let your spirit rest in ice forever.” Zane touched down at the adjacent point from Vex, his steps ghosting against the snow. Vex’s snarl dripped of malice as he looked up at Zane.

“They banished me!” Vex’s shout rattled the air in the dome, but Zane’s scowl bared his own ice-tipped teeth. “The formlings left me for dead in the ice for not having a form. They mocked me! Whispered about me!” He lashed out, and Zane danced out of the way, one of his shurikens shattering against the opposite wall where it missed. “I did what I had to do!”

When Vex lunged again, Zane caught him around the neck, claws made of black ice digging into his ex-advisor’s neck as he pushed Vex’s face into the blood-dappled snow. “And what—” a push against his stomach. Lloyd’s voice, yet muffled by Zane’s own shouting—“did you do?”

Vex’s spittle poked more holes in the snow when he tried to spit at Zane. “I convinced you that you were the emperor. That you ruled this realm. That Grimfax stole your throne from you.” The slightest slice of flesh. Warm red ran down Zane’s fingers. “When the formlings took ill to your encroaching onto their territory, I commissioned one of them to try to assassinate you. The little eagle woman—do you remember her? She screamed for hours after you impaled her. The formling healing factor is impressive.” His ice spire had pierced flesh and bone. At the time, he hadn’t realized he could do that. “And when the formlings organized to figure out what to do about you, I made plans. Sketched up scores of them for your guards to find.” Etchings carved onto beast hide. Plans. He suspected spies at the time. The castle diagrams were too… perfect.

“And you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Every formling frozen solid or imprisoned.”

The warm, wet dripped down Zane’s faceplate, splattering against Vex’s armor. His ex-advisor’s face softened. His smile was sad.

“I really was just doing what was best for you, you know. With your powers, they would have come after you a—” His hand clenched, cutting off Vex’s breath. As he clawed at Zane’s hands—ripping his gloves and tearing his sleeves—Zane peeled him off the floor, snow falling in clumps.

When Vex hit the ice wall the first time, it cracked.

A second, and the structure creaked.

When he was thrown—bloody, broken, and trailing red—his body shattered the dome, sending Vex’s limp body into the snowdrift Boreal had originally landed in.

When he moved, it was the gait of a predator. A low stance laced with blood and trailing a carpet of red. His eyes fixed on the still figure of his former advisor.

It was only when hands—cloying. Clinging. Familiar—snagged onto his clothing and dug into his shoulders that he heard it.

Shouting. Yelling. Begging.

Lloyd’s voice in his ear. Over, and over, and over. “Don’t do it,” he screamed, voice raw and hoarse from something Zane didn’t remember. “Don’t do it, don’t do itdontdoitdont—”

His hesitation was just enough for the hands around his shoulders to drag him back, his dorsal column hitting something warm and firm, and steady, even as arms wrapped around his shoulders and a head buried itself into his neck. As people dressed in odd colors gathered around him and pressed their hands—foreheads—faces into his sides. As the liquid in his eyes spilled over properly and he buried his own head into a security he didn’t remember.

======================================== The close of arc 1 Fun facts: >Total word-count: 12882 words. >Total page-count: 36 pages >Each part was made the day it was posted save for part 4. >My favorite scene is the one with Kataru in it (read; bear boy)

#submission #not my writing #phyre anon #blood tw #injury tw #WAH I’m SCREAMING dude what a conclusion!#that was a ride from start to finish wow wow wow okay then #In awe of your writing skills legitimately #this whole arc has been fantastic to read from start to finish but this final installment was #so amazing #soft vore #safe vore #fandom vore #g/t vore #n.injago vore #screaming crying yelling he’s finally getting the hug he’s needed since chapter one I’m sobbing

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opiadiscord · 1 year

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Moon 8

As of May 12th 2023

With several cats lost to the rough mountains and sandy desert, the Sol cats have journeyed onward through much tribulation, their sizable group notably smaller than it had been on their initial departure. Cats struggle with their losses, as well as the demands the journey asks of them, but with the impressive stretch they've crossed, few wish to give up.

For many, the clowder was all that they had left to hold onto.. While many of their old ways have been stalled due to the journey and unfamiliarity of the landscape, but the memory of their old traditions and where they come from press them on ahead the desire to see their journey through to the end.

At the head of the group, Ignis and Wolf Sol carry on business as it has been since the early portions of the journey.. Ignis leading them along the path he had been shown many moons ago, with Wolf Sol taking order of the rest of the cats with natural ease and conviction.

While the dangers of the wild have taken the lives of some recognizable faces, cats know to put their trust in Wolf Sol, knowing of it's methodical thinking and level headedness that makes for a good patrol head, or leader. Many feel the same tart feeling about Ignis Sol as they had in the mountains, especially with the long stretch of desert they've crossed.

Many wonder if there even is a river, and if it was all a ruse to get them all killed at the paws of an inexperienced child.. But at the root of it all, many feel pity for the young tom, the position he'd found himself in not having been an easy one by any stretch.. A few cats continue to show kindness to the young Prophet, despite the seemingly infinite journey without an end in sight..

That is until a cool breeze sweeps the desert just as the start of dawn pools at the horizon, humid and crisp.

With newfound resolve, the travelers pick up their pace and sped up the small rise, stopping just at the lip of the ridge. The sand drove into a grassy hill, obstructing the land beyond. The grass, green and lush, something the clowder cats hadn't ever seen before, skirt across the boundary and up over the grassy rise.

With the humid breeze brought forth a shower of rain that dotted the mountain cats pelts and misted the land beyond. A land of greenery and lushness. Trees and fields lay in front of them, their leaves buffeting against the rain as it fell, soaking into every cats fur and filling their hearts with a joy that they hadn't thought possible.

Atop the ridge, the cats of the Sol clowder chant and cry out in victory, feeling as though they had won the hardest battle of all. The realization that they efforts hadn't been for nothing filled each cat with an overwhelming joy that compelled a symphony of tears, purrs, and caterwauls of success.

To some, the Sun's prophecy had now become a reality, many cats paying respects to the Sun as it rose out of view from the shadow cloud.

While to others, the guidance of the Moon had guided them free of the excruciating mountains and desert, and led them to the place of prosperity that had been promised to them four moons prior. With it's protective dark cloak of night and cool breeze, many feel it wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for it's celestial guidance.

With the last of it's light fading as the Sun rose, the clowder cats wrap up their celebrating, and decide that they ought to find shelter before trekking further into the green landscape. While exciting, it was still unfamiliar, many thinking to treat it with similar caution that had been expect of them from their harsh life in the mountains. Walking down the grassy ridge, Wolf Sol along with a few other patrol mates spot a wooden structure, unnatural in formation, and by the looks of it, abandoned. Agreeing to check it out, Ignis and the rest of the clowder follow after the patrol as they trod onward, leaving the desert behind them.

As the cats near the structure, the strong scent of several unfamiliar cats reach their noses, striking panic in several of the Sol cats. While there were many of them, the life stolen from them by their journey was obvious, their ribs still visible beneath their coats and a hollowed appearance to their features.

Uncertain and feeling so unprepared in a new place, it is decided that the bulk of the clowder hold back; both to conceal their dire state, and hide their numbers as well. Agreeing that a kind, nonthreatening approach is the best method of action, Wolf Sol and Ignis Sol walk past a broken down fence line, and up towards the square open mouth of the wooden structure.

Upon entry, the heads of the journeying cats are met with an entire community of felines. Some young, and some incredibly old. No consistent scent hung in the air, but a mass intermingling of different walks of life filled the warm containment, along with rich prey scent which caused a natural roar in the half starved stomachs of the two mountain cats.

To their surprise, they were met with kindness and a place of shelter.. Upon introducing the rest of the clowder to these unfamiliar cats, was a surprise at the state of their figures. At that, the strange cats made it their mission to fill the bellies of these travelers, and hear their tale.

Now, the clowder gathers intel on the new landscape and what dangers and bounty lay beyond, while also telling of their heritage and their purpose for such an intense journey.

Another rollover has occurred! Things are really heating up!!

#warrior cats #roleplay #warrior cat roleplay #opiadiscord #discord roleplay

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joel-millerr · 3 years

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The Change

Chaper Two of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.9 K

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence. there is a scene towards the end that isn't exactly torture, but it is pretty graphic so please read with caution!, a bit of angst, and grief (talking about loss).... if there’s anything I missed please let me know so I can update it

Summary: You and Mando on your way to Nevarro so he can collect the bounty on your head but something happens, forcing you to land on another planet, and you begin seeing him in another light

Hope you guys like it!!

Tagged: @1800-fight-me🧡 // @tillytheslytherin🧡

As the Mandalorian’s ship—Razor Crest, climbs higher and higher into the sky, the sun’s beginning to rise over the city. Taking one last look at the capital, you mentally add “getting snatched by a bounty hunter” to the list of things you hate about Kijimi.

Maker, the silence in the cockpit is deafening. The Mandalorian doesn’t acknowledge you at all, his helmet glued to the windshield of the ship. You think about saying something, anything to break the awkward tension that seems to be multiplying in the small area of the cockpit, but from the very short time you’ve been with him, you don’t get the impression that he likes to talk. So awkward silence it is.

Once in the atmosphere, the Mandalorian prepares to make the jump to hyperspace. The stars’ light twinkles off his chrome helmet, and you’re too busy staring at him to notice another ship zip across the windshield, and then within seconds, the radar’s alarm is blaring through the cockpit. The shrill sound is piercing your ears and your eyes wrench shut, as if to try to block the noise out.

Two green beams of light appear out of nowhere, skimming the ship’s hull, and as the enemy spacecraft comes back into your peripheral for just a few seconds, your jaw nearly drops to the floor when you recognize whose ship it is.

It’s your ship. Someone is inside your ship, shooting at you. “That’s my ship!” You shriek, jumping to your feet and quickly making your way to the window. The Mandalorian says nothing in response, just letting out a couple of grunts and huffs. Your ship continues to bombard you with green beams, but the hunter is sharp enough to evade each shot. The jolts cause you to lose balance, and because your hands are still bound, it becomes more difficult for you to keep yourself upright without falling over onto the control panel.

“Get back in your seat,” The Mandalorian says through his visor. His voice is calm but stern. If he was panicking at all, his voice doesn’t give you the slightest suspicion.

You open your mouth to protest, to beg him not to shoot your ship down, to plead with him, but you know it would be a battle you couldn’t possibly win. Fumbling back into the seat to his right, a shot narrowly misses one of the thrusters and hits just above the belly of the ship. It sends you flying out of the seat, and you land on the ground hard, your shoulder taking the brute of the hit.

You hear two more blasts explode against the ship. The Crest is taking a lot of damage right now, but the Mandalorian manages to stay quiet during the entire ordeal.

“Let her go, Mandalorian.” A distorted voice comes through the radio.

Time seems to stop. The sirens still blaring through the cockpit penetrate your ears less and less until they are just a bunch of muffled clamors. That voice can only be from one person. The only other person in this galaxy that knows how to hijack your ship, and actually be able to fly it.

Tye.

Without any warning, the Crest begins a steep incline, and just as you’re finally able to seat yourself back in the chair, pulling the seatbelt across your torso and clicking it into place, the Crest flips upside down. If it weren’t for you being strapped in, you’d be flailing around the cockpit. The ship does a full circle before straightening out right behind your ship. The Mandalorian begins firing, three shots immediately pierce the hull’s integrity. The dark nothingness of space is suddenly luminated by a giant inferno; your ship begins plummeting back down towards Kijimi. You want to scream, to rush over to the pilot’s seat and scream into the radio hoping Tye would respond, but your body feels weighed down, like your limbs refuse to work.

As you watch your ship plummet towards the city, life drains from your body. For a moment, everything is still and fast at the same time. You had come to terms with your fate, you aren’t an optimist—not anymore anyway, but when you saw your ship, a flame—no, a glint of hope started to build in your bones. Maybe the Maker was giving you another chance. You were dead wrong.

Once the blaring alarm quiets, the Mandalorian initiates the jump sequence. The whole thing is over within minutes.

The Crest doesn’t spend much time in hyperspace though, because now the hyperdrive alarm is blaring again and you’re both launched right out, the ship spiraling in open atmosphere. The Mandalorian swears under his breath and begins frantically pressing buttons in an attempt to get you back into hyperspace. Despite his efforts, he’s unable to make the jump.

“Dank farrik,” The vocoder comes out strained.

“One of the shots must have damaged the hyperdrive.” You find yourself saying.

“Yes.” Is all you get.

He changes course and begins descending towards a planet you’ve never seen before. From space, the planet looks mostly swamp green, nothing particularly breathtaking or enticing.

“What is that?” You’re not really expecting an answer, just asking out loud, and you’re surprised because he actually answers you this time.

“Sorgan.”

You’ve heard of Sorgan. Some of your crew had resided on the planet since there was a spice smuggling base located there. Given the fact that Sorgan was a relatively unobtrusive planet, it was smart idea to put a camp. It was mostly covered in thick, dense forest which enabled the camp to be hidden fairly easily. Landing on Sorgan was a blessing in disguise. You could possibly send a message to the base there and maybe, just maybe, get rescued. Almost immediately you could feel excitement tingle your nerves. Okay, maybe you hadn’t lost.

Entering Sorgan airspace, the Mandalorian searches for a forest glade. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a small clearing just at the edge of a foliage of massive pine. He descends slowly, making sure not to hit any trees on the way down. You can’t help but be impressed by his flying abilities. He pilots like it is second nature to him. Always maintaining his cool demeanor, even if he is being shot at. Despite the fact that you resent him for possibly murdering the only person left you considered family and stealing your freedom, that aviator part of you is enthralled by the Mandalorian.

Once firmly landed, he cuts the engine and steps out of his seat.

“Stay here,” His voice is as deep as ever, not bothering to meet your eyes as he walks through the door to the cockpit and begins to descend down the ladder.

You linger in your chair for a few minutes, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. You’re not sure how much time you might have to send a message to your fellow smugglers, but you also don’t want to waste any more time waiting on him to come back. Fumbling slightly with your seatbelt, you all but leap towards the pilot’s chair to get to the radio. You finger toggles over the button to record your message. Why are you hesitating?

Chewing on your lip, and letting a deep breath exhale through your nose, you fight the urge to retreat back in your seat. Just as you’re about to record, you hear footsteps on the ladder behind you.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck,” you curse under your breath and you scramble to get back to your seat without the Mandalorian seeing you. You hear his boots hit the metal floor just as your butt hits the chair. The beskar helmet peaks through the doorway of the cockpit as if he’s just checking to see if you followed his orders.

“No, I haven’t moved,” you say to him, annoyingly.

“Come down.” He instructs, turning on his heel and already making his way down the rungs of the ladder.

“Why?”

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, “Because I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in the cockpit.”

You really don’t want to go down there. Not because you’re scared he’ll throw your ass in carbonite, but because if he gets you down there, you’ll have no reason to get back up here and send out a message to any smuggler who might want to help you.

“You can trust me.” It’s a desperate attempt. Usually you can use your charm to bend others to your will, but the Mandalorian is unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You already know it won’t work.

“No.”

Pressing your hands down on your knees, you push yourself to your feet. You eye the control panel one last time and actually consider locking yourself in the bridge just long enough to get a message out. While the idea becomes more and more tempting by the second, you need to be smart about this. If you plan on escaping or getting a message out, it has to be perfectly timed and planned. It didn’t take him long to catch you, and you need to be a lot smarter the next time around.

So you head down the ladder like he told you to. The ramp is down, and your feet irk to run down the ridge and escape into the lush forest in front of you. Every instinct inside of you is screaming to run, to take your chances and hope to lose him in the fog of the greenery, but you have no idea where you are on this planet. You have no idea if the camp is relatively close to you or not. If you ran now, you’d have no supplies, no sense of direction, never mind the fact that your hands are still bound.

First things first then; get him to release the shackles.

He’s currently inspecting the damage Tye inflicted on the Crest. The hull of the ship is smoking, and there’s a few new dents on the sides of the ship, but there isn’t any damage that a couple days’ worth of work wouldn’t be able to fix. Luckily for you, that gives you a couple days to think of the best way to take off.

Not entirely sure where to go, you stay by the ladder, standing like an awkward kid waiting to be told what to do.

The Crest is much bigger than you thought it was. Most of the space inside the ship is housing the carbonite chamber with the three other companions you’re convinced you’ll end up joining. Next to the chamber is what you assume is a locker full of armory. You make a mental note to raid that locker before your escape. To your left, there’s a narrow, small cubicle that could only be used for sleep. Even though the door is closed, you can tell that it’s already too cramped for the Mandalorian, and you wonder how he can fit in such a tiny space.

Honestly, you’re more concerned about whether or not he’s ever had anyone in there with him. Surely if the space is too small for him, then he couldn’t possibly have had any lovers in there with him, right? Heat begins to coil in your stomach and the thought of that makes you shift in your stance. You really shouldn’t be thinking of whether or not the Mandalorian’s fucked anybody in his poor excuse of a bed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the pleasure of being with a man or even taken care of yourself and it doesn’t help that the Mandalorian exudes this ferocious confidence and control. Does that make you wonder if he’d still as controlling when he’s balls deep inside you? Would be still be quiet like he is now, or would he be a babbling mess?

“Hey.” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to jump.

The Mandalorian is standing just arms distance away from you, and stars, he is an absolute sight. Built like a monument—tall, firm and fucking intimidating. In your everyday life, you always walked with your head held high, refusing to show any weakness, but right now? Your head is down, only peering up at him through hooded lids. Something about the Mandalorian scratches a primal instinct in you that you’ve only observed in animals. Predator, prey—you’re giving up control, and what’s worse is that you actually like it. When it came to lovers, you had always been the dominant one. Every run you’ve made since you can remember, you were the one calling the shots, ordering your comrades around, but in the very short time you’ve known the Mandalorian, you can tell he likes control, and order.

You should hate him. You shouldn’t feel this kind of attraction for him, but despite your efforts, it’s there. You areattracted to him—he basically owns you now; it definitely shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.

“Sorry?” You manage to choke out. Your throat is bone dry and Maker, you swear if he was any closer, he’d be able to hear your heart fucking hammering in your chest. His gloved hand reaches out and grabs the binds on your wrists. It’s not even his fucking bare hand but it has you holding back a moan. You wrench your eyes shut hoping it will alleviate some of the tension building between your legs.

“I’m going to unbind you,” The voice behind the helmet begins to say. “But if you run, I will catch you again and I won’t hesitate to throw your ass in carbonite. Do you understand?” It comes our breathy, almost like being this close to you is affecting him the same way it’s affecting you.

You can’t find any words, now. All you can do is nod slowly because your mind is on fucking fire being this close to him and you want to rip off that helmet and crush your lips together but also you want to drop to your fucking knees and show him how much he’s affecting you.

The grip on your wrists relaxes and he’s taking the binds and tossing them to the floor of the ship. You continue to stand just a few feet from each other. The visor is too dark to make out his eyes, and you curse the Maker for it. You’ve heard stories about Mandalorians. How they never take off their helmets in front of others, how they swear to the Creed to live a life of anonymity. You couldn’t possibly imagine living that way. It sounds incredibly restricting, but you do respect it. Everyone has their own beliefs in this world, and you aren’t one to judge another for the path they’ve chosen. Look at yourself, you were a nobody mechanic and then you became a spice smuggler. The path you’ve chosen isn’t exactly noble, so who are you to judge how the Mandalorians choose to live their lives?

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize he’s no inches away from your face. He’s halfway down the ramp when he calls you.

“Let’s go.”

You stumble for a couple steps and then pick up a small jog to catch up with him. The walk is a little uncomfortable now due to the slickness between your thighs, but you push through it.

“Where are we going?” You ask once you’re by his side. You look up at him but when he answers you, he keeps his attention peeled to the landscape in front of him.

“The hyperdrive was damaged.” His strides are much larger than yours, and you need to trot to keep up the pace. “I saw a town not too far from here. Hopefully there’ll be someone there that can help.”

You spot the town—barely a town, it’s just a couple of huts and then a bigger one at the centre. You wonder how anyone would choose to live here. It’s too quiet, too uneventful. There are a couple merchants selling krill—you know Sorgan exports a lot of krill and is basically the only way farmers make a living here.

You enter the common house—maybe it’s an inn, you’re not entirely sure. It’s nothing like the cantinas on Kijimi or Tatooine or any of the other planets you’ve visited. It’s ridiculously quiet and charming. There aren’t any patrons playing sabacc and screaming at one another when one of them loses, or others getting incredibly intoxicated on spotchka and brawling on the floor of the bar. Just a couple of humble farmers, some making a pit spot, and other locals keeping to themselves. It’s refreshing and also unnerving. You’re used to the commotion of more lively planet cantinas, staying in the shadows and observing, making sure you’d be ready in case someone tried to pick a fight with you. There’s no need for that here. Not only does everyone in this place look completely harmless, but you’ve also got a fucking Mandalorian on your left, and you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try to fight him.

Unlike your choice to sit in the back of the common house, the Mandalorian chooses a table smack in the middle of the room. That’s the difference between a Mandalorian and a smuggler. You would rather choose a quiet place to sit, not drawing any attention to yourself. He—on the other hand, doesn’t put that much thought into where they should sit. Smugglers are always being hunted. Mandalorians? No one wants to fight them.

