#Impossible Shipyard

[peggymerkur]

Podcast -Support

Podcasts - Volunteer (Peggy) needs support. Your support means I can keep on going with the Podcasts. Unique amazing Podcasts Sail, Cargo, Environment.. New Podcasts Ship Ceiba: Dreams come true.

Podcasts – Volunteer (Peggy) needs support Your support means I can keep on going with the Podcasts. Unique amazing Podcasts. New Podcasts Sailed Cargo: Dreams come true. Companies like Sailcargo Inc. inspire an entire generation. True stories of hard work and happiness with passion. Built from scratch, Ceiba is the largest wooden sailing cargo ship. An amazing way to live and work. At the…

View On WordPress

#Avontuur #cargo #ceib #donate #Impossible Shipyard #PeggyMerkur #Podcast #sail #SailedCargo #support

[suppermariobroth]

In Mario Kart 7, during the countdown before online matches start, several objects in various courses float outside the track, being teleported to their correct positions only when the race starts. This is normally impossible to see, but modifying to code to move the racers freely through the air allows them to be viewed.

Top: in Wuhu Loop, several cars float in mid-air.

Bottom: in Wario Shipyard, a Fish Bone floats in mid-air.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: twitter.com user "B_squo"

#mario kart 7 #nintendo

[carionto]

Just a little push

The conflict between Humanity and the United Federation was in it's early slow stages. After the rather unexpected attack on the symbolic Death Kebab there was a lot of buzz and light skirmishes in the nearby systems, but no noteworthy confrontation.

The placement of the Death Kebab was provocative by design, and with both sides so far away from one another, there could not be any mass fleet formation without plenty of advance notice. Special operations units, however, are everywhere.

Unlike Humanity, who currently only has Earth as a planet under their direct control and with a notable population, the Federation is vast - core worlds surrounded by buffer manufacturing and agriculture and all manner of other production focused systems, which themselves are further surrounded out by new colonies, annexed planets, "contract" aka slave worlds.

Getting close to Earth without being spotted by any number of civilian organizations is nigh impossible, and when you count the military intelligence and surveillance networks, there's hardly an atom that remains unregistered. Certain people with, let's say, less than honest intentions, still manage to find ways to keep their activities hidden. For a while at least.

These kinds of skills, when employed by a trained operative with the highest grade equipment, make them virtually invisible everywhere else. A poorly guarded third-rate mining colony? Why, with just a little preparation, you could float an entire Dreadnought up to their atmosphere before they noticed. Assuming they would even care after offering a slightly more lucrative deal than the Federation.

For this particular mission, however, they would care.

Vrontaria was a very productive system with nearly a dozen orbital shipyards and hundreds of mining, processing, and export operations that account for roughly 4% of the entire Federation military hardware supply, and nearly a fifth of all their capital ship production. Thus, it was quite heavily guarded, with every nearby system monitored for any suspicious activity.

What they didn't monitor all too well were the mostly useless planets and moons within the Vrontaria system itself. Of particularly little interest was the resident gas giant - Omk.

And why would anyone bother regularly scanning the interior of a gas giant for foreign matter, everyone knows entering the "atmosphere" of a gas giant will just crush everything. Right?

*glances sideways*

:D

It took the better part of a month, but the special unit managed to covertly install about five thousand gravitational pulse thrusters and all necessary power generators within the upper layer of Omk, but just far enough below the storms to make their activity not make any visible change. For comparison, one such thruster can accelerate an entire Dreadnought. Slowly, sure, which is why they have at least 6 to be able to maneuver, and Omk was not the largest gas giant in the Galaxy, about two thirds of Jupiter.

So, one day not long after, someone on Ja'Ulnika, the main planet of the Vrontaria system, noticed that Omk was a little bit further along its orbital path than it should be.

Concerning.

Then they took more precise measurements and realized it was going faster than before.

Very concerning.

Finally, they had someone go up to it and then they noticed all of the thrust force coming from one side of it, changing its orbit to get far too close to Ja'Ulnika for comfort.