Once seated, you tense immediately. There are voices behind you, and not being able to keep track of what they’re saying, or if they move really distresses you. Granted, you doubt anyone here has a mean bone in their body, but you stay on edge regardless.

One of the women behind the counter takes notice of your arrival. Patting her hands clean on her apron, she walks over to you.

“Can I interest you in anything, travelers?” She asks, all smiles.

Her immediate kindness puts you at ease—slightly.

Before you can ask for some spotchka, the Mandalorian’s vocoder cuts through the helmet.

“Is there anyone here that can repair a ship?”

Her brows pull together tightly, pressing a finger to her chin. “Hmm… I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Sorgan is a farming planet, and we don’t get many visitors around here.”

He sighs, and you peek down from the woman standing over you to see his fist ball up on the table. “Fine.” It comes out strained, like it’s taking all his strength not to blow up and scream.

“Would you like anything else?” She asks again. “Maybe something for you, ma’am?” Shifting her body to face you, you open your mouth to answer, but the Mandalorian speaks first. “No, thank you.”

You whip your head to face him. You may be a quarry, but you still have some rights.

“Actually,” You point out, still looking at the helmet that burns right into you. “I’d like a bottle of your finest spotchka, please.”

He tilts his head just enough for you to notice, fist still balled up on the table. The lady seems to take notice of the tension, but she says nothing further. She simply nods and retreats to the bar. Returning swiftly with a bottle in one hand—two cups in the other, she places them between you two. You reach into the side thigh pocket of your pants and pull out a handful of credits and place them in her hand. She nods in gratitude. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Thank you.” The hunter grits through his teeth.

Immediately you pour yourself a glass and throw it back, a couple droplets leaking from the corners of your mouth. Using the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth clean. You know you’ll probably regret the little stunt you just pulled, but it’s been a long fucking day and you just want to relax for a bit.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely relaxed because there’s a Mandalorian just a few feet away from that seems to be getting more and more cross the longer you stay in the common house, but you also want to see how far you can press him before he snaps. Besides, he shot down your ship. You deserve this.

Three more glasses of spotchka later, and you’re feeling warm inside. The kind of warm that lowers your defenses and makes you giggle at everything. The kind of warmth that releases the tension that’s nestled in the deepest corners of your body, and makes your vision a little fuzzy. It’s probably early evening now, because the common house is getting livelier. They must be coming in for a meal.

“Get up,” The Mandalorian orders, rising to his feet.

“So soon?” You pout. You’re definitely feeling the effects of the spotchka.

“We’ve wasted enough time here. Now get up, we’re leaving.”

Normally, you’d fight till your last breath, but with the alcohol swimming in your blood, your inhibitions are lowered, and you’re way too relaxed to actually get your brain to fight back. Besides, there’s barely any spotchka left and you don’t have any more credits to spend.

Getting to your feet is a little bit of a struggle. Once standing up, the room starts spinning. Not enough to completely knock you off balance, but enough to make it difficult to stand without swaying. Turning on his heel, the Mandalorian heads for the door, cape mimicking his movements. Your legs aren’t moving as fast as you’d like them too, and the spotchka is really getting to your head, now. You drank a lot more than you should have.

Luckily you’re able to catch up to him, somewhat out of breath though. He doesn’t say anything to you—no surprise there. As you stumble through the forest, there’s a gentle breeze in the air. Tree branches creak as the wind passes through, and stray hairs from your ponytail brush across your flushed cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with enjoying the clean, fresh air to notice he’s now a couple feet ahead of you. The cape attached to his armour flows in the gentle breeze. Stars, you’re completely captivated by him. By the way he carries himself, like there’s not a shred of self-doubt behind that armor, and you want to know everything about him. Now that you’re pretty drunk, the thoughts you pushed away can roam freely in your mind. When was the last time he took off that helmet? Why did he—a Mandalorian, decide to be a bounty hunter? How many quarries has he captured in his life? How old is he? Are Mandalorians allowed to have sex with non-Mandalorians? Your mind is coming up with an endless number of questions, but you never find the strength to ask.

“You know, you could have asked me to help with the ship,” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. The Mandalorian stops in his tracks and waits for you to catch up to him. Once you’re at his side, he turns his head to look in your direction.

“What?” Deep, rough, and somewhat irritable.

Your shoulders shoot up and down twice, body swaying with the breeze. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Yeah.” He says, brushing off yours words and resuming his tread.

“No, seriously.” Chasing after him, you want to reach out and grab hold of his arm, but you catch yourself before you do.

“Just how much spotchka did you drink?” He taunts, voice condensing like he’s scolding a child.

“I… don’t know.” Holy maker, did you drink an entire bottle to yourself?

The Mandalorian actually scoffs at you. If you could see his face, you’re certain he’d be rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, well I used to be.” You clarify, still struggling to keep up with his gigantic strides. Kriff how fast does he walk? “Can you just stop walking for a second, please?”

“No.”

You let out a loud, childish groan. At this point you basically have to run to keep up with the hunk of metal heading back to his ship.

“I used to repair ships with my father on Tatooine.” Your tone is breathy, your lungs trying to get as much fresh air as possible.

This makes him pause. Turning around, the ‘T’ of his visor looking directly at you. Stopping at arm’s-length away from him, you bend forward, hands resting on your knees. He gives you time to regulate your breathing.

“I can fix the hyperdrive. I’ve been doing it since I can remember.” You try to assure him. You don’t even know why you’re offering your help. The longer it takes to fix, the longer your freedom lasts, but the alcohol has made you soft, more accommodating. Seeming to come out of nowhere, your vision becomes extremely blurry. You swear there’s now two Mandalorians in front of you. Blinking profusely, your eyesight doesn’t clear. You feel like you’re floating while simultaneously being pulled to the ground. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you feel your limbs cave in, and everything gets dark.

The sound of crackling fire wakes you up. It must be late, because the fire is the only source of light. How did you get here? The last thing you remember was walking through thick forest with the Mandalorian and now you’re laying by a fire, back near the Crest. You can’t remember the last time you actually passed out from drinking so much. The spotchka here has to be stronger than any other time you’ve had it. You can handle your drink, and this is downright embarrassing.

Wait, did he actually carry you back to the ship? Despite the little stunt you pulled back at the common house? He could have easily thrown you into carbonite once you both got back to the ship and you wouldn’t have even known it, but for some reason, he chose not to. You want to ask him—to show your appreciation, but you hesitate. Maybe just letting it slide is the right course of action.

Propping yourself on your elbows, you see the Mandalorian sitting on an old, mossy stump. There’s something between his legs, but you can’t make out its features through the fire. Pushing yourself to your feet, you notice another stump just to your right. He must have put it there for you to sit once you woke up. You have a pounding headache, but the fire’s warmth helps a little.

You can now make out a few more details about the creature sat between the Mandalorian’s feet. It looks like a child, but you can’t be sure. Your eyes must be deceiving you because it appears to be green, the type of green you’ve only ever seen on the plains of Naboo.

Stars, its ears. They’re massive, just like its eyes. Your mouth curls into a smile. It’s adorable. You’ve never been partial to kids. There was never something inside of you that longed for a child, or to take care of one, but this little thing at the Mandalorian’s feet is making you rethink anything negative you’ve ever said about babies.

“What…is that?” You ask as you sit down on the stump he placed for you.

From the embers of the fire, you see the little thing’s eyes find you and it coos. Kriff, he’s so fucking cute.

“He’s a foundling.” Oh, so it’s a ‘he’.

You wait for him to explain, but the Mandalorian isn’t one to talk or elaborate unless directly addressed or absolutely necessary. Continuing to examine the child from a distance, it—no, he, is also looking at you, almost like he’s studying you as well.

“How did he come into your care?”

“He was a quarry,” His voice is quiet, the modulator distorting his tone to make it raspier than usual.

“You haven’t delivered him yet?”

Your eyes shift between the man in armor across the fire from you, and the small green alien-looking child between his legs. The Child’s head tilts from side to side as he watches you, the reflection of the flames glistening in his big black eyes.

“I did.” He deadpans and leaves you to fill in the rest of the blanks.

You want to bore him to death with questions. Why did he go back for him? Does this mean he’s its father? How does he plan to raise a child being a bounty hunter? Does that mean this kid will also become a Mandalorian?

None of these questions actually come out of your mouth, though. Given the circumstances, you don’t think the Mandalorian even has a clue what he’ll do, and it’s not really your place to bombard him with your curiosity.

So, maybe this Mandalorian was different from the stories you’ve heard—not that you’ve heard much honestly other than them being amazing killers, but if he went back for the Child, then maybe there was a soft, kind heart under all that beskar.

“I can do it.” Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear you. You continue to stare into the flames, waiting to see if he’ll respond. He doesn’t, but that’s fine with you.

You’re not entirely sure when you even fell asleep but when your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on the ground, back against the uneven terrain. Using the ground to push you up to your feet, you shake the dirt off your pants and begin stretching your back by twisting your torso until you hear a satisfying crack. Your mother used to scold you for cracking your back. “You’re going to hurt yourself one day,” she used to say. When you were a kid, you’d roll your eyes at her and then she’d give you a gentle but still stern slap across the arm, the kind of slap only a mother could get away with doing. You were never really one to listen to authority, so it’s a habit you never grew out of.

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beaming down on your skin, not a single cloud in sight. Sorgan is quite breathtaking, really. On most planets, no matter where you are, you can hear the commotion of city centres or see ships coming in and out of the atmosphere. Not on Sorgan, though. The only sounds you’re able to make out are tress swaying in the breeze, and the occasional bellow of the beasts in the forest.

The sound of the Child startles you. He’s at your feet, little arms extending out to grasp the material of your trousers. When did he get here? You crouch down and wave your index finger at him, little coos emitting from the green baby. His three-fingered hand wraps around your finger. This warm calmness comes over you, putting you at ease. Untensing all your muscles, your aches disappear, and the only thing that exists is you and the Child. You close your eyes, completely giving into the stillness. Maker, you swear you can hear the Child say something. Your eyes are still closed, and you don’t actually hear him say anything, but he is. You hear it in your mind—It’s faint and muffled, and you have to focus all your energy into narrowing down what he’s saying, and then it becomes as clear as day.

Grogu.

“Good. You’re up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s headed straight for you, just as stoic as ever; the sun’s light ricocheting off the beskar. The Child’s grip slackens, and you straighten out to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze. Your breath hitches as he continues to make his way towards you. Something as simple as a walk shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. Shifting in your stance, you can’t help but notice the heat building in your lower abdomen. Stars, get a grip. He’s the enemy, you shouldn’t allow yourself to feel this.

Leaning over, he picks up the Child and holds him with one arm. Almost immediately, you observe the way the Child wraps his tiny hand around one of the Mandalorian’s gloved fingers. There’s no stopping the stupid, shit-eating grin that appears on your face.

“The hyperdrive.”

“Right.” You respond, the smile falls from your face and you stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. The Mandalorian turns his back to you and makes way for the Crest. You follow him like a lost puppy, keeping a couple feet distance between you and him.

Once inside, he sets the Child down on one of the cargo crates near the ladder leading up the cockpit. You head up the ladder first, and he quickly follows suit. To your left is a small cubby hole in the wall that accesses all the wiring to the hyperdrive. It’ll be a nightmare to crawl in and out of, but you offered your services to him, so you can’t turn back now.

“I’ll get straight to work, then.” Turning away from him, you crouch down to your knees to examine the damage. There are various wires that are disconnected and thrown around, smoke emitting from one of the panels hidden inside the wall, and looks just about as worse as it can get. You’ve never seen anything this bad, before. How the Kriff was he able to fly this ship in such a horrible state? You start by grabbing a blue and red wire that hang loosely off the wall. A bit of copper and aluminum cords are splitting at the end of the cable which makes you think they might have touched each other causing some kind short circuit. Shrugging off the idea, you start to work.

After working on the hyperdrive for a couple hours, you decide to take a break. Climbing down the ladder near the cockpit, there’s no sign of the Mandalorian or the Child. All of a sudden, you’re aware of how sticky your body feels. Dirty, grimy, and uncomfortable. Now would be the perfect time for a shower. You turn your head to the fresher behind you and consider taking one, but you don’t want to intrude. You’re still a quarry and you assume the Mandalorian wouldn’t appreciate you taking a shower in his refresher. On your walk to the common house yesterday, you had spotted a lake not too far away. Maybe you could take one there. Then again, if you were to venture off, he might think you’ve run off. Your eyes shift between the fresher and the outside.

“You can clean up in the fresher.” Despite his tone always been low and rough, it still startles you. You whip your neck to see the Mandalorian leaning against the wall of the ship. You swear he wasn’t there a second ago so to see him just a few metres away from you not only puzzles you, but sends immediate shockwaves to your cunt. You feel like you’re being stalked, and it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. The Mandalorian is built like a goddamn Star Destroyer; one look at him and you’re instantly intimidated, almost scared. You’ve never met anyone who can be so big yet so quiet, so frightening yet also so caring. It’s actually quite impressive. From his demeanor, no one would be able to guess he’s got a fucking kid back in his ship.

At first you want to protest, not wanting to push any boundaries or make either of you feel uncomfortable, but you know he’ll end up winning any argument you try to make for yourself, so instead you give him a quick nod before turning on your heel to the refresher. You don’t turn back to see if the Mandalorian is still looking at you, but your cheeks feel red hot anyway.

The fresher is pretty small considering the size of the ship, but if he somehow manages to fit in here, you have no problem. The water is warm, and cascades over your skin, instantly relaxing you. It feels amazing until it suddenly doesn’t. Your arm is burning, it’s on fucking fire and then it hits you. Looking down at your arm, you see scorched skin and are reminded of your injury from… well you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since he captured you back on Kijimi. It’s maybe been two or three days since. In the same moment, you realize you never got to put any bacta spray on it to stop any kind of infection. The skin surrounding the wound is turning a deep green-purple shade. Not a good sign.

“Kriff…” You whisper. You were supposed to put some bacta on it once you got back to your ship but obviously, things went differently than you expected. You take the bar of soap sitting on one of the ledges inside the fresher and begin washing away the dirt and sweat from the last couple of days, being extra careful when cleaning the area around your injury. Realistically, you could stay here for hours, letting the warm water drip down your figure, completely soothing your sore muscles and calming your mind, but you don’t want to take up more water than necessary.

When you come out of the fresher, there’s a pile of clean clothes resting on the rungs of the ladder. Tilting your head at the garments in front of you, you take them in your hands and smile to yourself. He must have gone out while you were working on the ship and somehow was able to find you some clean clothes. You change quickly, out in the open, hoping he won’t walk in and see you—okay maybe you do kind of hope he’ll see you. Once you’re fully clothes, you’re pleasantly surprised to notice they fit you perfectly. The cargo pants hug your frame like a glove, and you can’t help but notice they make your ass look great. Your tunic snatches your waist and is low cut enough for just the smallest amount of cleavage to pop through.

Taking the ladder two steps at a time, you reach the top in record time. You can see the smooth convex of beskar in the pilot’s chair, so instead of immediately resuming your work, you poke your head into the doorway of the cockpit. The Child’s pram rests on the seat to your left. It’s closed which means he’s probably asleep in there.

“Thank you for the clothes…” You’re not sure what to call him, since neither of us have actually properly introduced yourselves. However, you’re sure he knows your name given there’s a bounty on your head.

He doesn’t turn to face you, just continues whatever he’s doing. “Mando,” He clarifies, somehow answering the question you were thinking. “And you’re welcome.”

You linger for a couple seconds, not entirely sure why. He’s not much of a talker, but you still want to hear his voice. Before you can conjure up with something to say, he breaks the silence.

“When will you be done?” There isn’t any annoyance in his tone, which is usually accompanied by that question. You heard it all the time when you worked back at the hangar. “Hey lady, when are you going to be done?”, “What the Kriff is taking so long?”. You’ve grown to let those condescending questions roll off your back, but the Mandalorian’s tone is surprisingly gentle. Maker, are you falling for the Mandalorian?

“Well,” You begin, taking a few steps into the cockpit. Your hand comes up and latches onto your forearm, squeezing it. “I noticed that the hyperdrive was only functioning at 50% capacity before it broke down completely, and I was going to ask if you wanted it back at 100% before we takeoff because that’ll take—”

“Just fix it enough for us to get back to Nevarro.” He interjects, the baritone coming out dry.

It catches you off-guard, but you’re quickly reminded once again that you aren’t just somebody fixing the ship. You are a prisoner, and he doesn’t actually owe you any more kindness. He was kind enough to let you live, let you clean yourself in his refresher, and give you clean clothes. You’re chewing on the flesh inside your cheek, wondering if there’s something else you should say, but nothing worth saying comes to mind. He must notice your presence still there, because he swivels the pilot’s chair to face you. You swallow the giant lump in your throat and shift in your stance.

“You’re hurt.”

You glance over to your arm and then back to the visor. “It’s nothing.”

Pressing down on his knees to stand, the Mandalorian stalks towards you. Nerves and arousal are pooling in your stomach, now. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer. Stopping just at arm’s length, a gloved hand reaches out and clasps just underneath your injured bicep. The touch makes you pull back, not because it hurts but because it feels too fucking amazing. You’re seeing stars and he’s barely even touched you. Mouth agape, your breathing is so fucking uneven.

“That’ll need more than just cauterizing in order for it to properly heal,” His hand now moves down, ever so gently caressing your elbow. Your head dips down, unable to look at him directly. It’s pathetic really. You’re usually a fairly strong-willed person, who doesn’t bend at the will of anybody. You stand tall, even despite your size. Others in the smuggling game have a huge respect for you and see you as a leader, but now you’re cowering under the Mandalorian. You’d obey every one of his commands if he ordered it. All the power you hold, your bad habit of resisting authority would vanish in an instant if he pushed you.

“There’s bacta spray in the medical kit near the armory. You should take care of that before it infects.”

Your brain is racing, and the ability to form words had completed disappeared. All you can offer is a barely noticeable nod. You want to stay in this moment for as long as you can. Just the two of you standing inches apart, the tension growing thicker and thicker in the small area of the cockpit. You wonder if he feels it, too. If he wishes for this intimate moment to last forever. Swallowing your nerves, your eyes shit from the floor up to the visor. Trying to gauge for some kind of reaction but even if he is affected by this, his body gives no sign of it. Must be all in your head, then.

The Mandalorian’s finally the one to break up your little moment. He lets go of your elbow and you fight back the moan that threatens to escape your lips. You want him to touch you again, anywhere and fucking everywhere. He sits back in the chair and rotates it towards the control panel, so his back is facing you again. You probably linger a little longer than you should before finally retreating back down the ladder to get the bacta spray.

Once the spray mists over the gash, you instantly feel relief. The strain you didn’t realize was still in your body dissipates and you let out a deep breath through your lips. Thank the Maker for bacta spray.

The next few days go by relatively fast. Despite the awkward/sexual tension that clearly exists between you and Mando, you’re able to endure it. The encounters don’t last that long anyway. Usually, he’ll ask you about the progress on the hyperdrive. The conversations don’t last particularly long, but it’s enough to work you up into a sweaty mess.

And if you’re being honest, you probably could have fixed the hyperdrive in two days. You’re a damn natural when it comes to repairs, and you’ve fixed hundreds of hyperdrives in worse shape believe it or not. But you’re were taking your sweet ass time, giving yourself more time to be with Mando. It’s silly and childish, but you truly enjoyed his company, even though the conversations are mostly one sided.

Unfortunately though, the job had to get done. Once Mando noticed the hyperdrive had been fixed to 65% capacity, he was satisfied enough with your work. He decided you’d spend one last night on Sorgan and then leave at first light.

You’re all sitting by the fire. The Child propped up on a stump between the two of you. The night is calm, not a single breeze passing through the trees. A clear sky showered in stars. Forgetting the fact that this is essentially your last night of “freedom”, you’re really loving this.

“Twenty thousand.”

You’re in the middle of sipping bone broth you bought off a merchant in town—with Mando’s credits, when his voice catches your attention. “Hmm?” You mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the little dripples of soup that trinkle down your chin.

“You asked me how much your bounty was,” His helmet stares into the fire a few feet away from him. The orange hues reflecting off the beskar.

Your lips form a thin line. You didn’t know the New Republic had that kind of money to spend. Twenty thousand is a pretty generous bounty.

“Wow, that’s pretty high.” That’s actually really high. It’s hard to make an honest living, and the New Republic throwing around thousands of credits like that makes you uneasy. Instead of using that as an incentive for other to hunt criminals, it should be distributed to those less fortunate. The thought makes you chuckle to yourself. A smuggler explaining how a government should be run. How noble of you.

“I wasn’t born into this, you know…” Your voice trails off, unsure if Mando wants to hear you or not. The helmet turns in your direction, giving you permission to continue. The Child looks up at you and coos. Your eyes avert their gaze to stare into the flames.

Clearing your throat, you begin. “I was raised on Tatooine. My parents were lucky enough to own a hangar, so my dad worked there, and my mom was a seamstress. Just a couple of ordinary people.” You weren’t particularly less fortunate than anyone else in your town. Your belly was always full, and you always had clean clothes on your back. Most of the residents in your village weren’t as privileged but your parents were generous, offering what little excess they had was given those who couldn’t afford food or clean garments.