Panic inducing to say the least.

By the time a full force of combat ships arrived to sort out this mess and start disabling all these planet-moving thrusters, scans showed they had self-destructed. Even if they had the ability to retrieve anything from the inside of a gas giant, at this point it would be worthless scraps.

The final orbit of Omk would put it on a course to capture Ja'Ulnika in its gravitational well in two years time and take it along for a joyride to orbits outside the habitable zone, rendering it inhospitable in around 5-6 years. Not to mention the carnage tides would cause on a world without its own moon. Or any other catastrophic events that might occur when a planet is essentially kidnapped into a becoming moon.

Wars are fought on many fronts. inevitable devastation and unavoidable future reduction in capacity force you to act in ways you would rather not. Sometimes creating a logistical nightmare that your enemy has to deal with no matter what can be the greatest killing blow that a swift and spectacular showdown space battle could never be.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

[tumbleweed-palmer]

Fic request! Reader x Palmer. Reader is relatively sexually inexperienced compared to Jimmy, who has been married and has a daughter. Reader's first and only experience was awful, and it's been years since that experience. Jimmy and Reader work together? xx

Overcoming Fear: Jimmy Palmer X Reader

smut obviously very filthy smut at that, tw: mentions of sexual assault, anxiety, loss of spouse.

There was no real guideline for dating as a widower. Jimmy had learned this lesson quickly. Sure, there were probably dozens upon dozens of books written about the subject of mourning and some of these books were focused on the demographic of widows and widowers, but there was no surefire guide to what dating could and should be after loss.

To be honest, Jimmy hadn’t imagined he’d find love again, not after the loss he’d endured. Loving another person in that way again had just felt so wrong.  He’d told himself that his heart was incapable of such a thing. He’d felt that it would be betrayal of the vows he’d made to his late wife. He’d convinced himself that he’d only been lucky enough to have one great love in his life, and he should consider himself lucky to have loved at all. He told himself that he’d lost his great love and that was the end of the story for him. 

He’d thrown all his focus on his work and his daughter at times neglecting his own wellbeing until he’d been convinced to start therapy.

Therapy had helped a little of course. It had at least given him a safe space to express his grief. 

Still though the concept of giving love another shot had seemed so impossible and had filled him with such shame. 

When Y/N had entered his life he’d felt an immense sense of guilt. She’d been hired on as Kasie’s much needed assistant in the lab and she’d managed to fit in well. 

She was a great girl; sweet, intelligent, a diligent worker, funny, professional without being an absolute stick in the mud, and something that Jimmy had noticed rather quickly; beautiful. 

Jimmy hadn’t been prepared for Y/N. The very first impression he’d had of her was that she was an attractive woman…the impression had left him filled with an overwhelming sense of shame. He’d mentally reprimanded himself, constantly questioning how he could have the audacity to find any woman other than his late wife attractive?

He couldn’t stop himself from making the observation. He found her stunning and he hated himself for it. 

He’d made his best attempt to avoid Y/N, as rude as it had felt. He’d of course not been cruel, he’d just done all he could to remain distant. He’d kept her at an arms length ignoring the exchanged looks of worry from his coworkers. He’d brushed off concerns about his unusually standoffish behavior. 

He’d been polite to Y/N but he’d never allowed her the same closeness he gave his other colleagues. 

An offhand remark by Y/N during a case had changed that distance. 

The case had been complicated; a dead petty officer who had possible ties to a terrorist group. The dead woman on Jimmy’s autopsy table seemed to be haunted by personal demons which may have contributed to her death. The biggest issue was the woman’s actions prior to her death. It had become obvious as the case had proceeded that the deceased woman laying out Jimmy’s table had secrets that might have a detrimental deadly impact on the living.

The case had called for a psychological autopsy of sorts. All hands on deck had been called in. Even Dr. Mallard had assisted via video conference.

Kasie and Y/N had assisted Jimmy and Dr. Mallard shuffling through the dead petty officer’s past and any clues she might have left behind that could help stop a possible terror attack on a navy shipyard.