Early on, they taught you never to flaunt what you had, always be humble when speaking to others, and to always be respectful. You loved your parents more than you could say, and ever since they died, you shut off a part of yourself. Heartbroken and alone, losing yourself in work seemed like the only way to cope with the loss. The more sorrow you felt, the more work you forced on yourself. If it weren’t for Tye, you’re not sure if you would have been able to get through it.

And ever since then, you vowed never to let yourself experience any kind of love again. The risk was just too high. Not knowing if one day your loved one would come home or not, investing so much of your soul into someone, relying on them only to have it snatched away from you without warning; it just seemed foolish. When they died, you cried every morning and every night for months, until one night you vowed never to cry again.

And you haven’t since.

People called you heartless, scum, cruel, but their words never managed to pierce the iron exterior you mentally built for yourself when your parents died. No one would be allowed to access that sensitive, caring part of you. Not even Tye. You loved him like a brother, but once that loss had punched through you, you could never look at him the same. There was a distance, now. Whether he knew it or not, he never confronted you about it. He gave you space, and when you were ready to let him back into your life, albeit not really back in, he never pressured you or expected your relationship to go back to how it was.

“So when they passed, I just felt like I was lost. I needed to escape.”

“And smuggling was your only option?” There’s a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m a smuggler and you’re a bounty hunter. We all make choices in life. I’ve made my peace with that.” Your tone comes out a little more defensive than it should, and you think about apologizing, but fuck it. You have nothing to lose anymore. Even if you thought he might not turn you in, the possibility of getting twenty thousand credits is too much of an opportunity to pass up on.

Neither of you speak for the rest of the night.

You’re awakened by Mando nudging your feet with his. You snap out of deep sleep, rubbing your palms against your eyes. Sitting up, you moan softly and begin trying to adjust your vision to the Sorgan darkness. The only light that the night offers is the moonlight reflecting off Mando’s armor. The helmet’s looking directly at you, and a finger comes up to where his mouth would be, signaling to be quiet. Still half-asleep, you nod.

Ever so slowly, you rise to your feet and quickly brush the dirt off your pants.

“Get to the ship,” He orders, voice low and gruff.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, still standing in place.

“Hunters.” He says. “Get to the ship.” Mando orders again, his tone becoming much more assertive. You want to fight. You’ve never run from a fight before, and you’re not about to start now.

“I can help.”

Before having the chance to respond, red blasts come flying through the trees in the distance. Mando grabs you by the waist and shoves you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Get to the fucking ship!” He yells.

You want to argue with him, really you do. Realistically, you know he could probably take care of this himself, but that doesn’t mean you want to cower away and hide in the ship while he takes care of business. Then panic swarms you.

The Child.

Your head whips back and forth, and the relief that comes over you when you catch sight of his pram just your left, the gloomy night shielding him from sight, instantly calms your nerves.

The shooting stops all at once, becoming eerily quiet. Mando pivots, trying to keep eyes all around him. Your body mimics his movements, even though you’re completely defenseless. Twigs snapping, bushes rustling—not from the breeze, but from intruders trampling over them, coming closer. One, two, three, four hunters come into view, flanking you from all angles.

Okay, so this worse than you thought.

“Ah, Mando!” One of them calls out, blaster pointed directly at Mando’s chest.

“We don’t want any trouble, Mando,” Another pursuer taunts. “We just want the girl.”

Fuck.

They begin drawing in closer. You don’t want to underestimate Mando’s ability to fight, but with four hunters closing in, and having only one blaster, you’re not seeing how he can win this. You’re conjuring a plan inside your head and praying that he’ll catch on. If someone’s going to get credit for your capture, it sure as hell isn’t going to be this gang of thugs.

“Fine.” You throw up your hands in defeat, stepping aside from the shield that is Mando. You face the man directly in front of you, assuming he’s the one who’s leading the charge.

“What are you doing?” Mando’s voice is fucking low, somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

“Trust me.” Your tone gentle, eyes pleading with him.

You begin taking slow footsteps towards the blaster pointed now at you. “I can assure you, I’m more valuable alive, so why don’t we put our blasters down before someone gets hurts?” Arms still up, hesitating to take any more steps forward.

“You think we’re stupid enough to listen to you?” One of them shouts behind you. You flinch on impulse. Your chest is heaving, but you need to a grip if you plan to walk away from this alive.

You can slightly make out the hunter’s features. He looks somewhat familiar, like when you see a stranger in a dream, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve seen him before. You’ve encountered plenty of hunters before, maybe they’re just all starting to look the same to you. Only Mando stands out, now.

The moon’s mellow and radiant reflection is starting to make out the hunter’s features. He doesn’t look entirely human, but you don’t manage to get close enough to actually see what he is.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The hunter sneers, his mouth curling into a malicious grin.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you remember who this is—but how? You shot him in the chest. You saw him fall. Sure, you didn’t actually check to see if he was dead but how could anyone survive being blasted directly in the chest? You must be remembering wrong. No, he shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.

“Surprised to see me?”

You refuse to show your disbelief, keeping your jaw tense. “No, it’s just more target practice.” You spit.

Eerie laughter erupts from deep inside the man opposite you. Never slacking on the grip on his blaster, he shifts the barrel from your chest to directly between your eyes. Okay…what the fuck do you do now?

Mando and the kid are still a few feet behind you. You’re running out of ideas, fast. If you went to attack your pursuer, he’d definitely shoot you before you got close enough to him, and the three behind you would shoot Mando down before he even had time to react. You need to play this out smart, maybe you could—

Before being able to finish your thought, you hear whistling, and bodies hit the ground. Instinctively, you want to look over your shoulder to see what happened, but there’s still a blaster pointed at your face, and you’d be dead if you wasted even a second to turn around. Charging at him, you narrowly miss three blasts as they come flying by your cheek, shoulder, and neck. Once you feel close enough, you lunge at him, knocking you both to the ground. Your body lands on top of his, the blaster rolling a few feet away from your conjoined bodies. Grabbing hold of the lapel on his jacket, you wind up your fist and connect it with his jaw. He cries at the pain, retaliating by slamming his knee into your abdomen. The air is completely knocked out of your lungs, but you stifle the wail that threatens to spill you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You reach out aimlessly for the gun, and the joy you get when you feel the gun in your hand is unmatched. Scrambling to your feet, and clutching the gun in your hand, you point it at him. Mando wastes no time rushing to your side, blaster also on him.

“Don’t.” You tell him. No, you want this kill to be yours.

For a moment, you think he’ll ignore you and shoot him anyway. The man on the ground, now resting on his elbows spits, droplets of blood landing on the ground, a small trail dribbling down his chin. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction, to see him bleed and completely at your mercy, but reason has escaped you. You want to hurt him; you want him to feel as much pain as any person can take. He threatened you, Mando, and the kid. He’ll pay for it, you promise.

“Go ahead, kill me.” The man swears. “But know that we’re only the beginning. You think you’re the only one who got a tracking fob, Mando?” A smile curls up on the corners of his lips. Your body is hot—it’s actually scorching. This surpasses any emotion you’ve ever felt before. The scalding need for blood and pain engulfs you. You’re not even sure why you feel so angry, but you are.

“Hunter scum,” You spit, kicking him hard in the stomach. More red fluid punches out of his mouth, causing him to cough aggressively.

“Hey,” Mando’s free arm grasps on to your bicep. “Stop.”

Your head’s shaking violently. No, he needs to suffer. “No, I’m gonna savour this.” You swing your leg back to kick him again, but Mando’s voice rips through the vocoder. “Stop!” It comes out aggressive, like he’s giving you an order.

Your jaw is tight, every fiber in your body is telling you to shove Mando out of the way so you can wreck this hunter scum that lies at your feet.

“You g-gonna let him order you around like that, sweetheart?” His last word cuts through you like a vibroblade to the chest. Your free hand balls up into a fist, white knuckling so hard, you’re sure you’re breaking skin with your nails. The man on the ground laughs, he’s fucking laughing at you and that’s the final straw, the thing you needed to push you over the edge. Unclenching your fist, your hand shoots up and flexes around what you imagine is his neck. He coughs, and starts gasping for air. Shaky hands shoot up to his own throat, as if he thinks that’ll somehow relieve the pressure you’re creating. It feels good, seeing him fucking struggle for breath, watching the light behind his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. It’s happening all too fast, and you want to take your time.

“Fuck this,” Mando shouts, his blaster coming up and shooting the man in the heart. Your grip slackens, and you drop to your knees. Struggling for breath, one hand on your chest and the other on your knee, you feel like you’re going to pass out. Mando’s drops to your side, a big, gloved hand resting on your back. Your body shudders at the touch and you pull away from him. Determined to put some space between you two, you straighten out, and take a couple steps back.

“What the hell happened there?” He tries not to startle you; his voice comes out a rough whisper.

Feeling your breathing evening out, your palms come out, trembling. You stare down at them, then to the corpse lying near Mando’s feet, desperately trying to understand why you couldn’t stop, why you couldn’t control your anger. The words aren’t forming, you can’t bring yourself to understand how it happened.

“I-I don’t know.” How could this happen? How could you let this happen?

A distorted sigh comes through the helmet. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“I didn’t,” Your voice comes out as gentle as you can, given the circumstances. “I’ve just always had it.”

Mando takes a step closer to you and halts; he’s asking for permission to get closer. You give him a barely noticeable nod and within seconds he’s towering over you. His hands twitch at his sides, and you wonder if he’s going to touch you, but he doesn’t, and you start to believe that maybe a jail cell is exactly where you should be.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #Din Djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #the mandalorian x you #Din Djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #angst #tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: grief #reader insert #the mandalorian fanfiction #we are one when together #fics

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justleaf · 3 years

Note

Ship bingo: Eskel x Iorveth

Why was I not following you, wtf I swear I pressed the funky button a while ago.

Look you can't just throw DILF Eskel and MILF Iorveth at me without expecting me to lose my shit ashjdDCJHSHDKO SIGN ME THE FUCK UP. HERE IS A FIC TO ILLUSTRATE HOW MUCH I LOVE THE CONCEPT OF THEM.

Pairing

Eskel x Iorveth

Length

380 words

It must have been another difficult day again. Eskel didn't say a word, but truthfully he didn't need to. Iorveth had long learned to read the slight tilt of his lips and the faintest furrow of his brow.

"I'm home."

"I missed you," the elf honeyed as he rose from his chair and slid into the arms of his lover, who returned the embrace all too eagerly.

"Me too," Eskel mumbled with a forced smile.

Winter had been harsh on their remaining food supply and the witcher had gone into the city to procure more. The errands went by uneventfully on the best of days, and when Eskel returned with palpable tension pulled taut just under his skin, he knew the scales had tipped against his favour again.

"Managed to get anything," he enquired and ran his hands up those broad shoulders soothingly, ignoring the way Eskel tried to hide the tiny bag of rations behind his bulk.

"Not a lot. I'm sorry-" he apologised quickly, but Iorveth kissed the corner of his lips to silence him.

"Nothing to be sorry about. We have enough to get by."

"Still. I should be able to provide for us. I promised you a comfortable life."

"Shush, you wonderful thing," Iorveth cooed softly and brushed his fingers against his scarred cheek. His fingertips had lost most of their sensitivity since his early days in the Scoia'tael, but the ridges of his skin were more than obvious under his touch. He heard the witcher inhale sharply and knew he'd prodded the demon that had followed him home.

"My amazing, generous, kind witcher. You know how much I love you right? How wonderful I think you are, and how much I adore every little piece of you. I couldn't think of anyone more perfect for me."

And that was when Eskel fell apart. He crumpled into his arms in a matter of seconds, his chest heaving as the sobs wrecked his body. And Iorveth ran his hand down his back tenderly and whispered a thousand sweet nothings as he guided them into bed, the routine now familiar to them.

The sun would still rise and there were still battles to be won, but Eskel was more than he ever dreamed of and he was determined to make it work.

#cw scars #Eskel x Iorveth #idek what kind of content this is just know that there is some crying and stuff #drabbles #ship bingo

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

Text

A Strange Meeting

I got ahead of myself in posting Tindyl’s reunion with her guild. Of course, she had a little persuading from an unlikely source.

Some days passed after Tindyl was reunited with her beloved; they went about making plans to continue in their duty to aid Oribos and the rest of the Shadowlands realms. It was a daunting task when done solely as a pair, but, if Tindyl wished it so—the warrior would be steadfast in his promises. Their siege upon Castle Nathria to end the tyranny of Sire Denathrius was plotted delicately and the birth of that mission would occur in the later hours of the day, when the sun hung low and shadows of the dismal trees that littered the courtyard before the castle, stretched thin upon the ground. Hours before, Tindyl kept busy within the markets of Oribos—crafting potions that might give them even the smallest advantage over their foes. She frequented the vendors often, especially with how often she managed to drop her vials and lose them among the hundreds of Alliance feet that tread through those halls.

“Preparing for a battle, young one?”

A voice came from behind the Archdruid, one she could not place to anyone she knew but in its delicate tone, there was an odd familiarity. Tindyl turn on her heel, having concluded her business with the local alchemist and affixed her eyes upon the one that spoke. Another night elf, one whose face was not known to her eyes. It was a female, with shoulder length golden hair, tied tightly up in a large bun upon the top of her head. Two flaming eyes blazed against hers, soft and pale like the color of the moon. The women held one another’s gaze in silence until the older Kaldorei spoke.

“That doesn’t seem like enough to support any army,” her voice was slow and thick, like expensive honey dripping down the side of a golden jar. The woman stepped forward and dared let a single finger poke beneath the leather flap of Tindyl’s satchel, where she had just placed her potions. “Perhaps and army of four,” she shrugged, glowing us flicking up to behold the bewildered expression on the druid’s face. Tindyl knew better than to disrespect her elders but pulled the leather pouch away hurriedly and slapped a palm over the top of it to dissuade the woman from attempting to touch her items again.

“There are many factions within the Alliance, some work in droves—others prefer to work alone.” Tindyl kept her voice steady and smoothed out her features to appear pleasant again.

“Do you prefer it?” One golden eyebrow rose even further up from where it laid across the woman’s brow. “Tindyl, isn’t it?” The female crossed one arm across her body, holding her elbow as her other hand waved upward and tapped a single finger against her lips.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Tindyl pointed out hesitantly, uneasy that this woman knew her name and yet she was sure she had never seen her here or anywhere else upon her travels.

“I assure you; we have been young druid but, please, don’t stray from the question.”

This woman spoke with authority and stood with an aura of arrogance swirling about her. Tindyl could feel the power emanating from her counterpart but dared not take a step back, though her legs urged her to. A mage, no doubt. Swift eyes took notice of the staff that hung from her back, fire lapping at the blade as if it were made of wood—a spell of sorts that made the metal burn and yet it spread nowhere else. Who was this woman?

“Perhaps there was a time I preferred the company of others, but those days have since passed.”

“You were a guild leader, no? Have you left your people? Strayed from the flock?”

“Excuse me?”

“A small but mighty guild, with just enough heroes to make miracles happen and save Azeroth. Archdruid Tindyl, the fearless leader with nearly no experience in battle when she signed the guild charter—yet she found those willing to follow and even better, succeeded. Is that not you?”

Tindyl paused, her mouth ajar as her breath evaded her. “No…well...not anymore—I’ve left, you’re correct.” Now, she did take a step back, her confidence dissolving as it had so many times over the last several months. She felt backed into a corner, the high rising walls of Oribos closing in on her as she admitted openly that she was only a shell of her former self; to a stranger nonetheless.

“Why?” These were the first words the mage asked that did not feel as if they were being pressed into Tindyl’s throat with the point of a dagger. They sounded, caring.

“It’s a long story,” was all she could think to say as that tiresome lump formed in her throat. She had been so easy to cry these recent days and it bothered her so.

Silence fell between them. Tindyl’s eyes fell to the floor, her hands still clutching her leather pouch as her shoulders fell along with her resolve to look composed. Heat spread like wildfire across her chin so suddenly, Tindyl thought perhaps the mage had whispered some incantation upon her but her senses told her that it was only the feeling of skin on skin that touched her face. The druid watched as pale fingers had grasped her face, lifting her eyes back up to meet the warm glowing embers that intimidated her so.

“A story that I know; I only hoped you would tell me.” The mage again seemed soft in the way she spoke now, holding Tindyl’s jaw tenderly.

“News travels quickly,” Tindyl sighed, knowing well that rumors and gossip were not below even a hero within the Alliance. Her business traveled from ear to ear and yet none had bothered to come to her for insight into what had caused her to leave her beloved guild.

“Unfortunately, so,” the mage sighed. “I know it is difficult, young one—to be different. There are many that would seek to harm you for that sole purpose. People, beings, do not think like you do. They are not within these ranks to save the world. As difficult as it is to understand, there are some only here for power, greed, and self-gain. They will allow nothing to stop them from obtaining that end goal even if it means defamation of someone else. Betrayal. Lies, deceit! For every good soul, there are the damned ones. They will seek out the light in you and destroy it.” Her fingers clenched Tindyl’s face almost painfully, pulling her in closer. “You cannot let them win.” This came as a whisper. It was not a threat but between those breathy words, Tindyl felt the challenge within them.

“Why.” It was Tindyl’s turn to inquire. Despite the minor ache in her jaw, she peered up at the mage, eyes glistening as she asked the very question that plagued her mind daily. At this, the mage’s hand loosened and for a moment the druid thought the mage was about to pull her in and embrace her.

“My dear, if you spend you days asking that question, you’ll go mad within these very walls. There are so many petty reasons that drive men to act—it will only hurt you to linger on it.”

“Why are people cruel! Why join a cause so noble if your aim is to harm! Why risk your life if you do not care for the living that surrounds you?” Tindyl yelled, the anger that she fought to keep locked away within her pouring out into the face of this intimate stranger. “I’ve lost so much,” her breath hitched, and she looked up to stop the flow of her tears but they rolled defiantly.

“You are not the first Kaldorei to experience cruelty of the world, dor’elah. Many of us have been wounded over the many years that our lives span—it is what you choose to do with that pain, that will forge you.”

“What if I’m tired,” Tindyl’s voice came weakly, embodying the very words she spoke.

“Tired of what?”

“Being wrong.”

“Who says that it is so?”

“I imagine, everyone.”

“Do not let your imagination speak for you. We live based on evidence and tangible truths—who has said you are wrong? The ones that have left? So be it, let them run along with their thoughts because they are exactly that, thoughts. Just because it exists does not make it truth.” Tindyl’s eyes fell back upon the face of her elder, her jaw still nestled in that all too hot palm. “A hero would make nothing of themselves if they cared for what others thought of them, you would do best to learn that now at your age. I took was young when I learned that what others want, what they believe, will not always align with what is best for me. That does not make me wrong, does it?”

“No.”

“Then why does it make you wrong? Why have you allowed one treacherous man unravel you? Because his allies follow him blindly and hang off his promises like babes to a teat? Hold your head up Archdruid, remember who you are and where you come from. You were not born of weakness. Have your tears and be done with it. Fight for what you are and what you believe in. Dragons do not heed the opinions of the cattle that they eat.” Finally, she released her hold on Tindyl whose tears had suddenly dried. “So, what will you do then druid? Will you be undone by someone who holds less worth and integrity than an old haggard boot? Or will you rise upon the horizon like your precious Mother Moon?”

The mage took a single step backward as if to take her leave, her eyes hard upon the face of the youth before her; that edge to her voice returned in full. She eyed the druid up and down, taking one last look before she spoke plainly.

“Make your decision Archdruid and remember—” Her hand reached out, her index finger finding the hard ridge of Tindyl’s chin just enough to tilt it back upward. “Head up.”

The golden haired Kaldorei turned then and took her leave within a small part of other mages, their cloaks fluttered behind them, her companions deep in conversation. They were gone around the corner before Tindyl could speak.

“Min’da,” her eyes were fixed forward as the realization washed over her. She had never seen her mother, not in her cognizant years. Her father spoke so little of her and Tindyl never dared broach the subject. That familiarity, the way with which she spoke, the fire in her veins—Tindyl knew. The Druid jumped forward after the small party but as she rounded the wall and stood in the entrance of the hall, they were lost among the crowds. Laurel Moonwillow was a powerful fire mage who worked within the Alliance and even had ties within the Kirin Tor; she had left Tindyl and her father not long after Tindyl’s first birthday. Her appearance had changed from the few stories Bai’len had shared of her—once blue haired with eyes to match, cool toned skin and bright yellow eyes. The fire magic had changed her. That was no surprise, Tindyl’s father had harped on that for years and it was one of the main reasons he had wanted Tindyl to fight only with bow and sword. Even as a babe when her affinity for nature magic and druidism began to blossom—he baulked at the thought of his daughter becoming a user of any magic.

Tindyl’s mind raced with all that had happened. After searching the halls for any signs of her mother, she eventually gave up and retreated to the outer edges of Oribos again.

What will you do then druid?

Deep within her heart, Tindyl knew what she must do—but was her heart strong enough after all it had endured, was what worried her.

#wow oc #OC #World of Warcraft #creative writing #creativewriting #Author #Authortok #me writing #thesolitarystripe #Tindyl

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loudlypanickinginvenezolano · 3 years

Text

Care for you. (Sneak, Sneak.)

Sonic has a bad day. A real bad, and rough day, that lefts him drained and tired in ways he feels are dangerous...

Shadow cant have that, now can he?

Now its a question of wherever Sonic will left him help ride this out, or not...

Soon on AO3!

You can read it under the cut though!

If you squint hard enough you can see some references to depression and/or panic attacks. If I missed something I should have known to tag, please, let me know.

Silence. Solicitude. Calmness. It wasn’t often that Sonic felt such a hard craving for them. That he felt almost a need, such a need so strong it was pretty much breathing down on his neck, and weighing down on his back.

Sonic was tired.

He was oh so tired, so weary to a soul-deep level he tried to not feel so commonly. He really couldn’t afford it, after all, and yet today… today was rough, to call it something.

Battling since early, public appearance all around the place, people screaming, calling his name, cameras being shoved into his face and all… he was used to it, it was…okay, of sorts.

What wasn’t okay was trying to manipulate him. What wasn’t right was using his name to pull people into things that really weren’tokay. What wasn’t right was getting his ears pulled or his body touched or grabbed just because they wanted a rise out of him. To invade his personal space like he didn’t have any kind of right over it anymore. Like it didn’t exist anymore.

What wasn’t right were the set up cameras always waiting for him to mess up.

Always.

The noise.

The fakeness of it all.

The sickening heat.

The hurt on his body.

The ache of his legs.

The pain on his neck and back.

The smoke filling up his nostrils.

The unsavory questions.

The objectifying looks.

It was too much, sometimes.

He ran, and ran, and ran. It felt like ages. It felt like a torture, like if everything was trying to claw out his body and just step on his heart.

His breath was shallow, hitched. His body was sweating, and shivering with an unknown force.

Sonic was tired.

he collapsed on his knees, and then on the soft moss covered ground with barely a sound, gasping with all of his might and trying to get back the feeling on his sore body.

He wasn’t even sure about how much time did he spent like that…he only came to himself when he felt someone approaching, and he had to change his sprawling figure a little, already searching into himself for the last bid of energy into his being so he could flash a smile and wave off any concern or rude question he knew may be on his way.

When he opened his eyes, startled red ones were everything he saw.

It was enough of a shock to had him of all persons spluttering rather unflattering in front of his boyfriend, who fell back on his bottom and was rubbing his eye with his fist, grimacing.

“I am not quite fond of the water plays, hedgehog. Try to keep them to yourself?” he gritted, a disgusted expression clear on his face.

Casual.

“What are you doin-How did you find me?!” Sonic squeaked, blinking furiously and trying to stand on his still jelly like legs. That was, of course, a failure.

Shadow just frowned at him, lifting the basket he held on his hand right on his eye level, half full with things Sonic couldn’t really name, and gesturing at it with this free hand.

Oh.

In Sonic´s defense he… well. He didn’t notice it, honestly, and how was that possible was a serious question he won’t dwell on.

He totally wouldn’t think about what could have happened had it been something AND someone different. Nop.

Not today!

“I was picking up things for dinner and tomorrow breakfast, as I always do, hedgehog. Always. Do. Shouldn’t you know that by now?”

“Yeah but you don’t… you usually don’t… just how late is it?”

Shadow´s frown deepened. “have you hit your head?”

“Aw, C´mon it’s a valid question! I… I…Don’t know for sure, but it is not why I- You were searching for me?” he changed the subject to what was, for him, a more pressing matter, doing the effort on sitting up even if all his body screamed at him to not do, to just lay there.

“Should I have?” Shadow tilted his head, some curiosity on his eyes as he didn’t bother in hide how his eyes trailed down Sonic´s body, searchingly, before looking back at his eyes, arching his eye ridge. “Something I should know?”

“No.” The word was out of his mouth before he ever really thought about it, a small shake that was everything his head could manage at the moment. “There…there really is not, babe. Nothing to worry your pretty head about, kay?” Shifting his weight, he reached out a hand, not minding a bit the slow spreading pain on his upper muscles, actually, it was the last thing on his mind right now. How could he stop to think about the annoying sensation when all of his focus was on the hybrid in front of him, a tender smile in those lips he adored so much as Shadow rubbed his cheek against his palm, letting him cradle his face with no complain. Damn.

He loved Shadow´s smiles.

“Up?”

“Whatever you wish.” Shadow´s hand came up as well, holding his still just so he could twist a bit and left a little kiss on his palm and then his knuckles, not paying mind to Sonic´s blush or the little burns or scratches littered on his skin. He didn’t comment, and didn’t ask neither.

Sonic thought he loved him a little bit more than before.

With barely a move, now the both of them were standing, Shadow´s arm finding its way around Sonic´s body, steadying him while holding him close, as finally, the hedgehog was able to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Sorry, I pulled you too hard.”

“…No biggie.”

Thing was…He didn’t. it was him the one at fault. The one that needed a second to find his right footing even now, as he felt his boyfriend kiss his cheekbone, and then his cheek. They just waited, for what? Shadow wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think Sonic knew it, neither, but they did, just breathing in, holding each other as the azure leaned more and more on him...until suddenly they weren’t, each taking a step back in synchrony.

Sonic stretched, glaze on the far away trees.

Shadow crouched, setting his basket in the ground so he could pick up the ingredients that fell off.

A peach bared hand was firmly perched on a dark shoulder, though, and a gloved one rested on top of it, quietly.

Neither talked for a while, content just as they were. Comfortable.

It really wasn’t something to scoff at in their life styles.

However, the sun was starting to go down, and the skies were darkening with quite the speed, suspicious raising in Shadow´s stomach as he eyed the gloomy clouds he could see.

They needed to move.

Straightening up once more, Shadow took Sonic´s hand off his shoulder, holding it to his lips so a small tender kiss could be laid on the [Wounded. Sonic is wounded.] appendage, softly lowering it and letting it go, despite his lover´s pout and confusion.

A small flicker towards the rain clouds ahead of them, and Sonic eyes cleared slightly in understanding. Good.

He started to walk away, calm, slowly, studying the plush greenery around him with scientific dedication, stopping from time to time to sniff at a few, or rub a single leaf between his fingers, sometimes taking a few and setting in inside his basket, sometimes taking the time to scribble down a few words after looking around.

If Sonic noticed or doubted his slow pace, he didn’t say something, focused in the ground at his feet, making sure the rain was still far, and trying to keep up with the ebony steps.

If he noticed Shadow´s lingering glances, he ignored them.

Shadow was okay with silence.

“I take it I was close to the house, then?”

But…maybe Sonic was not. Part of him was growing restless, and he kind of half hoped his boyfriend would suddenly propose to Chaos control away.

Usually he would say no. He knew that. even when tired, or slightly wounded.

Running, even walking, always gave him a rush. Life.

He was so tired though. He almost didn’t want to think of it at all…

“You would be quite right, dear.” A silence. Ruby eyes snapped to his left, getting lost in the deep mess of foliage. His words were also lost, apparently. Sonic could almost see the gears on his brain working overtime. “I take it you weren’t planning on coming home?”

Home…

Well. It was curious that from all the places he could have ended in he so casually found himself that close to Shadow´s house.

To home.

Yeah. He liked that word. It was especially lovely coming out of Shadow´s lips. It was especially lovely knowing that the dark hero saw him as part of that home.

“How could I not, Hn?! Wouldn’t have missed it for nothin´!” He assured, and this time the smile that grazed his lips came easily to him. It came with life, and love, and Shadow didn’t have any kind of shame at the way he marveled at it, before a small yet equally heartfelt smile formed on himself.

I adore you, it seemed to say. Thank you, it seemed to scream.

The dark hero looked away for a moment, bottom lip softly held between his teeth. He was happy. Sonic could tell. He was so happy and the only thing they did was smile at each other.

How simple, wasn’t it?

Sonic wasn’t happy. He didn’t think he was. But it was an improvement, that was for sure. Like calm was finally edging into his consciousness, closing, and closing in.

It was a good feeling.

In a way, he was happy to had it. He was happy to have Shadow with him.

He still felt tired. But it was okay.

Once home he was going to rest. And then maybe he wouldn’t feel so bad afterward.

It was going to be okay.

#Yeah sorry.#Sonadow #Fluff #God I love my grandpa but he surely loves to talk and drive me up the walls when I need it the least #Sonic fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sth #Be kind with yourself

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

Text

The Ties That Bind 15 of ???

Rei stayed stiflingly close, even as we laid down to sleep. After the day I’d had--had it really only been one day?--all I wanted was sleep. I wished I could take comfort in Rei’s protective arm over mine, but what should be a thrilling indulgence was lost to exhaustion.

Karashan arrived in the morning to inform us the modest group of serpiente soldiers were in route, and this time, I sent Rei and Erica out to guide them to the Keep. I wanted a chance to talk to Karashan about how to proceed, and I wanted a break from Rei.

I was regretting the kiss more and more. I should have expected that it would change our dynamic--and indeed, it was meant to--but I missed the support of my best friend. I need my Rei back. I didn’t know who he was an alastair. I didn’t have the extra emotional energy to figure it out right now. So I sent him away, along with the overly reactive Erica, and set out for the keep with the much more level Raymond and Emune. It wasn’t lost on me that this was the pair I’d started with, and that they’d been on duty for over twenty-four hours. And Adelina...

The serpent pair had moved a little ways apart, facing the rising sun. Adelina was turned in such a way that she could watch us from the corner of her gaze, but it was clear the white viper had relaxed over the long stretch of being Zane’s lone guard. Either she was too tired to remain on edge, or I was witnessing the beginnings of our first steps towards peace.

I was also watching, I realized, the pair of serpents dance.

What I thought had been simple stretches, much like those of my Flight, were actually the precursor to a series of steps, slow and long and languorous. Hands reached high, fingers outstretched, the dancer’s up on the balls of their feet. They swayed like the trees, moved by a subtle wind that I could not see, but they could clearly feel. There was a musicality to their motions that I swore I could almost hear, an echo of memory...

“Best not to stare too long,” Karashan said, startling me from what certainly felt like a trance. I blinked too rapidly as I turned to her.

“Don’t tell me you believe all those lies about hypnotism.”

Karashan arched an eyebrow. “From what I hear tell, the Shardae magic was alive and wild yesterday, nearly coming to a full Song between you and your mother. You think our side is the only one with magic?”

I knew we weren’t, but surely it was an active thing, not something that happened simply by admiring them in the early morning sun.

I realized my gaze had drifted back to them, and Karashan gave me a knowing nod that made me want to duck my shoulders. I reacted as I always did by standing straighter.

“I want you to tell me all you know as we walk, and hopefully Zane and Adelina will offer their side of things. I know,” I said, raising my hand to forestall her obvious statement of distrust. “If they are planning something, why would they tell us about their strengths and weaknesses. I know. Believe me, General, I’ve spent much of the past several days thinking these exact same thoughts. We must proceed in good faith. As I’ve said again and again, if I am meant to fall by Zane’s hand then so be it. I will not live as if we are enemies. Peace has to come from within our hearts.”

“Peace comes from within people’s bellies,” the older crow said, “Or their pockets. Hearts are a luxury. An important one, granted, but still a luxury. If you want the Generals to follow you, you’ll have to tempt them with things more substantial than hearts. A man who’s known only war will seek only war, unless you give him something more tempting to do.”

“I should like your advice on how to handle the generals as well,” I said, noting from the corner of my eye that Zane and Adelina were wrapping up. “Either privately or in conjunction with Zane.”

I felt a headache beginning to form at my temples. Too many days in a row of too little sleep, too many worries, and too much uncertainty. How was peace proving to be more taxing than war? Or was I simply trading in one war for another? Karashan was right that the general’s council was the real problem. People like Elanor’s aunts were already living in a practical peace with their serpiente counterparts. War out here meant disruption to the vital activities of daily life. War in the council hall meant about as much as particularly compelling duel or chess match. They had all started their lives as actual soldiers, yes. But the pawns had made it across the board and now sat comfortably with the power of queens.

I was getting tired of all these too apt metaphors.

“Our monarchy isn’t quite as defanged as yours,” Adelina said, apparently oblivious to the pun. “The Cobriana’s have always led their people into battle personally--but then, well. You saw Gregory.”

The normally brash woman grew pensive, eyes scanning the trees for potential threats, but also to avoid looking at either Zane or me. Zane’s youngest brother, Gregory Cobriana, had been only fourteen when he’d died on the battlefield. I’d lost my youngest brother Xavier in same battle. Xavier had been there to sing our people into strength; his gifts had always run strongest towards shields of subtlety and hiding. While not creating true invisibility, such songs did give our soldiers a measure of unnatural stealth needed to match the natural speed and athleticism of serpiente soldiers. I had no idea what advantages the Cobriana brought to their people. Gregory had died in my arms just as slowly and awfully as any avian I’d ever sang to their final rest.

I wrapped my arms around myself, cold and miserable. I was not used to so much walking, and my heart and body were equally sore. I tried not to let my discomfort show--especially in light of Zane’s extrasensory awareness of my emotional state--but the memory of holding Gregory’s dying body was awful, and I was already so exhausted.

Zane’s shoulder brushed mine and I startled, coming to a stop. I gave him questioning eyes; Zane was entirely too bodily aware to ever brush me on accident. His eyes were lost, wide and dark and haunted. Had he been anyone else, I might have taken his hand.

And why not? Just because he was Zane Cobriana? I’d held Gregory’s, why not his?

“You were the last person on earth to feel his heartbeat.”

That statement stopped me cold, hand almost reaching for his, but not quite.

“Yes?” I made the word a question, an invitation to speak further. I had no idea where he was going with this.

“I...”

His eyes rolled shut, closed down with pain, face falling away even though he was no longer looking at anything. Adelina came up behind him, hand resting on his shoulder, body molded to his back. It should have been unseemly, but it was so obviously a gesture of comfort I could see no impropriety in it.

Adelina looked at me from over Zane’s shoulder.

“Among our people, we process our grief by sharing it. A burden carried by many hands is no burden at all.”

Zane pressed back into Adelina, eyes still closed, but face smoothing. I felt suddenly awkward, not at their display, but at the idea that my presence could add anything to it. This was so far removed from anything I’d ever seen in my own court--

Except, didn’t I also let Rei hold me this way, in those quiet moments alone when it was all too much. The only difference was the serpents weren’t hiding it.

And that they were asking me to join them.

“Please,” Adelina said, startling me with the softness of her petition. “As he said, you were the last to feel his brother’s heart beating. If it moved you at all, share that grief with us. Let us remember him with you.”

What could I do but nod and offer them my hand?

It felt too intimate to take his in mine while Adelina was holding him. Somehow, pressing my hand over his heart felt exactly right.

His chest was smooth and solid beneath my hand, tight with the developed muscle of practice and use. I felt an obvious mound of scar there, lines and ridges as harsh as the injury that must have caused it. What I didn’t feel was the heat of another living body, the rapid staccato of a frantically beating heart. Zane’s body was cool, barely warmer than the early morning air around us. And his heartbeat was a slow and steady drum, thick and rhythm, the perfect backbeat to the dance I’d seen him doing with Adelina.

Did all serpent’s hearts beat like drums? Or was it only this heart, who had to keep steady so many could follow it?

Gregory’s body had been cool, but I had thought that the effect of his injuries, and oncoming passing. I had thought his body slowed in preparation to be stilled, but Zane’s was just as stilled, just as chilled. Marveling, and acting only out of the distraction of fascination, I touched Adelina’s hand on Zane’s shoulder. Just as cool, just as still, like the unbroken quiet of early morning.

A natural bird will sun itself in the morning, wings spread wide to soak up the sun. A natural serpent will bask at all hours, their bodies at one with the world around them, heat rising and falling with their movement and environment.

A serpiente will bask in emotions in just the same way.

I felt the moment my memory passed to them. Not a literal sharing of recollection, but the emotion of it. The pain, the hopelessness, the helplessness--and the determination to see it through to the end. My guards had urged me to leave him, to pass this one by. Not that one, my lady. Not that one. I had knelt by his side as I would any other, holding his hand and singing songs of peace and comfort. They were never empty, when I sang, though some days it was harder to hold onto their meaning than others. For the magic to work, I had to sing with my whole heart. So I sang to Gregory Cobriana and thought of my brother, and wished desperately that this would be the last. I sang Gregory Cobriana to the ground, and tried to sing the war to sleep with it.

I had not realized I had begun to sing again now. It was only when Raymond’s voice joined mine, filling out the song with the rich tenor tones that I had never gotten to hear from his cousin, my dear Vasili, that I became aware of my currently reality again at all. How easy would it have been to be lost in those memories? How easy to dwell in that dark place that waits behind our eyelids, where past and future swirl and bleed into one another, and time stands still? But Raymond’s song pulled me back, and Karashan joined too with a simple harmonizing alto. I hadn’t realized the general could sing--but of course she could. All soldiers learned to sing, if for no other reason than to recognize the Shardae songs at work.

Only Emune, Zane, and Adelina remained quiet, though I could have sworn I felt the serpiente heartbeats shift under my hand to match the cadence of our joined song.

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire

#raev does fic #hawksong fic #the kiesha'ra fic #the ties that bind fic #danica shardae #zane cobriana

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mniowicakte · 3 years

Text

☽ the man on the moon ☾

[ zuki week, day three: hurt/comfort ]

cw : character death

☽✩☾

The Fire Nation palace suddenly felt claustrophobic. Suki could feel the walls inching closer and closer, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Her muscles were tense, as if she were anticipating an attack.

Is this an attack? she thought to herself, remembering the similar sensations Zuko had described when recounting his own panic attacks.

Suki didn’t allow herself enough time to think about it, though. She couldn’t stop reading the words of the letter over and over in her head. Finally, eyes tired and strained, Suki had had enough. She bolted out of the palace and into the capital city.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the edge of the volcano’s cinder cone, the ridges rising up before her like mountains in their own right. Suki kept going, up the narrow and winding path that would lead her to the small plateau overlooking the shore below and ocean beyond.

The sun was starting to set behind the volcanic hills at Suki’s back, the sky turning vibrant shades of pink and orange, but she could not admire its beauty. Her eyes were fixated on the seemingly endless stretch of ocean on the horizon.

. . . will not be returning.

Suki shook the letter’s harrowing words out of her mind, but they persisted. She broke under the pressure, sobs exploding out of her like a bursting dam. The letter’s thin paper crumpled in her fist as she cried out, sinking to her knees.

The sun had nearly disappeared entirely by the time Zuko found her there, curled up in a ball with her knees tucked into her chest. She was half-asleep, shivering in the cool night. He took off his robe and draped it over her body.

Suki blinked slowly, dragging herself out of that groggy state between sleep and consciousness. “Sokka,” she murmured.

Zuko winced, but tried not to hold onto the hurt. “No, it’s me. It’s Zuko,” he told her.

“No,” she shook her head. “No. . . I mean, I know that it’s you. But Sokka. . .” her voice trailed off as her throat tightened with oncoming sobs. Hot tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, so she handed Zuko the wrinkled letter that had been addressed to the two of them.

Zuko sat on the ground beside Suki and she rested her head on his thigh, pulling his robe over her arms and up to her chin. He unfolded the letter as best he could and tried to smooth out the wrinkles. He read Iroh’s neat and looping handwriting slowly.

Zuko & Suki,

I really wish you did not have to hear this news through a letter, but given the current circumstances, I fear that it’s the only option. If I wait, you will simply hear from other sources in a few days anyway, and, well. . . I feel like that would be a lot worse.

Zuko skimmed most of the letter - the details, the context - until he found the last few passages, his pounding heart and shaking hands far too impatient to read through everything in between.

. . . Sokka will not be returning. He lost his life to the Red Lotus. I am so sorry. I know how much I cared about him, and that he meant even more to the two of you.

I’ll be staying in the Southern Water Tribe for a while longer to help Katara. I think she wants to come to the palace for a few days to get her mind off things. I’m going to see if Aang and Toph would join her. I think it would be good for all of you to be together right now.

Zuko set the letter aside, unable to finish the rest. Silently, he picked Suki up in his arms and started to carry her back to the palace.

☽✩☾

Suki was wide awake now, unable to keep her eyes shut. Every time her head hit the silk-encased pillow, she saw Sokka’s face or heard his laugh or felt his embrace.

When Zuko noticed her awake, he kissed her shoulder and got out of bed, deciding to make the two of them some tea. He returned with the platter of cups and a steaming kettle, setting it on Suki’s bedside table. He poured her a cup and she took it slowly.

Zuko was battling his own grief over the loss, but for the time being he focused on Suki. He knew that the moment he shed a tear, she would bottle up her own feelings and focus on making him feel better. He would get to mourn, and she would comfort him then, but for now, he needed to focus on her. It was a good distraction, after all.

He sat on the bed beside her, rubbing her back as she tentatively drank her tea. The paper windows glowed faintly from the full moon outside, casting the entire room in a soft, dim light.

"What if I had been there?” Suki thought out loud. “I can’t stop thinking about what might have gone differently if I had been there.” She looked down at the half-empty teacup in her hands. “If any of the Kyoshi Warriors had been there.”