The dead petty officer had experienced an immense amount of loss in her life including a mother who had died quite suddenly when she was a child.

Y/N had made one little comment upon this discovery. “I lost my mother when I was seven…right before my eighth birthday…it’s a rough age to lose your mom…especially for a girl…not that it excuses anything Officer Meyer did…I’m just saying, I can see how that might have impacted her childhood. Loss is hard enough on its own, being a kid makes it worse.”

The comment had caught Jimmy’s attention. His only thoughts had been of his own daughter. Victoria had only been seven when Breena had passed so suddenly. Jimmy couldn’t lie, Victoria had been struggling.

Victoria tried to put on a brave face for Jimmy and in turn Jimmy had done his best to put on a brave face for her. It felt as though they were both going through the motions though neither sure how to address the loss in their lives. 

He’d tried to address it of course. He’d done everything his therapist had suggested to address the loss with his daughter. He knew deep down the biggest issue of course was that he’d put his focus on Victoria’s feelings not being open about his own with her. 

It had resulted in an unspoken sadness between them that neither had the words to express. 

Jimmy couldn’t help himself, once the case had wrapped up he’d gone to Kasie’s lab, found Y/N and promptly spilled his guts and his trauma onto her.

He’d apologized of course,  but Y/N had been nothing but reassuring and kind.

She’d offered an ear to listen, an insight from her own experience of losing her mother, and a needed friendship and confidant.

Y/N and he had become surprisingly close. Jimmy hadn’t been expecting for Y/N to grow close to him but to his daughter as well.

Y/N’s niece had come to visit for a month during the summer. This niece was close to Victoria’s age and a playdate of sorts had been set up for the two girls.

Jimmy had thought it might be good for Victoria, having someone close to her age to spend time with. He’d thought it might be a way to experience some normalcy for Victoria. 

Neither Jimmy nor Y/N had been expecting for Victoria to bond with Y/N. It had seemed as though the girl had taken to Jimmy’s coworker turned friend. 

He guessed it made sense. Y/N was all the things a little girl might like; soft, gentle, and lovely. She wore pretty dresses and painted her nails with glitter polish. She wore sweet smelling perfume. She was feminine and cute and his daughter had been enamored.

After Y/N’s niece had gone home, the invitations for Y/N to spend time with both Jimmy and Victoria had continued. Victoria was often the one requesting that Y/N join Jimmy and her for pizza or a movie or a board game night. 

Jimmy had told himself it was a positive thing; Victoria having another adult in her life to open up to. 

Y/N and she shared a bond of sorts he’d told himself; both losing their mothers at the same age. He’d told himself that Y/N might understand Victoria in a way he sadly could not. 

Jimmy had been appreciative of Y/N’s willingness to accept Victoria’s requests for time spent together. He’d realized it was a good thing for his daughter; having a female in her life she could look up to outside of his mom. She could use a good role model, he’d realized. There were just some things Jimmy knew Victoria might not feel entirely comfortable going to Jimmy for even outside of her feelings regarding her late mother. Jimmy knew Eunice Palmer wasn’t getting any younger and Jimmy figured that his daughter appreciated having a woman much younger and more with the times to turn to as she grew older and encountered difficulties in peer relationships and fitting in with her peers. 

Y/N didn’t seem to mind time spent with the Palmers. She seemed just as appreciative as Jimmy was for the closeness.

She’d admitted it was nice to do something social given her life seemed to revolve around her work and she had a tendency to be a homebody as it was. 

With all this time spent together Jimmy’s and Y/N’s bond had grown far beyond just being a confidant for Jimmy and a positive role model for his daughter.

He’d felt a certain sense of attachment to her. She’d become someone he wanted to go to when he had good news. She’d become someone he missed when she wasn’t around. 

He’d told himself that she was just a good friend. She was someone who he felt he could turn to. She was someone he trusted. They were just dear friends and nothing more. 