“Then it’s my fault for being too selfish with you,” Zuko said, knowing the lighter tone and shift in blame would ease some of the crushing weight he could see pressing down on her.

Thankfully, he was right. Suki’s shoulders eased up some of their tension and she leaned into Zuko. “I don’t think the Kyoshi Warriors should stay in the Fire Nation anymore,” she finally admitted after several long moments of silence.

The Firelord was the Kyoshi Warriors’ charge, but he was safe. He had been safe for years, and though she would never take all the credit, it was because Suki kept him safe. But Zuko wasn’t the only person she loved; her other friends, the rest of the world. . . They still needed protection, too.

Zuko nodded, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her into his chest. “I agree.”

When she spoke, her voice was muffled by his shirt. “I would just have to figure out-”

“Stop,” Zuko gently interrupted, kissing the top of her head. “We don’t need to figure anything out right now. It can all wait, okay?”

At first, she didn’t seem to have heard him, but then she slowly nodded her head against his chest. Suki wrapped her arms around his middle, knotting her hands in the fabric of his shirt.

Her sobs exploded like a swollen and roiling storm finally dumping its rain over the land. Zuko held her tightly, his own tears falling slowly down his cheeks and landing in her hair.

I should have been there, kept running through both of their minds. We all should have been there. We should have protected him.

When Suki’s sobbing subsided, she sat up to look at him, her eyes red and puffy. It felt good to be allowed to break, to know that she didn’t have to always be strong and resilient around him.

“Thank you, Zu,” she squeaked, her voice and throat raw from crying. She gently wiped away one of the rogue tears on his cheek with her thumb. As much as she adored his selflessness when it came to the people he cared about, Suki couldn’t stand his inclination to bury his own feelings for the sake of others. “You can cry with me, you know,” she reminded him. “You don’t have to be strong, either.”

Zuko tried to fight it, but his lip started to tremble. He wrapped his arms around Suki and pulled her toward him once more, this time burying his face in the crook of her neck.

They must have fallen asleep there, because when Suki opened her eyes next, the two of them were a tangled mess of limbs curled up at the foot of the bed. Dried tears stained both of their cheeks, and she had woken with a throbbing headache. She nuzzled into Zuko as he snored lightly and tried to go back to sleep.

I’m going to be okay, she reminded herself, squeezing Zuko a little tighter.

But she couldn’t do it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stay asleep. It was dark, dawn still a few hours away, but sleep evaded her.

That same crushing, claustrophobic feeling began to weigh down on her once more. She slid her feet into a pair of slippers then threw on one of Zuko’s robes, tying it at the waist.

She didn’t run this time. She walked slowly, intentionally, taking in the sights of the palace she saw every day, appreciating them in a new way. As she walked, she noted empty walls, bare hallways, undecorated rooms, keeping a mental list of them all. A week from this moment, when Katara would arrive in the Fire Nation with Uncle Iroh, there would be a new painting on one of those walls.

But tonight, Suki found herself in the courtyard, standing in the cool night air, the moonlight shining on her tear-stained cheeks. She heard someone’s soft footsteps in the grass behind her, but she didn’t need to turn around; she knew it was Zuko. Silently, he intertwined his fingers with hers and they stared up at the moon.

It was a full moon, like the hundreds they had seen in their lifetimes thus far, but this one was different. It was brighter, somehow, as if the moon had been missing something and was once again whole. Zuko draped his arms over Suki’s shoulder and rested his head on top of hers.

That night, though they never admitted it to each other, Suki and Zuko could have sworn the man on the moon bore a striking resemblance to Sokka.

#zuki #zuki week #zuki atla #atla #zuko x suki #zuki week day three #hurt/comfort

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ragingpancake · 3 years

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As I Lay Sleeping: Ch. 3 - The Journey Begins

He was fit before, he’s sure of that. His body is (mostly) lean and there’s still some hint of muscle there in his arms, his legs and if what Elizabeth had told him was true it would make sense that he needed to keep in shape. But after one hundred years of sleep, not even the stasis pod he’d been put in could’ve kept him from feeling very much like he’s going to die as he huffs and puffs his way up the mountain. Who the hell thought this was a good idea? He’d set off immediately after she’d disappeared. She was earnest in her instruction to leave the cloister, to find… Rodney, whoever the hell that was, and to save home. Clearly she had not accounted for the minimized lung function and the fact that you know, up until a few hours ago, he’d been floating in a giant vat of water. He stops somewhere along the ridge, closing his eyes against the burn in his legs and he lets himself rest for just a moment. You must keep going, John. The door will only remain open for a short time before it closes forever. You must go now. “Alright, alright,” he groans, maybe a little annoyed but he thinks he’s probably allowed. “Would it have killed you to gimme a little more time to acclimate?” Yes. Well. Okay then. He pushes himself off the rock he’d been leaning against and he starts back up the mountain.

--- It’s slow going. He feels the exhaustion beginning to creep in as he nears midnight but just as he can feel Atlantis in his mind, he also knows he’s getting close. He can feel it, the outside calling to him, beckoning him near and so though his legs are screaming for respite, he pushes himself further and further until he comes to the mouth of a cave. There’s a kind of darkness inside that even outside, looking in, feels suffocating and there’s a moment of apprehension just outside. What is he truly walking into? “I don’t know if I can do this,” he murmurs into the darkness. What if the person who came out of that stasis chamber was not the same who went in? Elizabeth had spoken about bravery, but what if that wasn’t him anymore? You have to. “What if I can’t?” Then let me give you a reason. He gasps, something exploding wildly behind his eyes, and he drops to his knees, gripping the sides of his head. He can feel her in there, and he opens his mouth to speak or to scream, but he finds that he can’t move. And then, everything goes black. --- “This could be, you know,” he says, head tipped back as he peers up at the night sky. Lantea’s moon shines brightly, reflecting off of the ocean and it would be peaceful if not for the impending battle less than six hours away. Smarter men would be preparing, maybe, but how do you prepare for sixty enemy ships on the horizon? No, they’ve done all they can. There’s a quiet clink of glass together before he tips his head back, taking a drink of his beer as he stands shoulder to shoulder with the other, pressed so close he can feel the warmth of the other’s body through his black t-shirt. “If this doesn’t work--.” “It will, Rodney. It has to.” “But if doesn’t,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet John’s and there’s something there behind that gaze, something wistful. Something… sad. “If it doesn’t, I just want you to know that I’ve always… you…” He can’t find the words. He’s struggling, trying to lay himself bare here, to let John in in a way that he never has before. Why hadn’t they done this sooner, he wonders? “Not now,” he says and he turns to face Rodney, setting the beer down on the railing as he reaches for the other’s wrist. “Not tonight. You’re going to tell me when we’re not under the threat of impending death, alright?” Rodney’s face falls for a fraction of a second and he tries to pull away, but John’s grip tightens and he tugs the scientist closer. “Rodney,” he murmurs and he leans in so close, lips brushing the outer shell of the other man’s ear. “For what it’s worth… me too.”

--- He comes to with a gasp, eyes wild as he scrambles to find purchase, to push himself back to his feet and for a moment, it feels so real that he whirls around as if expecting to see the other from his dream. But he doesn’t. “I don’t—why did you…?” Keep going, John. You must. For him. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose before he steps into the darkness and allows the path to guide him. It seems to go on forever, a long, winding tunnel, dark enough that his eyes never seem to adjust. He lets her guide him though, as Elizabeth instructed, following the gentle thrum as he works his way through until finally, he can see just a bit of the night sky up ahead. He’s made it. He jogs the rest of the way, desperate to be free from the darkness and as he spills out of the cave, he feels something cold settle over him, leaving him shivering. You have left the Cloister. Your journey has begun. “Oh great,” he mutters and he glances around, taking in the thick forest before him. “How do I know you didn’t make that up? That--… on the pier.” I can access your memories, John, but I cannot distort or alter them in any way. “Then if you can access them, give them back! All of them! Why can’t you show me, why can’t you tell me who I am?” Because you are not ready. Find the Jumper. There are others who await your arrival. “What are you talking about?” And he’s so frustrated in this moment that he could scream. How is he supposed to trust this voice, trust himself when he still doesn’t know who he is? All he has is a backpack with some crystal and a single supposed memory with no context, used as if to manipulate him into moving forward. But no, he realizes after a moment. Not used to manipulate. Used to… to… awaken a part of himself that was slow to rise. Because he feels it now, an overwhelming sense of duty to protect people he could not yet remember, to protect their home. He lets that feeling spurn him forward into a thicket of trees as the sun begins to rise, and this place feels familiar to him, almost as familiar as the voice in his head. He walks and walks until he can feel the thrumming of her energy again, calling out to him and there’s a quiet whoosh as the… thing materializes in front of him. It’s a ship. A… Puddle Jumper. He steps inside and up the ramp, palming the crystal behind him to close the door and it feels almost second nature to him to move forward into the cockpit. He sets his bag down on the seat behind him and glances at the controls on the dash, lips turned down into a frown. The symbols… the… The crystal! He reaches over and pulls it from his bag and he can feel that she’s pleased with him as he drops to his knees and pulls the control panel open. There’s a slot that’s empty and turning the crystal over in his hands, he vaguely remembers a lesson a long time ago. He slots the crystal into place and the Jumper comes alive around him, the heads up display lighting up, beeping quietly to get his attention. There’s a blinking dot on the screen, followed by the symbols… glyphs from the dash illuminated in a certain pattern. Go to gate. You will know what to do when you arrive. He doesn’t know how she knows that, but she hasn’t been wrong yet. His hand hovers over the dash, brow furrowed in concentration as he thinks about how to get this thing moving and all of a sudden, it just… does. There’s a swooping feeling in his stomach as the Jumper lifts from the ground, high above the trees and he can’t help but let out a whoop of joy as he soars through the sky. “Okay. This is… this is cool.” He gets the distinct impression that she might be laughing at him, but he turns his attention toward the blinking dot, watching as he grows closer and closer until he can see it in the distance: a metal ring, glyphs etched into the outside. “Alright,” he says, glancing back up at the corresponding glyphs on the HUD, fingers moving of their own accord as he activates the dialing device in the Jumper. There’s an explosion of blue as the Gate comes to life and this is it, he thinks. If he

moves forward, if he continues on this journey, he knows there’s no turning back. But he thinks he doesn’t have a choice and not because some voice in his head told him otherwise, but because… there’s something tugging in his chest as he thinks back on the memory. “If it doesn’t, I just want you to know that I’ve always… you…” Apparently, he has a conversation to finish. And it’s with that thought that he urges the Jumper forward, letting the event horizon swallow them up. This is where his journey begins.

#fic: as i lay sleeping #sga/breath of the wild #sga au #john sheppard #rodney mckay #elizabeth weir #ronon dex #teyla emmagan #carson beckett #aiden ford #sga fic #fandom: sga #mcshep #pairing: mcshep #john sheppard/rodney mckay

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undermounts · 4 years

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Empire of Light—Chapter 3: A Most Dangerous Game

AO3 | Table of Contents | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: Aerin meets with his mother and the Lords of Whitetower to discuss the war effort while Iliana and Kade go searching for clues about the mysterious attacks.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Aerin Valleros strode through the rose garden, the early morning breeze sliding through his curls like gentle fingers beneath his heavy crown. Dew and hints of frost clung to the serrated leaves of the manicured rose bushes, which were well-tended and enchanted to bloom year-round. The mornings were growing colder and the sun was rising later as the last, lingering dregs of summer faded away into the heart of autumn.

It was strange, Aerin mused, the passage of time. These last few months felt as if they had crawled by at a snail’s pace, but also as if they had zipped by at record speed. He could not fathom how it was possible that only two months ago, he was held prisoner in the depths of the Khagan’s fortress, hidden in the snow-blasted peaks of the Frostwhisper Mountains of Vishanti. Then, he had been a prince with no crown, hands still stained with his brother’s blood, and haunted by the ghost of his mother.

But now… Now he was the King, with hands that were no less bloody, and he walked with the Queen Mother on his arm.

In another two months, they would be deep into the dead of winter, and it would not be a thin layer of frost that coated the gardens, but snow. Aerin could only speculate how much would change before then. Would his life even be recognizable? Would his kingdom?

Aerin’s mother, Rhiannon, walked beside him with her arm hooked beneath his, her fine-boned hand laid atop his forearm, and a dark veil concealing her face. She was dressed in the rich reds and golds of House Valleros, the perfect complement to Aerin’s midnight blue and silver tunic, which, ironically, were the colors of her family, House Archeron.

While Baldur had taken after his father in looks, there was no doubt Aerin was his mother’s son. They had the same high cheekbones, straight nose—although Aerin’s now had a faint ridge from all the times it had been broken—and full lips. And thus, the veil that hid her royal visage. had been added to the Dowager Queen’s wardrobe. Without it, there was no way to pass her off as Lady Anielle, a royal advisor whose face was said to have been horribly burned in the explosions that took out the upper half of the palace. As far as the rest of the kingdom was concerned, Rhiannon Valleros was long gone.

Every time he, Captain Ristridin, or Rhiannon herself decided that the King was in need of her counsel, Aerin was faced with the small dilemma of deciding where they should meet. His quarters or his study offered sanctuary from prying eyes, but being alone with his estranged mother in such a small space left Aerin with a creeping feeling of vulnerability, as if allowing her into his quarters allowed her to know more about him than he would ever know about her. Because truthfully, all Aerin had ever known of his mother was nothing.

Aerin thought he had made peace with his mother’s disappearance. After all, he had taken part in orchestrating it. But if that was truly the case, then why did he feel so damned angry whenever she was around? So bitter?

Aerin did not have the answers he sought nor did he have the time to sort out and analyze his own feelings. So he preferred to meet with his mother in the gardens, trailed by attendants and members of the royal guard, even if the veil Rhiannon had to wear in public made him feel like he was part of a funeral procession. Like he was speaking with a ghost.

If he could, Aerin would simply avoid the meetings altogether, but he could not deny that his mother’s advice about navigating the court was invaluable.

His memory held true. No one was as skilled at courtly intrigue as Rhiannon, even if she was an outsider.

The Halfling Queen.

Aerin had so many questions. About his mother, about their heritage, about where she had been all of these years… But unsurprisingly, Rhiannon had been less than forthcoming with her secrets. All Aerin could get out of her was that yes—she was, in fact, a human descendant of wooly halflings, and yes, that meant he was as well, but no—she was not a true Archeron, at least not by blood. Any questions beyond that, Rhiannon had simply said, Another time, Aerin. We have more important issues to worry about.

Ah, yes. More important issues, like convincing the Lords of Whitetower to go to war.

“We should be producing supplies, building weapons, and training our soldiers,” Aerin muttered as he and his mother meandered through the hedges beneath the cloudy sky. “Not wasting time convincing the men in charge that this war is real.”

“They say the battle begins long before the troops are even sent to the fields,” his mother mused, her long and graceful steps in sync with his. Even her voice was just as he remembered it—low, rich, and wise, with regalness he could only hope to emulate.

“Half of them don’t even believe the Empire is an imminent threat,” Aerin huffed, irritated. He reached out, plucked a leaf off of a nearby bush, and pressed the pad of his thumb into its frost-covered surface, feeling the small crystals of ice melt against his skin. “They are comforted by the victory at Cragheart and forget how close we were to defeat. And that was just a test. If Iliana hadn’t—”

Aerin cut himself off, his fingers curling around the leaf in his palm as he recalled the crater of destruction she had left on that battlefield. He’d visited Cragheart the day after the battle, once all the pyres had been constructed but before the mass funeral had been held, and was astonished by the ruin Iliana’s magic had left behind. He did not know precisely what the hells had happened to Iliana that day on the fields, only that it had left her changed. Well, he supposed none of his companions were the same people anymore.

“If it hadn’t been for them,” Aerin said vaguely, not trusting himself to speak of his friends without revealing some vulnerable part of himself, “we would have lost that battle.” He shook his head, fuming. “Have they already forgotten how many dead men filled the pyres?”

“I’d wager that they have not,” the Queen Mother replied from beneath her veil, and without looking, Aerin knew her gaze was boring into him. “But this is what happens when men are born into power but given no purpose. They’ve grown complacent, accustomed to peace. These lords grew up on stories of the fiefdom wars, of squashed rebellions. But they do not know how to get their own hands dirty. They would rather ignore the threat and hope it goes away on its own.”

“It won’t go away,” Aerin insisted, although he knew he needn’t try to convince his mother. “Why can’t they see that?”

Through the veil, his mother gave him a pitying look. He despised it.

“They do not want to,” she informed him, gently. Too gently. Aerin found himself wishing she would just be stern with him, like his old tutors were. Not like… not like she was still trying to be his mother. “They are scared, Aerin, and unlike you, they have never confronted the things they fear.”

“So they would let people die instead?” he retorted, his voice sharpening in response to her gentleness.

“Success belongs to everyone involved,” Rhiannon replied sagely, her tone cool and unruffled by Aerin’s bitterness. “But failure rests solely on those in charge.”

“They would let the fault be mine,” Aerin said dryly. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“They do not know you yet, Aerin,” she reminded him, and Aerin bit back the urge to snap, Neither do you.

But he ground his teeth, reining in the words before he could come to regret them.

“It remains to be seen what kintd of king you will be,” Rhiannon continued slowly, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her. “That is the case for all new rulers, not just those with your… past. They know not whether you will be a tyrant or a fool, someone who threatens what they have or someone they may take advantage of. Today, you must show them that you are neither.”

“If Father had been in charge—” Aerin’s breath hitched ever so slightly, and he disguised the hoarseness in his voice with a cough. “If Father had been in charge, they would have listened,” he said morosely. “Just as they had when he sent the standing army to Cragheart.”

“I would not be so sure,” the Queen murmured, shaking her head. “The Battle of Ash is an isolated incident, and the order to fight was a decree given in a state of emergency. Had the lords been given time, they would have fought your father until he gave them what they wanted.”

Aerin bristled, his lips thinning with displeasure as he echoed, “What they wanted?”

“The key to convincing them the war is worth their attention is learning what they desire. All men want for something,” she explained, thoughtfully drumming her fingers against his forearm. “If duty is not enough to spur them into action, perhaps a deal might.”

Aerin frowned, nose wrinkling. “We cannot afford to waste resources that should be dedicated to the war effort on convincing a bunch of lords to defend their own people.”

“We won’t have to,” Rhiannon stated confidently and Aerin glanced over at her with a single brow arched. “Some lords are more important to this cause than others,” she informed him. “Strike the tower at its base and the rest of the pieces will follow.”

Aerin pursed his lips pensively, mulling that over. His mother’s advice reminded Aerin of something he had told Iliana once, when they faced down Ristridin and his Thirteen in the poison fields. There’s thirteen of them, but only one leads.

He really was his mother’s son.

“You have… given me much to think about,” Aerin said at last, drawing them to a halt. Behind them, their retinue of attendants and guards paused as well.

Aerin looked skyward, taking in the dim rays of sunlight that just barely streamed through the dense array of clouds. The time for his meeting was drawing near. He pulled away from his mother, inclining his head in a polite farewell. “I will consider all of this as I prepare to meet with the Council of Lords.”

Through the opaque veil, his mother’s face fell. The hand at her side twitched, as if she had intended to reach for him, then thought better of it. “Aerin, I want to tell you—”

“No need, my lady,” Aerin said swiftly, his stomach twisting in discomfort at the sudden tenderness that crept into her voice. “I have heard all that I need to hear for today.”

For once, Aerin was glad he had an audience. The nearby attendants and guards were perhaps the only thing saving him from whatever it was his mother had suddenly deemed was important enough to share with him. He stepped back, retreating toward the path that led to the palace. “Thank you for your counsel, Lady Anielle.”

His mother stared at him for a few moments, the shifting clouds stealing away the watery light that had allowed Aerin a glimpse at Rhiannon’s countenance. At last, she nodded, dipping into a low curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty. I wish you luck with the lords.”

Aerin merely inclined his head, then turned on his heel and strode back toward the palace, leaving his mother behind. It was not until Aerin had cleared the rose gardens that he allowed himself to let out the heavy breath of relief he had not even realized he was holding. Some of the tension slackened in his shoulders now that he had put some distance between himself and the Queen Mother.

“You could stand to be kinder to your mother,” Ristridin mumbled beneath his breath as he fell into step beside Aerin, gravel crunching beneath their boots. “I know it must not be exactly easy having her back after all this time, but she wouldn’t have come if she didn’t care.”

Aerin seriously doubted that. He scowled slightly, glancing at Ristridin sidelong. He refused to believe she came simply out of the goodness of her heart or whatever sense of duty she still miraculously possessed toward guiding her only remaining son. There must have been some other reason why she had returned to Whitetower, a place she had despised so vehemently, she abandoned the city and her family. Aerin just had yet to figure out what that reason was.

He tilted his head, regarding Ristridin with an expression of innocent curiosity. “Have you ever contemplated getting married, Captain?”

Ristridin arched a dark brow. “Not recently. Why?”

“Perhaps you should,” Aerin replied as they stepped into the palace proper, nodding to the guards that were stationed by the doorway. “Then you could start a family of your own whose business you can stick your nose into.”

That startled a laugh out of the knight. Aerin glanced over at him once more, a small smile curling his lips as he watched the old man’s brows raise in amusement.

“Aye,” Ristridin chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Aerin back to his chambers. “I will consider it, Majesty. But let it be known that you are trouble enough.”

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oberynmartell · 4 years

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the hour of the wolf part v

[Prologue | Part One] [Part II] [Part III] [Part IV]

"I've got you, omega. My omega."

Rey allowed herself a moment to luxuriate in the words after they were uttered by the massive man before her, the unflinching certainty and aplomb that had been present in his deep voice making her lips tremble, her knees nearly giving out beneath her at the look in his dark eyes as he spoke.

She had spent so many years on her own in the barren wastelands of Jakku, working her callused fingers bloody to find enough salvage to trade for food that day, trudging through the sand each night to return to an empty home where her only company were her daydreams and the whip of cold desert wind. She had been utterly and completely alone, dreaming about the day her parents would come for her— when someone would come for her, to tell her they loved her, that they cared for her.

After so many years of unending isolation and loneliness, it was almost overwhelming to be in Ben's presence now. To see him standing before her, pledging his care, his protection, his affection, for the rest of her life, promising that he would carry her not only through this heat, but, from the unwavering sincerity in his soft eyes and the firmness with which he spoke, through all the heats to come.

Pleasure unfurled in the cavern of her chest at his words, filling and filling and filling until it overflowed. Rey's body flooded with affection, the pleasure brought on by his praise palpable in every charged moment that passed between them, every milimetre of distance between their bodies, every breath sharply exhaled from her heaving chest.

He claimed her, he wanted her— and just the thought of not spending the rest of her days alone made Rey feel as though she might burst from the warmth that spread through her chest and belly.

She preened under his attentions, captured in the cage of his strong arms as he planted them on either side of her, backing her against a tall oak tree that seemed to be trembling just as much as she. His eyes were black as the obsidian curls shining in the silver moonlight that bathed them, gazing over her as she stood before him, concealed only by the soft flush that coloured her cheeks and began to arc down her slim throat.

He moved slow, deliberate, closing what little space lay between them, bowing his head to catch her earlobe between his front teeth and tug gently. She moaned, feeling his warm breath fan out across her neck, sharp teeth dragging down the arc of her jaw beside her ear, teeth marking her skin in a way her omega craved would stay forever.

Rey watched the rain fall down his face as it sprayed down from above, water arcing down his scarred cheek and over the corner of his soft lips and she could not help but lean forward to catch the water that fell from his skin like teardrop diamonds. His skin tasted like warmth and rain and sweet, southern spices, like all the comfort of a home she had so long ached for, like darkness and hunger and barely restrained desire. Like Ben— and Rey couldn't get enough.

Her lips pulled a soft bruise to the surface of his skin beneath the flushed gland on his neck, his moan reverberating through her as though it had been uttered flush just against the shell of her ear, and he tilted his head so that she could continue, could follow the line of his jaw, could lower her mouth to his throat and plant a hundred kisses there.

Ben groaned, more animal than man, hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching for her. His hips jerked, twitching forward to grind against her belly, hungry, rabid, near feral with want, unable to resist the unbridled longing that coursed through him, thicker and faster and more potent than his alpha blood. Anxiety thrummed in his chest like the impetuous beat of a hummingbird's wings, a silent battle raging between alpha and Ben as the beast urged to protect and fuck and claim.

“Alpha...” she breathed, her voice clouded and far away.

He could smell the heat on her skin, could see the way a flush curled down her neck as it heated her, the hand not curled around his shoulder clutching weakly at her aching belly. The alpha within him reared, furious that Ben wasn't sating his omega's heat, wasn't keeping her safe and protected from this pain.

She wound her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down towards her knowingly, rising up on her toes and urging his face down into the curved bend of her neck and shoulder.

He followed her lead, bending his head to nose at her gland, letting the tip of his aquiline nose drag along her neck as he breathed long and deep. He could feel himself ease almost at once, the scent of his omega causing a sedate, syrupy calm to twist through him like smoke from an extinguished wick.

She bent to nose at his gland, curling against him like a kitten as she scented him. Ben was happy to relinquish control for the moment as Rey sought out a proper taste of him, the bold omega grasping hungrily at his chest as her teeth grazed his gland, aching to savor the headiness of his skin, to swallow down his scent until she could memorize it, until it became part of hers.

A growl rolled through his chest like thunder, the way her tongue ran over his gland setting his teeth on edge, setting him on fire— so that he soon began to tremble with barely contained want, the hands that had fallen over her hips tightening until they were locked around her, holding her against him, rutting gently against her smooth belly.

Ben was too far gone to bother with cockiness at the desperate whine that pulled up from the back of her throat as he pulled away from her. He grabbed the cloak he had been pulled free from its clasps around his shoulders and tossed the thick sheepskin mantle down at their feet until it blanketed the wet earth, and he sank to his knees before her, his umber eyes hooded and blown impossibly wide, the brown long ago swallowed by darkened lust.

Rey spread her legs wider for him and he growled, an apodeictic heat present in the way his hands smoothed over her waist, an undeniable urgency to how he spread his fingers along the backs of her bare hips and pulled her close enough to bed his head against her belly. The way his eyes swept over her was animalistic, barbarous, appraising her in a way that sent a wicked thrill of pleasure surging through her, a feeling of virtuous power flooding her at the idea that she had brought this man, this alpha, this prince, to his knees.

His palms were big and strong and warm against her naked skin, rough with the telltale calluses that told of his familiarity with a sword, and it sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain through her belly and down between her legs, her mind flooding with wonder as she imagined what his fingers would feel like on her arse, on her lips, on her cunt.

"Please, alpha." Rey breathed, her voice weak enough to be blown away by the wind. She could barely think, barely breathe, without his hands on her. She felt hunger like she had never felt before, desperate for his touch in any way, in every way, that it felt like she might actually die without it, without him.

"Come." said the Prince of Alderaan, and before Ben had even a moment to prepare she was upon him, crashing down into his body and sending them both tumbling to the forest floor, all grasping limbs and hungry mouths and cold, wet earth.

But he doesn't care about the cold or the rain or the dirt or anything at all, not with her in his arms, her lips besotting his face and neck with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, her eyes leaking big, fat tears that he hurries to kiss away before finally finally finally returning to her mouth.

Rey wriggled under his firm weight, made to roll on her belly and lift herself up on her hands and knees, but Ben stopped her with a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her back up toward him. "I would look upon you, omega." He growled, the rasp in his voice making her quiver, making slick run down the insides of her thighs.

Rey opened her mouth to speak, but the words gave way to a moan as he ran the flat of his burning tongue along the ridge if her gland, sucking greedily so that she could feel a jolt of tingling pleasure ripple through her from head to foot. She could only nod, taking the brunt of his weight down atop of her small frame with impressive resolve. His broad chest and muscled belly pressed flush against hers, the slide of skin on skin making her mouth water as the smell of arousal flowered in the air like fresh spring blossoms.

He bedded his head against the cavern of her breasts, his kiss swollen lips moving over each of her pert nipples as his hands roamed her body, smoothing down over her rounded hips, her shapely thighs, each of her lean, athletic legs.

She gasped as his lips closed around her nipple, her chest jutting unconsciously upward to seek further contact as his tongue swirled across the pert pink flesh, and the alpha was more than happy to oblige her silent request, mouth widening to pull her small breast into his mouth.

Ben wanted to memorise every inch of her, each of the sun spots that stood as a testament to her time in Jakku, each healed over scar from her years scavenging in the deserts, each one of the freckles that spattered over her skin like constellations in the night sky above.

His mouth followed the smooth plaines of her chest and down to her taut stomach, brushing light kisses across her sweet skin and nosing playfully at the thatch of hair between her legs. He could smell her sweat, her skin, her slick, pressing warm kisses across the divot of her waist, the rounded bones of her hips, the curve of her navel.

Rey trembled as he touched his lips to each extended hipbone, thinking that when she became his queen he would feed her ever delicacy, every treat, until the bones no longer protruded. Next came her thighs, twin curves of golden skin and sparse sunspots, tenderly caressed by soft, warm kisses as he made his way toward her inner thighs, the allure of tasting her too sweet to ignore.

He nosed at the thatch of fine hair between her thighs, so agonisingly close to her warm centre that it was all Ben could do not to bury his face between her legs and sup on her sweet, wet cunt until the silent Alderaanian forest came alive with the sound of his name as she screamed it.

“Please alpha!” she whined, high and hungry. Her eyes were blown wide and dark with lust and desperation, her parted lips seeking out the gland on his neck as though magically drawn there by the gods. She found she could barely speak, could barely think, so overcome with want for her alpha that she could think of nothing else. "I need— I need you."

He was so hard he could feel himself leaking, the way his cock pushed at the leather laces of his breeches tipping over the canal from discomfort into pain— and it was as though Rey could read his mind, for soon her fingers had migrated to his laces, hurriedly pushing his breeches down over his bare hips so that they pooled loosely around his thick thighs.

Rey pushed herself up on her elbows to shuck the breeches further down his legs, desperate to feel bare skin on bare skin, until nothing stood between them but words and wind. Her eyes caught on his cock, finally freed from its woolen prison and standing at attention between well muscled thighs, and her eyes glazed, so bright and edacious.

The Prince of Alderaan kneeled between her legs, the words she had opened her mouth to say suddenly giving way to a rapturous moan as he manoeuvred her legs around his hips and pressed his weight down into her.

His hands pressed down on either side of her head as he braced himself above her, caging her in in a way that she had never before thought she would enjoy. Her eyes followed the corded lengths of muscle that rippled across his forearms and chest as he held himself above her, bending at the elbow to nuzzle his nose against hers, playful even now— when his cock was hard as beskar steel and the rut she had triggered was half blinding him.

He lowered a hand between her legs, a dual gasp filling the air as both found the wetness that had gathered there, sweet and alluring as the pool just out of Tantalus' reach. Rey’s hips bucked at his touch, sparks popping just behind the eyes she screwed shut, overcome by the way his rough fingertips grazed over her folds. She gasped in pleasure and surprise and reached for him, carding her fingers through his dark hair, her fingers pulling just hard enough to make him grit out a low, animalistic growl.

His palm worked at the cock that hung thick and heavy between his legs. The sight made Rey’s mouth water, the slick that baptized her thighs growing as she saw the knot at the base of his cock had already begun to swell beneath his rough palm.

Rey met his gaze, dark eyes as desperate as his, as hungry. Ben's hips settle into the cradle of hers as he shifted his weight to rest over her, guiding his cock between the lithe legs that shone with slick and the marks of each warm, open-mouthed kiss he had laid there. Voices rise and meet and break apart in the cold air, moans of pleasure, of ravenous hunger, of relief, his cock slowly slotting into her as though it was made for her.

But then again, she supposed, it was.

She felt so good around him that the alpha could barely breathe, knowing then what he had known since the moment he had come upon her in the clearing, that he wouldn’t be able to last. Not when she gripped him like that, her cunt pulsing around his cock as she writhed and moaned, blunted nails digging into flesh as her arms tightened around his wide shoulders, hips lifting off grass as she silently encouraged he press more deeply into her.

It was a stretch her body had never experienced, a completeness that she had never felt, and as she turned her gaze up to look up at him, it was to find the same relief reflected in his dark eyes.

For all his scent had intoxicated her his cock was only better, so that soon her eyes were rolling back into her head, a half scream pulling from her lips and dissipating in the forest air like fog as his cock sheathed fully into her. The sound seemed to reverberate through the trees like echo against stone, the most erotic music he had ever heard.

Rey tasted so sweet he couldn't resist stealing another searing kiss. He leaning down to ravish her lips with his own, to taste her, to swallow the moans she offered and let his tongue move against hers until she was so breathless and he so lightheaded that there was no choice but to pull away.

He rolled his hips up against hers, knocking the breath from her lungs as he bedded his face against her neck, nosing at her gland and catching the sweat that beaded at the hollow of her throat with harried, hungry kisses.

Her body, intuitive, clever, programmed by nature to read the signals of his body, moved against his as an omega never had, for even though he had lain with other maidens no one had ever been able to read the tightness of his belly, the trembling of his thighs, the clench and pull of the muscles in his back, so that she seemed to know just where to touch him, tease him, taste him.

No one had ever seemed to be able to read him, to know him. But she did.

She always had. From the first time he had seen her in the forest all those years ago, standing opposite him, her fingers trembling as she launched arrows at his shoulders, his back. From the first time she had narrowed her eyes and spat at his feet, calling him names, calling him a monster, glaring at him as though he had struck her. She had seen his future, his present, his past, and she loved him anyway.

He could feel it in the way Rey touched him, caressed him, gentle and sweet— even now, when her heat burned through her so hot that if asked she might not even remember her name. Her long fingers combed through his rain soaked hair, brushing it back from his brow so it ceased to bother, as though somehow she had sensed his discomfort.

Her legs knotted around his hips, his head dropping down to her neck as though drawn there by a force unseen, and he can't resist drawing his lips across the flesh, feeling her gland pulse beneath his tongue. The swollen flesh was already sensitive from from the induced heat, mottled now after being gifted with so many beloved kisses.

"Next time I'll taste you. I'll make you come on my tongue." he moaned. "You taste so good."

The scent was intoxicating, the alpha within rearing at the way it appealed to him, called to him, begged that he claim her and take her scent into his own so that it would mark him forever. It was like summer rain on fresh trimmed grass, smokey autumn wind and cold spring water, like the fresh flowers his grandfathered had always gathered in the drawing room of the palace for his grandmother after each bloom.

"Sweet girl. Sweet omega." He breathed, lapping at her throat, her head turning away from him to offer better access to the nose that brushed against the underside of her jaw. "You're mine, aren't you? I'm gonna make you mine. Would you like that?"

She let out a guttural moan as he head of his cock struck something within her that made her back arch like a drawn bow. "I am." Rey promised, and it was only after she cried his name several more times that he realised she was no longer calling him Ben. "I already am."

Ben looked a tenuous mix of wrecked and beautiful, the moonlight that dripped down from above illuminating the shadows of his skin, emphasizing the muscle that flexed beneath his pale skin like waves over still water. Her blunted nails left long red scratches down his back and he hoped they left marks, hoped he could see them in the morning, hoped they scarred and he could look over his shoulder at them for the rest of his days.

"I know, love." he promised, affection and lust colouring his words like the redness that filled his cheeks. She could feel the way his thighs flexed with the force of the pleasure. "You're being so good for me. Such a good omega. Perfect." He could feel the way her cunt clenched around him at that, making him gasp out a curse, eyelids fluttering. "I'll take care of you, Rey. I promise. I always take care of whats mine."

She moaned loud as a crack of thunder, the forest once more coming alive with the sound of an omega in rapture, the sounds that proved the hunt was once more a success, as it had been when he was a child all those years ago.

He pressed a hand down on her belly so that he could feel the way his cock drove in and out of her. Sparks formed and burst and fizzled behind her eyes, her mind pressed so full of alpha and knot and yours that every other thought seemed to slip right away and before she could even speak.

Her hips jerk upwards as her peak washed over her, and in the throes of pleasure her cunt had gone were tight as a closed fist around his cock, her body quivering through the aftershocks of such overcoming pleasure, and he tipped her hips back and pushed them down to be able to keep her from jumping off the ground, the large hand he spread over her hips making her seem so small beneath him, so fragile.

The sounds of her moan screamed across the quiet clearing like a stone skimming across still water and it had the alpha grinning as his ego inflated, hoping in the back of his mind that they could all hear the writhing omega, that all of Alderaan knew she was his.

He was so close to his climax that he could practically taste the pleasure on his tongue, especially at the way her tongue had chosen to move teasingly over his gland, her mouths half muffled by the way she buried her face between his neck and shoulder.

Ben could feel her her lips parting at the side of his neck, where they had taken to sucking at the puffy skin of his gland, and the alpha knows at once what was happening, knows that the overstimulation of pleasure in heat has flooded her mind with the need to take him as he's taking her, to claim him as her alpha forever.

“No.” He managed at the last second, the rhythms of his hips stuttering.

Rey pulled away. For a moment she looked as though he had reeled back and struck her suddenly, the look of shock and hurt that crossed her face making his heart sink into the pit of his belly, the alpha in his chest roaring in rage.

“Omega—“ he called, letting his alpha influence seep into his voice, and caught her hands as she made to pull away. His cock throbbed, screaming that he move, that he come inside of his omega, but the hurt on her face had gutted him.

“I want to do it right." he said, the set to her dark brows shifting as she listened. "I want you to be my mate, my empress. I want you at my side, to rule Alderaan with me, to be my mate for as long as we both walk this earth. It has to...” He swallowed hard, hoping that the earnestness he felt showed on his face. “When I claim you it has to be part of the ceremony to make it official. It’s the tradition of the royal family. My mother and my grandmother and my great-grandmother...I want you to be mine, the proper way."

Her hands slid over his broad shoulders as she dropped her legs from around his hips, a hand of ice gripping his heart as she pulled back. He knew his eyes were glassy, watching as she extricated herself from his grip and pulled away, but he said nothing. His cock twitched absently, the alpha within languishing in the last few moments of knowing the pure bliss of being inside her, knowing that he’d never again know the feeling of such a perfect fit.

It was her choice, though it broke his heart, to decide which alpha she wanted to be hers.

Rey pressed her palms flat on his chest and pushed gently, urging him backward and Ben did as he was told, inching off her until he sat flat on the cloak — but to his surprise the omega in hid lap didn’t ease off of him as he had anticipated.

Instead her grip around his neck and shoulders only tightened as she moved, maneuvering herself in a way that kept his cock from slipping out of her, and in that moment both Ben and alpha were so relieved to still be in her favour that they were more than happy to let control.

"Alpha..." she breathed, so soft that he nearly missed it. She let her legs fall open on either side of his lap, stretched wide by the thickness of his thighs, and as she settled onto his lap his knot throbbed at the tightness of her cunt as they shifted.

Rey pushed at his shoulders until Ben eased down onto his back, his hands automatically lifting to her hips as she wobbled uncertainly, and he stroked the soft skin there with his fingers. He basked in the heat of her skin and the smile she shone down at him, her skin scorching hot to the touch— hotter still as he dipped his head to nuzzle against her breast, inhaling her scent as though it were the only thing tethering him to this earth. His Rey of light, bright as the sun and just as warm.

Her chest was flushed pink all the way down to her nipples, a perfect parallel to the sweet soft pink of her cheeks, and she hissed gently as he claimed one between his fingers, rolling the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger.

Rey nuzzled her cheek against his hair as he bedded his face against her breast, Ben watching through hooded eyes as she threw back her head and moaned in pleasure at the way he suckled at her breast. Her hips undulated urgently against his as she whined, high and needy, the sound of an omega in need drawing his attention back to her, between between her legs. He could see where his cock disappeared into her, and Ben, overcome at the sight, could only nod at her urgency, could only slide an arm around her waist and bring her back to him.

He pressed his open mouth to her gland and sucked with an exigence he had never felt before, the way Rey cried out, loud and bright and full of pleasure, making the patter of rain and the howl of wind seem like a whisper in comparison.

"You smell so good, omega." He groaned, cupping her breast in his palm and letting his thumb run over the pebbled ridge of her nipple. "You taste good, you feel good. Gods, I've never felt anything so good."

She moaned at the praise, the sound half muffled by the way she buried her face into his shoulder, her teeth nipping just hard enough at his collarbones to mark the skin with a trail of pink bruises. He rolled his hips up into her, feeling his cock slide between her folds as she arched her back, her body so smooth and soft against his that it was all he could do not to knot in her right then and there.

His palm slid between them to press down on the bottom of her belly, making her choke out a gasp as they both felt the pressure of his cock driving in and out of her, hitting a spot within her that her fingers had never reached.

Ben stretched up to capture her lips, unable to resist kissing her again, to claim those kiss swollen lips and leet her tongue sweep across his mouth in a desperate search for a way to sate her hunger. He had seen her this way before, with her dark eyes wild with barely masked fire and her brow set and firm, an aura of unfettered passion surrounding her. He had thought her passionate then, when the cool blue-tinged steel of her sword had been pressed to his throat, its steel singing as it sliced through the flesh of his cheek and brow— but it was nothing compared to now.

She was so beautiful, wrapped up in his arms like that. Her small hands braced on his shoulders as she rode him like he were a prized stallion and she a practiced rider, her thighs gripping him so tight he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be locked between them. Her head was thrown back so that her dark hair could sweep over her bare back like braided strands of satin, falling through the fingers he combed gently through it, and her cheeks were alight with a pink flush that curled down her neck and over her bare chest as she moved against him in the throes of heat and longing and aphrodisia.

"You're so good, Rey. You feel so good omega. I could stay like this forever. Sweetheart, I could live like this." Rey preened at the words, omega and woman both caught in the rapture of his praise.

He could feel his knot swelling almost to full size as she ground her hips down into his, bracing her palms on his firm chest so that she could widen her legs and take more of him. His palm is big enough to cover the entirety of her mound, slipping between her warm thighs to reach toward the part of her he had so long ached to touch, to taste, to know as carnally, as somatically, as he knew the rest of her. His callused fingers moved through her folds, coating themselves in her unabashed wetness, obeying her need as she silently rolled her hips into his palm.