Jimmy could distinctly remember the sentence that had changed everything. “I have to do a rain check on game night this Saturday. I have a date.”

The words from Y/N’s lips had felt like a punch to the gut.

He’d tried to tell himself even as he broke the bad news to Victoria that he was just worried that with a possible boyfriend Y/N might begin to dramatically change the dynamic she’d built with Jimmy and Victoria.

After all, he couldn’t possibly expect Y/N to spend so much time with Victoria and he if she had a romantic relationship to focus on. Would a boyfriend be willing to go along with Y/N’s place in the Palmer’s life?

He’d told himself that the gross feeling in his gut and the twist in his heart was just over worries that Victoria might take Y/N having her attention focused elsewhere badly. He’d told himself it was his own fault, letting Victoria cling to Y/N knowing that there was a chance that Y/N would move along with her own life and develop bonds outside of Victoria and Jimmy. He should have realized it wasn’t fair to expect Y/N’s life to revolve around his family. 

He had told himself he’d been selfish; clinging to Y/N so hard. He’d told himself he’d turned her into an emotional support security blanket of sorts. He’d leaned too hard on her without considering she might not always be there. 

When Jimmy had broken the bad news to Victoria over a family dinner with his mother, he’d not expected Eunice Palmer to make him wake up and see the true reality of it all.

He could still remember that conversation as he stood at his mother’s side after dinner doing dishes after Victoria had gone upstairs to finish her homework.

The words his mother had said had taken him by shock “You know you’re allowed to love her, honey.”

He’d played dumb of course. “What do you mean?”

Eunice Palmer had given him an all too knowing look as she’d explained herself. “Y/N.”

He’d shifted in place awkwardly, suddenly finding the pattern along the rim of the serving dish he was holding something deserving of his focus. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not like that mom. Y/N is just a friend. She’s just gotten close with Victoria and me…she’s really been there for us both.  I’m just worried about Victoria. She’s become attached to Y/N and I let it happen. I didn’t consider that it can’t always be like this. Y/N has been way too kind. I know she understands Victoria because she’s been in Victoria’s shoes…losing a mom and all. I know it’s not fair to expect Y/N to not have a life outside of my family. Y/N dating some guy is probably going to change things and I should accept that and find a way to explain it to Victoria. I can’t imagine the guy is going to be fine with his girlfriend spending so much time with her coworker and his kid. I’m just worried how Victoria is going to take the change. I know Y/N can’t always be there for Victoria and me for the rest of her life. She needs her own life outside of us. I know this is a good change, it’s just going to be an adjustment for Victoria.”

“That’s not the entire story of what’s bothering you though. I’m not blind James.” Eunice replied, making Jimmy’s stomach churn.

She spoke again before Jimmy had a chance to deny it. “Victoria isn’t the only one who’s become attached.”

“I have leaned on Y/N a lot. I’ve probably clung too hard to be honest. She’s way too kind to tell me I’ve been so needy…I am perfectly fine with her finding someone. She’s probably missed out on a lot of dates with great guys spending all her free time with my family. It’s..it’s for the best. She deserves it. She can’t spend her entire life being my emotional support. It’s not healthy for either one of us. She’s been a good friend, and she should find love.” Jimmy had insisted he turning the serving dish in his hands pretending he was inspecting it to make sure it was completely clean. 

His mother was fast to speak up, that knowing tone still evident in her voice. “There’s more than friendship there James, even a close friendship. I know you deny it, but I know better. I know you.”

Jimmy cleared his throat averting his eyes from his mother’s gaze, the words stubborn on his lips. “It’s not like that at all. I don’t…I don’t love her, not like that. I love her as a friend, nothing more. I can’t be in love with her.”

Eunice dried her soapy hands placing them on her son’s upper arms giving him a reassuring squeeze. “That isn’t true. You can be in love with her. It’s not wrong and you shouldn’t let yourself feel guilty for it.”