"A-alpha..." she moaned, feeling sparks of white hot pleasure jump through her like a spark across the jagged stone of a flint, like embers of a roaring fire crackling into the night sky.

The forest air was thick with sticky heat. It was as though her blood had been set aflame, as though not even the chill of a torrential downpour could cool her properly. Rey couldn't think of anything but how he felt inside of her, her mind washed free of everything except the way his cock moved in and out of her, the way his fingers circled her crest as though he were reading her mind, as though he knew just how she had touched herself, to the thought of him, the thought of this.

“Come, sweet girl.” Ben cooed.

His hand moved between her legs with practiced ease, the corners of his mouths quirking as he thought that this was the first time he had been able to touch her like this, to make her moan like this. It would be the first of hundreds, of thousands— for if Ben had his way he'd never spend another not slotted between her thighs, not touching her, not making her come on his cock and on his fingers and on his tongue.

“Come on, little one.” he grated, his voice so deep that it made gooseflesh run down her arms. He was unable to tear his eyes from her, her body laid before him clad in nothing but the cool water that dangled from her fingertips and eyelashes and nipples like teardrop diamonds. “I want to feel you come on my cock, omega. I want to feel you come on my cock like I’ve been dreaming of since that first time I saw you.”

As though to punctuate his point he jerked his hips harder than ever, making a scream pull from her lips before she could mask it. His hips had changed their rhythm, his arm snaking around her back and crushing her to him.

“You feel so—“ Rey moaned. Her voice was broken, a mix of breathily high and comically low that would have made her laugh in any other scenario.

Her muscles ached with the way they stretched as they never had before, with the way her back arched and her hips writhed and stuttered, with the way her core pulses, her body electric with the need for relief that only her alpha can give her.

She felt so full, so unbelievably, undeniably, unforgettably full, and despite knowing that she would feel the pain of his enthusiasm in the morrow Rey found she couldn't bring herself to care in the slightest. Not when his cock pulled tantalizingly out of her before slamming back in, not when his lips were at her gland and his hot tongue was running over the bare skin there.

“Don't be afraid." he began, teeth gritted as he watched his cock disappear into her, giving another deep thrust that hit hard enough to make him choke as he attempted to speak. “I feel it too.”

Rey stifled another loud scream, breathing shakily, the way his nostrils flared making her wonder what she smelled like now, if she smelled like an omega well pleased. His dark eyes reflected the images of a thousand words that swam tirelessly through them, all the words he wanted to say but found he couldn’t, all the words that had been pushed aside to make way for the moans and sighs that filled the air around them.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, his thick fingers circling over the nerves at the crest of her folds. The rain fell hard over his back like a hundred dulled pinpricks, the way her nails dug into his bare shoulders making his hips shake. "Are you ready for my knot, omega?"

“Yes alpha.” she keened. Her skin felt tight, itchy, her cheeks so hot they could melt butter as well as warm bread. She arched her back, her chest pushed out toward awaiting lips and Ben was only too pleased to graze each breast with his teeth, nipping just hard enough to tip over from pain into pleasure. “I want all of you, Ben.”

The words make him utter an almost helpless moan, a deep, rumbling purr that's born at the base of his chest and reverberates through his body like a live wife, making her cunt clench around him.

Rey could feel the familiar pleasure of her peak begin to run its course through her body, a liquid heat that tickled at her spine and surged into her belly. She was filled with an almost blinding pleasure as he nosed at her neck, his tongue lapping at her gland while somehow still managing to whisper utterly filthy things against the shell of her ear, both his words and the low, thunderous tremble at which he spoke them doing wonders to increase her pleasure.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this." he grunted, crowding up into her space. He was so close to his climax that he could practically taste the relief on his tongue, the way his knot throbbed and tightened as foreign to him as it was to the omega that squirmed beneath him. "You're doing so good, omega. You're perfect, so perfect for me."

"Please, alpha." she begged, crying out in both pleasure and agony. "Please give me your knot. Alpha, please."

The hand not wrapped around his shoulder rose to his face, her soft fingertips moving over the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheeks, the pad of his lips, watching him through half-lidded eyes, her lust-darkened irises sweeping over his face as though she were studying him, mapping him, memorising him.

He rose up to nose at her hair, pressing kisses there that left her toes curling and her fingers grasping at his wide shoulders, pulling him closer closer closer. His lips found her gland again, closing over the swollen skin in a tight seal, his tongue lapping at her like she his first taste of water after years of desert heat, and he had barely began to taste it properly when she felt her pleasure burst forth.

Pleasure exploded in front of her like a physical proxy, all heat and tightness and blind pleasure, and she was nearly bowled over by the sensation, by the way he didn’t let up on her, not even for a second, the push and pull of his cock, the gentle jerk of his fingers, the lazy drag of tongue on teeth and soft lips.

His pleasure crested as hers did, his knot anchoring them together as he filled her with wave after wave of hot spend, finally finally finally cooling the burning heat that curled through her body like sparks of fire catching on dry brush.

She screamed his name loud enough to pierce the silence of the forest like a clap of thunder, and it pleased him to to end know that in that moment, even in the midst of her heat, even as she met her orgasm headlong and unflinchingly, that she was thinking of him. Not his alpha, not his cock, not his seed or his gland or his bite. Just him.

Ben held her tight to him, roaring with his release, the alpha inside him banging its chest and rearing its head and shouting in pleasure as he finally achieved what he had so long wanted. His hips slowed as his come flooded her waiting body, wanting to fill her up as he had wanted to for weeks and weeks and weeks, and his lips found hers again. He claimed her lips once more, kissing her long and deep and slow, somehow completely at odds with the way she still stretched around his knot, with the way his cock continued to flood her with his spend.

She sank down on top of him, her legs falling on either side of his hips weakly, suddenly too exhausted to even lift herself any longer. Instead she settled against his chest, her ear pressed to the cavern of his broad chest, listening to the staccato beat of his tired heart and the kind words whispered against the shell of her ear.

"You did so well, omega." he crooned, instinct once more taking over to soothe his sated omega, feeling her sink into his arms.

The words fulfilled some goal within her she had never before thought of, her omega proud and preening within, pleased at the way she had made her alpha so happy. He brushed the hair from her face as he kissed her temple, telling her how good she felt, how much he had missed her, how glad he was to be hers.

He brushed the hair from her face, kissing her bare shoulder and letting his hand sweep lazily up and down her back, tracing shapes with his fingers that made gooseflesh pepper her skin. Ben wrapped his arms around her back, gently pulling her to lay across him, ever mindful of the knot that locked them together, and even as his cock continued to pulse and throb inside of her, completely sated, he could feel himself stir just ever so slightly as he looked between them and found his knot standing firm and heavy, slotted perfectly between here legs.

"I love you." he said quietly, pulling her dark hair through his fingers absently. The words were uttered softly, casually, freely, but there was an irresolute firmness hiding behind the words that proved their significance was not to be taken lightly.

Rey beamed at him, bringing her lips to the healing scar on his cheek and kissing it tenderly. He wanted to count her freckles, to spend the rest of his life memorising every inch of her face and her body and her mind, until he could recall every wonderful detail about her even in sleep, even in death.

She settled back into her place on his chest, her fingertips tracing absently around the curled tail of his scar, and when she spoke it carried an direct unreservedness that made the simple words come alive, made clear their meaning to Ben, even if she hadn't directly said the words. "I know."

#reylo #reylo fic #reylo fanfic #rey x kylo ren #rey x ben solo #reylo fanfiction #usermeels #redbelles #luminousbensolo #galacticidiots #the hour of the wolf #fic: reylo

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highsviolets · 4 years

Text

breathless, chapter 3: an obi-wan x 90s!reader au

summary: in which you and Ben discover that nothing is like the first time, but maybe time is a construct anyway

word count: 3.2k+

cw: kissing. light references to smoking, a lil angst, some language

A/N: this could not have happened without @afogocado. Thank you for encouraging me to continue this lil fic and an endless supply of ewan pics and listening to me ramble and omg ilysm

references // previous // next // series masterlist

“my curfew’s at midnight.”

Ben doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Well, he does. Just not right now. He’s busy at the moment, tinkering with something in the hood of his car. hunter green t-shirt — auburn hair — something out of goddamn salinger novel ((or maybe dos passos))

you look up at him. you’re settled on a skateboard ((he’s far too trusting of your ability to remain upright)). listless currents from a fan — somewhere, in the garage, you think — ripple in that nomadic space between his t-shirt and your skin.

remarks are so curious a thing, and you watch yours descend upon him. not quite a cascade. not quite a pittance of cleansing summer rains. it’s something other — but not ethereal — it’s here, it’s now, it’s taking you, too, holding you in thrall — words bump into skin ((sinew and sin)).

“it’s about doing the right thing.” the grind of one metal locking its relatives, corollaries, corrosions, into place has ceased. or maybe only paused. you’re not sure the car is done. but Ben looks at you, and you know he’s done. done explaining himself.

the skateboard’s wheels squeak and cry out against the pavement when you adjust. legs stretched out — ragged vans pointing above ((wherever that is)) — violet tipped hands clutching the back edges — knees exposed — just kissing the faintness of tangible ((affection or affectations, what’s the difference?))

“i know.” freckles gaze into the sun, his eyes, reflections. he expects your explanation to be plaintive. institutional. it’s not. “i just wanted to know why.”

Ben shakes his head, once, twice, thrice — face still half-soaked in the shadow of the hood — astonishment is plain to see in the flatness of his cheeks — the waltzing of his tongue on his upper lip.

Two seconds later he is right there, crouching ((muscles straining)) next to you, the leather tips of air jordans exotic and smooth against the external lateral bone of your left knee. His eyes, screwed up at the invasion of the sun against their tranquility, stare at the meeting of his shoes and your body and then he is gazing at you.

angels manipulate his mouth into a smile — Ben’s yours, now — hands are clasped — battles halt in the ceasefire. “I should really stop underestimating you.”

Ben reaches out. Two fingers ride the length of your cheekbone. They still as skin morphs into frizzled, sun-bleached hair at the crown of your head, in that space between your ear and eyebrow. your head nudges into his terms of surrender. “That would probably be best,” you say. The pause between conditional tense and adverb is like the space between you and him, an assured hesitancy, caught between becoming and being, trapped in an interstitial existence.

it’s so fucking americana it hurts.

hair , secured by a scrunchie the same shade as your fingertips, is given a light tug. let’s get you home, he says, and your presence wilts in upon itself , he senses the rush of photosynthesis exiting your body and brings your lips to caress his.

it doesn’t feel like the first time — nothing ever does — familiar in semantics — murky in meaning — singeing and sweet — a transfusion of significance between you and him.

the breaking away comes with a solemn sigh. he’s rising and bringing you with him. you resist the urge to stage a coup and use the skateboard to rocket yourself into his arms ((a safehouse you’ve found)).

___

time: a nebulous concept for you. it’s pages dogeared and how many days until the next cd is shipped to the store and how many t-shirts you’ve accosted from oaken drawers.

it’s a far more solid object for him. a tangible weave of textures and patterns that he notices in the scrunchies now in the car’s island of misfits ((he still hasn’t told you the make and model)) and how many times you guide his hand around your waist while you eat ice cream ((vanilla in a cone with sprinkles)) and the pens he’s busted through since you first met ((he knows the number , they’re immortalized in a tin cup on his shelf))

Ben’s holding one that has yet to join its brothers in the tin graveyard. The clicker rests against his teeth. It looks seductive in his mouth. Like he can make you keen with just an imitation of the real thing, with words and ideas. Words twirled around the air have power. You both know this.

You’re the one who’s twirling, though. spinning around his bedroom — boombox emitting a Billy Joel song at least ten years mature — mouth forming words you have yet to possess the courage to blare — so much like your kisses.

((the words come through in the translation , the body moves but he hears the soul))

he watches you and he is transfixed. he knows you do not know how much you are revealing to him. at least not consciously. but you want him to crawl into your soul and never leave. he does not see it or hear it or feel it as much as he experiences truth, the clumsy trio dotting patterns across his extremities and seeping into his essence ((what it means to be human)) like an antibiotic ointment. he is scared you will stick to things for which you are not designed. but it’s too late and he’s covered in the stuff, slick with you. unleashed in a trigonometric function of three sides ((him / you , other)). sins and signs and echoing sunlight.

your smile mimics his as you edge toward the bed where he’s sprawled out. you laugh and he matches you, shaking his head in rare & unguarded ((unabashed , unembarrassed)) regard. you are in harmony.

skin meets skin — heels arched into the carpet — he’s too strong too stubborn — and you fail and fall and spill over him — tumbling over his torso, legs mashed — the heat of his victorious grin burns the atmospheric bubble arching over the two of you.

You’re not sure if the record stops or if you’ve just ceased hearing it. he arranges you ((like a bouquet, like a song)) on the bed. he stares down at you. the eyes are stormy again, like before he kissed you the first time ((but nothing’s ever like the first time)). they say eyes are the window to the soul. Your hands whisk the hair that’s dangling there, like you can quiet him by quelling his independently-minded locks. it seems to work. he blinks and when you see the sun again it’s brighter, bluer, but maybe that’s because he’s so still now.

he does not move. He may not have danced but his soul is pressing into you like a dagger ((did you fall on a sword)). Ben cuts off your impending speech with conciliatory kiss. “i know , darling” , and the words etch themselves into reality against your body.

—-

Ben is distant and he is near to you all at once. There are corners of his being that you want to slide and drag and push to the surface. maybe if you do he will start to make sense. form follows function, he tells you, and the words feel as yellow as the pages on which they’re inked.

it doesn’t make sense to you — “you have too much sense, dear one” — elinor and marianne — but for all his purity he does not dance — no ricochets in his lever and pulley soul.

you are glass and flannel and he is steel and silk. he is not quite your sun, or your moon, or your stars, and not even your world. but you are rapidly terraforming to his sundry heights and arid permafrost and the devil’s sun that makes a home in his fingers, in his mouth ((yet he is not lucifer, nor abdiel perhaps he is raphael)).

Ben watches you soak in him. He takes note, n.b., nota bene, notes well, excellently, the stillness of your hands ((the tremors have lessened, but have they learned?)). your words are teal and vermillion and ecru and weeping with tannins. Ben deduces ease, easel, paint, art as you furrow into his chest. His mind infers souls through their bodies. Form follows function. Function follows form. Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t.

Through your mirror he sees himself with you but he does not comprehend. He is bewildered.

nails boards cones sheets — teeth fingers knees breath — swerving form yielding function clutching grasping — all so very , sine qua non — aspectu sine logos — why does the latin transform into Greek

Morpheus, he thinks, nods sagely. he hurls ticket stubs and lipstick napkins and sense ((you)) into shoeboxes and mailboxes and shadowboxes. he refuses a photo of you, with you, for you and takes your knotted eyes and throws them, too, into the nearest body of water. you are close but you are not near ((droplets on tanned skin, drowning in the water)) and it is all he can do to obey his life and he does not know that sartre laughs at him and de beauvoir pokes her lover.

you are not at the middle of your life and neither is he. the path is still obscured by the trees. is charon delivering you to this threshold of the styx ((stones, bones, death)) or the tip of the world where the stars scrape into the heavens with a different edge? he is rising: he brings you with him. so it was in the past, but does the past presage the future? if he is raphael then he is virgil ((Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t))

epic firestorm of righteous creation myths — empirical histories — imperial truths. but no. dante, where is dante, is he off in firenze, dancing in florid colors? no. dante is in exile, civitas ex nihilo : in need of virgil. guide him to transcendence.

____

you do not see him for several days. maybe it is weeks. you aren’t sure. time is not empirical, Ben has told you, it’s something you have to feel through its measuring ((sometimes vibrancy tips out of his ridges)). but you wish he had let you take a picture of the two of you. you are more like him than you realize , the truest truths are the ones you can touch.

it is the longest you have not seen him, and it is very hot. the pool, the lake, they’re not the same when you can’t thread sand through his hair and be abducted by his gaze as you read ((spirited away from his bookshelf)).

you’re running out of books — running out of time? — but time is not statistical — multidimensionality of you and him — there is no space where he does not compress himself to exist with you.

“it’s not a phase, mom,” you say, and take another bite of cereal.

“you need to make up your mind.” the crunch is effective at blocking out the noise, and your mind continues on its path. you wonder if DJ Tanner ever felt like this. hair surfaces in your bowl, and you pluck it out, grimacing. Maybe you should cut your hair. it’s hot out. DJ had short hair.

a rap on the table — spoon? knuckle? you can’t tell — strikes you. the words reality and wake up and decisions and wasteful are abrasions on your knees, still sore from too many tries on Ben’s skateboard ((he had smiled at your earnestness and kissed away the latent tears , let your body do its healing)).

you do not speak words so much as you give birth to emotions, agonizing and cruel and hideous. you do not know what you say or if you even say it ((dissociation)). but it is metallic in your mouth and turncoat shaking fingers and the sinking sound of unharnessed emotion in your ears.

it is hot and stifling and too much when you leave. nothing is feeling right — that stillness has lodged in your diaphragm again — opaque skies mock you — rain comes and you are colliding with nature and you are losing

Ben is standing underneath the overhang at the library ((it always comes back to the library)) and you wonder if you’re finally hallucinating. you voice forms itself to his name and he turns, damp hair following a few seconds later, and he drops his cigarette at the sight of you.

Exhilaration delivers specks of mud on your legs and arms but it is no matter. the time and space continuum has rectified and he is in front of you, giving you a cigarette, gray t-shirt abstracting to his muscles as much as your vans cling languidly to soggy toes.

he exhales smoke the way he says your name. it is precise and pious and it blooms over you like pink and purple hydrangeas.

Ben sees the gouges in your eyes and chastises your traitorous hands and absorbs you. cigarettes slump, abandoned, as he presses your cheek to his heart ((the conjunction of your logic and heat meeting his fervent center)). you cling to him and he does not resist but molds himself to you. time stops ((it’s an illusion)). rain continues. Ben’s kisses glide along your hairline, your forehead. it tickles and you laugh and his smile takes shape against your frontal cortex.

you pull him into the rain even as he protests ((but he’s laughing and the clouds pause, time takes a breath , are you time)) and you kiss him. it is like something breaks in him or perhaps the rain has induced erosion or maybe he is like you and there is a filigree thread connecting his head with his heart and constructing a railway through his body. Ben is all the lightning — the sky has crowned a new Zeus — you hold him as the thunder in his soul cracks and pulls

((maybe kant was wrong about time and heidegger was right about dwelling and nothing crystallizes in his soul like you do))

the two of you alight to his car ((still unknown yet cordial, native)) and when you reach his building he opens your door and scoops you up in his arms and it is like that first time by the pool ((but nothing is ever like the first time)).

your hand makes a fist in his soggy shirt and his hair is pasted to his forehead and you cannot censor the searing, violent, desideratum swooping over you ((nor can you pause the absurd laugh that gushes out of your heart at his display of exorbitant chivalry)).

“i can walk,” you say as he wades through water that’s now folding over his skin, lapping up his electrolytes.

“yes, dearest, but you can’t swim, can you?” he likes to respond with questions, but this one’s an answer. Ben’s clutching you so tightly that you can’t see his face but you feel the contentment in his tone—it dashes into you like the rain currently encompassing the Earth, hesitant with the effort of exertion, with the weight of metal souls. “I’m just preemptively forbidding a disaster, darling.” there’s a tenderness bridging Ben’s raw power and mischievousness — the network protrudes — extracorporeal ((does he know?))

He cherishes the rain, Ben tells you later, when existence reduces to you and him and incandescent petrichor and the pasticcio of kisses, heartbeats, palms on skin.

___

Ben is not carefree, but he is not serious. it is like he has learned that he can take up space ((empirical)). there is less constriction, tension, stenosis in his body ((the filigree is stretching his limbs)). movements are not languid but nor are they demonstrations of correctness. not slouching — just not strictly upright.

your hair gets tangled, like his sheets, like his legs in yours, and you tell him you want to cut it. An auburn eyebrow lifts archly, and he runs a finger down the length of your arm, tracing the veins ((your life)). “how will I teach you how to swim if you chop off your legs, darling?” Ben’s voice is charcoal. gray, yellow red orange burning, glowing at the edges. He draws up blueprints for cities in your open palm.

You make a quip about the ship of state and he snorts. When he shakes his head, his other hand — the one not serving as an architect on your body — shags through his hair, tanned skin meeting with copper effervescence in a ragged tryst. “i like its hows” he murmurs against your lips and you cannot protest, not when his caustic tongue ices, soothes, pacifies your conflagration.

The two of you are at the pool, again. He’s on his break. The air’s circulation is viscous, shoving over your skins. It straps you in — like the fanny pack around his waist. Ben’s donned his lifeguard pack for work, swapping out his array of gauche accessories for the traditional red and white accoutrement now fastened at his hips.

the most important things in his life, Ben thinks as he inhales the light spice of a Malboro, start with “l”. learning, lady, library, liberty, lake, logos, love. he doesn’t know from where last word originates; he must learn ((connaître ou savoir?)). in his experience, there’s no such thing as luck. He feels like a character in one of those war movies filmed right before he was born, smoking lucky strikes in a foxhole and just trying to stay alive, goddamnit, just trying to get through the war.

The two of you are always watching each each other. The obtuse phenomenology plays out like a courtly masquerade. veritas, quid est veritas, for here both object and deception are degrees of truth. He smirks around the cigarette and you blush but your eyes hold his and you catch his approval and stuff it inside your heart.

Ben takes your hand and places it on his thigh as you speak. the two of you are straddling a lacquered yellow beach chair, offensive in its self-confidence. he leans forward and touches his forehead to yours. he likes to take initiative — he is making use of his knowledge, he told you once, mumbled and sleepy, when you had whispered the question against his shoulder late one night.

Ben brings himself nearer to you. sweat — splashes — dangling exertions — smoke — sunscreen. it all plays about your lips and in your blood and in his hands that keep yours pressed against his flesh. someone yells at him to get his ass back to work and Ben rolls his eyes.

“duty calls.” his actions, the chair: they embolden you to dip your voice, your thoughts, mayhap you actions to a lower register.

He ducks his head to peer at your face, like that first time when you were falling over ((but nothing is like the first time)). as he passes the remainder of the cigarette to you, the words he speak sound like him, carry his weight, refracted starlight from coal. “we all have a duty. even you.” Ben doesn’t need to say his duties; they are his life, his schedule, the notebooks in haphazard stacks under the bed, his tin cups of pens. you wonder if you are part of his list ((if the cables have let you traverse the journey from his heart to his head)).

when you tell him that he is diamond but you a like one of those new gems they make in labs — what are they called — moissanite, he shakes his head. “you are not so scientific, darling.” fingers squeeze yours. “you are burning skies and delimitations and biting stars — the most natural things that exist.”

((you are not sure if you believe him, because nothing is like the first time)).

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi-wan imagine #usernobie #fic: breathless #afogocado #i had so much fun writing this #am v emo for ben kenobi #can he pls kiss me in the rain #(that's all i want)#is this an idfic?#idec #cris writes

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wedreamerz · 4 years

Text

Ravenous

Written for @mcukinkbingo

Square Filled: Hickies

Pairing: Tony/Loki

Alt Universe in which Loki showed up at the final battle with Thanos to save the day. This is several years after the battle.

Rating: E

Mainly smut with mention of past angst and loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I fail to understand your fascination, Anthony. They are only bruises.”

Tony rolled his eyes and straddled Loki’s hips, earning him a lusty groan from the god beneath him.

“What lovely noises you make,” Tony said and nibbled along his jawline.

Loki chuckled. “Do you wish for me to eat you up like the wolf in that fairy tale Morgan insists you retell every night?”

Tony smiled at the memory, no more than a half-hour prior, retelling the tale of The Big Bad Wolf.

"I don't know, you are rather tasty. Maybe I should eat you," he growled in the voice he always used for the wolf and bent to suck open-mouthed kisses down Loki’s neck, gently at first, wet and enticing. But when Loki rolled his hips, pressing their cocks together, giving Tony that little bit of that divine friction, he bit down and sucked a mark onto Loki’s pale skin.

"Anthony," Loki breathed. He pushed long fingers into Tony's hair, grey now. He had stopped coloring it at Loki's request, but he wasn’t sure how long that would last.

“I like seeing my marks on you in the morning,” Tony said. “And don’t think I don’t notice the way you look at them in the mir-”

Loki chuckled and cut Tony off with a kiss. But Tony didn’t mind the distraction. He loved to get lost in Loki's kisses, the warm, sweet slide of their tongues, the sharp, needy little nibbles that let Tony know his very own personal god was done playing around.

Loki stood and lifted Tony as though he weighed nothing.

"I want you by the fire," he purred, laying Tony down on the plush rug before the fireplace.

Tony started to argue but Loki shook his head as he knelt between Tony's parted thighs.

"You needn't worry. I've enchanted her door. She will hear nothing and we will be well warned should she wake up."

Tony smirked. He should have known. Loki adored Morgan like she was his own. He’d been a balm to Morgan's broken heart when Pepper died a year after the final battle with Thanos.

Loki touched his hand, the mangled one, the one he would have lost had Loki not been there during that battle. Tony looked up to meet his gaze and smiled. It had been his own mistake that brought Loki to him - the lost Tesseract. It was the best mistake he’d ever made.

“Are you here with me now, Anthony?" Loki asked in that careful tone he used when Pepper's ghost crossed Tony’s face. Loki blamed himself. He’d tried to save her. But it turned out even Loki’s considerable powers couldn’t cure cancer.

“I’m here,” he said, reaching for Loki, pulling him into his arms. He buried his face in Loki’s hair, breathed in the scent of his shampoo - spicy, sweet, and exotic. He still wore it long but let it fall in soft curls around his face now instead of slicking it back. “I’m always here with you, Mr. Shakespeare.”

Loki chuckled at the nickname Tony had given him when he’d developed a taste for The Bard’s works as he’d poured through Earth’s literary wonders. Tony chuckled too, remembering the way he’d rolled his eyes and continued through his fourth reading of Henry V.

“Shall I quote you love poems? Prose?” Loki purred, and with the twitch of his finger, Tony’s clothes were gone. The flames in the fireplace flared, reflected in the bright green of Loki’s eyes, turning them an intoxicating shade of copper for just a moment.

“Pistol’s cock is up and flashing fire will follow.”

Loki smoothed his hands up Tony’s thighs to where he was already hard and wanting. With one long finger, he traced Tony’s length and smirked when it twitched beneath his touch. He bent to kiss him - tiny warm presses of his lips from base to tip that left Tony breathless.

“Loki,” Tony whispered.

“Flesh stays no further reason. But stays rising at thy name,” Loki quoted, holding Tony’s gaze as he licked the same trail his kisses had blazed.

Tony loved to watch Loki suck his cock. His expression was so open, so full of love and desire. Tony bent his good arm behind his head so that he would have a better view. That’s when he saw mischief in Loki’s eyes and knew he was in for a treat.

“But nay,” Loki said. “Me thinks the Man of Iron prefers a more primitive tale this night.” He nibbled around the flared ridges of Tony's cock head and swirled his tongue around the tip.

“Not a children's tale; but a tale of wanton greed and excess. A wolf in the guise of a handsome prince, laying in wait for the beautiful man cloaked all in scarlet - waiting and eager to eat him whole."

Tony listened, enraptured as always at the way Loki wove his spell. He pulled Tony in with his words and the gentle teasing of his mouth. Through slitted eyes he watched Loki lap up the length of his cock and then take the head between his spit-slick lips. Tony groaned when Loki swallowed him, pressed his nose into the well manicured hair at the base of his cock.

"Loki," Tony panted and pressed his hips forward, needing more - deeper, faster, harder. Loki moaned around his cock and urged him on.

Fuck my throat, Anthony. Let me feel your cock throb as you cum.

Loki spoke into his mind, feeding him images and thoughts of how it felt when Tony fisted his hair and pumped his hips. He saw his own face through Loki's eyes, head thrown back, mouth open as he cried out and emptied himself down Loki's throat.

Tony floated, electrified and numb and yet somehow feeling everything, the chafe of the rug, the warmth of the fire.

"Roll over, Darling Red. I wish to have you on your knees."

Tony tried to comply, eager for more but blissfully boneless. With a chuckle, Loki helped him into position, slipping a pillow under him for Tony to hold onto. Tony closed his eyes and stretched.

Warm, wet and luscious, Loki tongued open his asshole until Tony was hard again. He rolled his hips and moaned when he felt Loki's cock at his entrance.

"Come on, Wolfie," Tony murmured after turning his head to the side. "My...what a big cock- oh...fuck."

"That is the general idea, Love," Loki purred, balls deep in Tony's ass, waiting for the signal that he was ready for more.

Tony smiled and enjoyed the fullness, the complete joy of his submission to Loki in that moment. Tony knew how difficult it was to wait, how much Loki longed to take him. But he held them there on the precipice for just a moment longer before pressing back in invitation.

Like a caged animal finally free of its confines, Loki growled and snapped his hips. He pushed Tony's face into the pillow with one splayed hand and set a brutal pace.

Tony moaned, relishing each thrust, the press of Loki's fingers into his hip and back.

"My Darling, Red," Loki said with a chuckle Tony could feel as the god leaned forward to drape across his back. Loki kissed tenderly his shoulder, such a contradiction to the way he used Tony's ass. "Would you like to come again?"

"Yes," Tony panted, meeting each of Loki's thrusts With the wet slap of skin on skin.

"Then turn around and let me see your face. Let me feel your cock twitch against my stomach.”

Loki pulled out, and Tony moaned the loss.

"I know, Pet. I know. On your back now and I will fill you again.”

Tony rolled over and pulled Loki into his greedy arms. He sighed when Loki did as he promised.

"That's it, Darling, so needy, so tight."

Loki buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck and moaned before biting, sucking the flesh between his teeth. Tony moaned and rocked his hip, rutting shamelessly against Loki's hard stomach in time with each quick snap of hips.

"Come for me, Love," Loki whispered and like one of those famous dogs, Tony obeyed. With a feral growl, Loki came a moment later, pumping into Tony's ass.

Warm and content, Tony drifted.

Loki must have carried him at some point; because the next time he opened his eyes they were in bed, snuggled under layers of blankets and entwined. He closed his eyes again and sighed into Loki's chest with a smile.

Pale sun shone through the window when Tony woke up. He rolled over to find Loki's side of the bed empty but still warm. He moved into the space and filled his lungs with the scent of their lovemaking then heard the shower in the bathroom turn on.

Tony smiled. He was sore. He had barely moved and he could tell that. But the thought of a shower warm Loki, smelling clean and all slippery with soap made Tony throw back the covers and pad into the bathroom.

Tony went to the sink to brush his teeth and smiled when Loki began humming a tune he didn't recognize. But it was sweet and happy, a clear indicator that he had pleased his God well. Tony smirked at his reflection and saw the bruises - Loki's marks from the night before. He pressed on them and groaned as his cock hardened. Memories from the right before manifested into reality.

He palmed himself, just a few strokes. He squeezed the tip of his cock and closed his eyes, fingers straying to the bruises on his neck. He pressed down again and stifled a moan.

Loki's marks. Loki's bites.

Tony startled as the thoughts were pushed into his mind. He looked to the mirror to find Loki staring at him from the open shower door.

Mine.

"I believe I am beginning to understand," Loki said with a smirk.

Tony's gaze wandered Loki's pale skin and found his own marks along his collarbone. He smiled.

"Come here, Red," Loki purred. "I find I am once again...ravenous."

#MCU fanfiction #Loki Laufeyson #tony stark #frostiron #ironfrost #tony x loki #loki x tony

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duker42 · 5 years

Text

💜Cure for Insomnia💜 Part 2 of 2 Levi x Reader

💜Cure for Insomnia💜 Part 2 of 2

Part 1

Y/N’s POV:

He always looks younger than his age, but when he’s not frowning, it gives him an air of innocence. He has been asleep for the last three hours. His breathing is steady, rhythmic. I have quietly observed him since falling asleep. Not wanting to disturb him, I haven’t moved. But then again, it’s not like watching him is a hardship.

While not everyone would consider the cold, distant Captain attractive, Levi appeals to me. His ear length raven colored locks cover his face, and his undercut is alway fresh looking. The stormy grey eyes that impassively observe are hard to look away from, even when he glares at you. While he is considered short by most, I don’t understand why people comment on it. Extremely fit, his lean, muscular body screams with the results of his years of training and fighting. If he were more approachable, I would pursue a relationship with him. I scoff to myself, it more likely that the titans will suddenly stop eating humans.

I suddenly realize that those grey eyes have been watching me for Lord only knows how long. I meet his eyes steadily as I resist the urge to blush. It’s not like I wasn’t ordered by the Commander to watch him. I have no reason to feel embarrassed, even if my thoughts weren’t professional.

“Did I sleep long enough for you to leave me alone?” He asks, his voice husky from the sleep.

“You slept for about three hours. That isn’t a full night’s sleep sir.” I carefully answer, unsure of what mood he wakes up in.

“It is for me. It’s the most I’ve slept in one go in weeks.” He sits up and rotates his shoulders. Getting up, he begins to pull on his uniform.

“Sir, please don’t.” I stop him by putting a hand on his arm. Looking at me, he silently demands to know why. “Dress in casual clothes, something more comfortable that the constricting uniform. Do you have sleep pants or shorts?”

Grumbling he goes to his wardrobe and digs through it. Pulling out a pair of older grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, he holds them up to me for approval. When I nod, he quickly dresses and puts his uniform away neatly.

Marching out of his room, I see him settle himself behind his desk. Picking up a pen, he begins to work on the stacks of paperwork taking up real estate on his desk. I look at him, frowning in disapproval. “Captain, you aren’t supposed to being doing paperwork.” The stubborn man doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Y/N, I enjoyed the little massage, and I slept for a few hours. I feel better than I have in weeks. I have had issues sleeping practically my entire life, so it’s as good at it’s going to get for now. Either pick up some paperwork and help or get some sleep.”

I sighed. I knew this was going to take time. But I won’t push it the first night. Settling on his couch, I drift off to sleep, letting the sounds of the pen scratching against the paper relax me. I woke up with the sun starting to rise through the window in his office. A blanket was covering me and a steaming cup of tea sat before me on the table beside the sofa. Levi was not in the office. Sitting up and rubbing my eyes, I look around, and turn when the door to his bedroom opened and the Captain walked out, his pristine uniform in place as he finishes tying his cravet around his neck.

“Good, your awake. the tea is for you. Don’t worry, I’ve only had the one cup of tea when I got yours. Go take a shower and get ready. Breakfast is in thirty minutes.” He walks to his desk and sits down. “Meet me back here after you finish getting ready.”

**Time Skip**

After spending the day running through Captain Levi’s schedule, I am unsure how the man doesn’t sleep. From the paperwork, to cleaning, to the squad training, to his own personal three hour workout, I am ready to drop from just trying to keep up with him.

Resting my head against my propped up hand, I’m honestly too tired to eat. Lazily pushing the food around on my plate, I feel Levi nudge me. Turning my tired eyes on him, he motions down to my plate and just says, “Eat.”, and continues his own meal.

On our way back to his office, he stops in the hallway and turns to me. “Go and get something to change into.” Rolling his eyes at my bewildered expression, he explains. “You’re observing me again, right idiot? Might as well be comfortable.”

After grabbing my necessities for a shower and changing, I find myself back in the Captain’s office. Empty, I use the opportunity to browse the collection of novels on the bookshelf by the fireplace. Surprisingly, its shelves are lined with a broad range of novels, scientific journals and even how-to manuals. It seems that he either likes to appear well read, or Levi has an intense love for absorbing the written word. Choosing a book, I thumb through the well worn pages, stopping to read passages that catch my attention.

When a door opening breaks my immersion in the crime thriller, I look up to see the Captain dressed in loose lounging pants and shirt. Toweling his wet hair, he motions behind him. “Shower is free. A towel’s on the counter.” I grab my bag and towards the bedroom, when he places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “I, uhhhh, took a longer shower tonight. So you can count it as relaxing.” Nodding, I walk past him and close the door.

As I strip and stand under the hot spray of water, a small grin crosses my face, wondering if the Captain took a longer shower than normal because he took my other advice. This would be the place for it if he did. A red tint covers my body that has nothing to do with the water temperature as my mind wanders. Images of Levi standing here leaning against the wall with water cascading down his body fill my mind. His elegant hand, roaming his body with no intention of cleaning, stopping when it reaches it’s destination and begins to stroke the ridged skin....Shaking my head, I push the thoughts away and quickly run through my showering ritual.

Dressing, I repack my bag and tidy the bathroom, going as far as wiping down the shower stall for the notoriously fastidious man. I place the dirty towel in the proper basket and walk back to his office, expecting to battle with him over working after dinner.

To my pleasant surprise, I find the Captain seated on his sofa. A tea set placed on the table before it and beside the tray, an elegantly carved chess set. Walking towards him, I cock an eyebrow at the tea set, sending him a questioning look.

“Before you start, it’s camomile” He grumbles as he pours two cups. Handing one to me, he sits back and takes a sip. “Do you play?” He questions, nodding towards the chess pieces.

“I do, but not very well I’m afraid.”

“Good, I’m tired of Eyebrows winning. Let’s play.”

We spend several hours pouring over the board, strategizing and sacrificing pawns to advance. Although most of the time is silent, Levi surprises me by randomly throwing out questions in his blunt manner.

“Are you trying to distract me?” I question after the latest question from him about my life, as I contemplate my next move.

Clicking his tongue, he moves a Bishop into position. “Idiot, I can be social.” Causing me to laugh at the rude answer.

After beating me for the third time, he stands and begins to pack away the set. Walking to the bookshelf to place it back in it’s proper place, he orders “Go get ready for bed.”

Not moving, I try to understand his reasoning behind his demand. Turning back towards me he frowns at my lack of movement. “Y/N, go get ready for bed.” His voice a bit harsher, more authoritative. Silently, I demand an explanation from him. This is my observation and I was the one in charge.

Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose as he explains. “You are exhausted. You need to sleep.” He holds a hand up to stop me before I can do more than open my mouth to argue. “I will go lay down with you on that shitty bed. I won’t leave it, I swear. I will keep track of how long I stay awake for you. Now, please go.”

Realizing he’s right, that I have to get some sleep, I get up and go to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When I come out, the sheets have been turned down, ready to me to slide into them. Levi quickly preforms his own nightly ritual and comes over to bed, sitting on the edge. Turning to look at me, his eyes search mine for discomfort at the situation. Finding none, he turns back and extinguishes the lamp, throwing the room into darkness. Laying back, I feel him fold his hands behind his head and breathe slowly, relaxing his body. Drowsy, I turn to face away from him, quickly falling into a deep sleep after muttering a quiet “Goodnight.”

**Time Skip**

Slowly opening my eyes, I wake up. Confusion clouds my mind at the unfamiliar room. As I blink and the fog of sleep lifts, I remember falling asleep beside Levi. Soft light filters through the edges of the dark curtains, signifying the beginning of a new day. I wonder how many hours Levi let me sleep while he laid next to me. As I go to move, I realize there is a weight, holding me in place. Reaching down, I feel a warm arm around my stomach, fingers gripping my side. A body, radiating heat, pressed up against my backside, and a cold foot in between mine own warm feet. His face is pushed into the back of my neck, the hot air washing over me as he breathes out. Stirring slightly, he pulls me closer to him as he burrows down into my neck and innocently rubs against me in his sleep. A small contented hum comes from his chest as he settles back down.

Smiling to myself, I relax into the mattress. I can question him when he wakes. Still, being awake causes me to shift more than I would if I were asleep. Trying to stretch my back out a bit causes me to freeze. When I moved, Levi responded in his sleep, nudging a certain part of his body against my butt. Moving again to try and get comfortable, he brushed against me again with slightly more force. Red faced, I vow to lay like a statue until he wakes up, not wanting to explain why I caused him to grind his ‘morning salute’ against me if he were to wake up now.

Not too much later, a low groan comes from the raven haired man as he begins to stir. Tightening his arm around me, I feel his muscles contract with a small stretch, and his long lashes tickle my neck as he opens his eyes.

“Good morning.” I call out softly.

Humming slightly he begins to pull away from me, rolling over onto his back. Following him, I turn onto my side, facing him. He closes his eyes again and lets out a sigh.

“Damn...” is all he says.

Pushing myself up, I prop on an elbow and look at him.

“I fell asleep right after you did.”

When I didn’t respond, he looks over and snorts at my shocked expression.

“Yeah, I never would have believed it either. You said goodnight and immediately fell asleep. I remember rolling onto my side and that was it.” He continues, shooting a quick glance over to me before looking back up at the ceiling.

“Huh....that’s great! You just slept for 9 hours! How do you feel?” In my enthusiasm, I wiggle closer to him, wide eyed and smiling.

Rolling his eyes at me he grumbles. “Fine. I slept great. Now I have another damn problem.”

I tilt my head in confusion. What’s the problem? He slept for a full night! If we can repeat it tomorrow, he’s on his way to being fully rested.

Glowering at me he spits out. “Are you going to sleep next to me every night?”

“Oh.....well....ummmm” I can’t think of what to say.

“Yeah....Even if you did agree to sleep next to me, that just causes me more problems.” Levi’s voice is low, mumbling as if embarrassed.

“What’s the other problem?”

Looking at me incredulously, he shakes his head. “Really? I know you felt it.”

“Oooooohhhhhh” I blush as I realize exactly what he is referring to. Quickly waving away his concern I reply. “That’s natural. Don’t worry about that.”

Turning towards me and propping up to look me the eyes, his next words excite me. “Not for me. Especially since I ‘relaxed’ in the shower last night.”

“Well, we are adults.” I ventured, looking away from him. “I cured your insomnia, I’m sure I can cure your other issue, if you want.”

Pulling me closer to him, he rubs against me, pushing his issue against my hip. “Oh I want.”

The End.

Mobile MasterList

@emilyackerman78

#captain levi #levi ackerman #snk levi #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #levi aot #attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #levi heichou #captain levi x reader #levi fanfiction #snk fanfiction

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