“I do though. I feel so conflicted. I catch myself feeling so happy when she’s around. Then I find myself missing and longing for her when she’s not here. She’s always on my mind or at least on the back of my mind. Anytime something positive happens I want to tell her first. When I’ve had an awful day I want to hear her voice. I’m even happy to sit in complete silence with her just because it’s her. Then I feel guilty because there’s only one woman I should long for and she’s no longer here. I made vows and I feel like I’m breaking them. I know Breena and I said until death do us part. I don’t wear my ring anymore…I know…I know those vows ended at death ... ..rationally I know I’m a human being and I’m capable of love even after loss, but I feel so conflicted about feeling love for someone else when I thought I’d found the love of my life. It feels like I’m doing something wrong.” Jimmy admitted the words tumbling out of him, forcing his gaze to meet his mother’s. 

Eunice held him against her, she fast to respond. “That’s the beautiful thing about hearts honey, they are capable of endless love.  Loving Y/N doesn’t mean you loved Breena any less. Love isn’t a competition. Love isn’t that selfish that it can only go to one person and end forever when that person is no longer here. I’d like to believe that we can have more than one great love in our lives. I don’t think that any higher power is cruel enough to make our hearts so they can only love one person and one person only. Love is endless. It doesn’t go away when someone is gone and it doesn’t fail to exist when someone enters your life”.

She pulled back from Jimmy speaking again repeating the statement that had begun this entire conversation. “You are allowed to love Y/N. The heart wants what it wants…and I see the way she looks at you when she thinks you aren’t looking. I think she’s just as afraid as you are. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s just as torn up about how she feels as you are about how you feel.”

She spoke again giving his arms a reassuring squeeze. “You need to ask yourself a serious question, sweetheart. You have to make a big choice. Do you admit how you feel and take a chance even if it’s scary and intimidating or do you let Y/N go and accept that things are going to change? The choice is yours, but whatever you do don’t let yourself make a choice out of shame or fear. You have to ask your heart what it wants and let it have it.”

The words had left Jimmy’s lips as he made his choice, his heart finally telling his shame to shove it. “I…can you watch Victoria. I have to go…I need to go. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

It was a huge cliche really. It had been pouring rain that night as he’d made his way to Y/N’s apartment and he’d managed to become a soaked mess by the time he’d made it to her front door.

The words had left him and everything had changed. “Please don’t go on that date. I am begging you to cancel it. Please, I should be the only one taking you on any dates. I love you. It scares the hell out of me…loving someone again, but I’d rather be afraid than deny how I feel.”

His confession of love hadn’t been smooth at all, but much to his shock and relief Y/N had stared up at him with tears in her eyes as she’d spoken “I love you too.”

His lips had met hers for the first time with that confession and they’d not looked back.

They’d had a serious talk that night after the kiss of course and there had been several serious talks after that night.

Figuring out the change in their relationship had been anxiety inducing at best. They’d been afraid Victoria might not take the change of Y/N being Daddy’s friend to Daddy’s girlfriend well, but much to their relief she’d been agreeable to the change. 

Jimmy knew Y/N had played a big part in making Victoria comfortable with the change. She’d worked hard to reassure the girl that her place in their lives wasn’t an attempt to replace Victoria’s mother. She’d reassured Victoria that just because Breena was gone that didn’t mean the love she’d felt for Victoria went away. Jimmy had reassured his daughter that his loving Y/N didn’t devalue or erase the love he’d felt for Breena. Moving forward didn’t mean you erased the past. 

Y/N had encouraged Jimmy to be open with Victoria about her mother. She’d encouraged him to have those talks and reminded him it was okay for Victoria to see him cry. When he’d been ready to begin packing away Breena’s things for Victoria, Y/N had helped him find ways to store the items and to involve Victoria in the process. 

Y/N had been a supportive reassuring partner as Jimmy navigated moving forward. 

She’d proven to be just as supportive to Victoria. They’d become even closer to the point that Victoria had spent some of her allowance buying one of those BFF heart necklaces for Y/N and she.

Y/N was the one who was happy to tackle whatever complicated hair tutorial Victoria had found on Youtube. She was the one who took Victoria to get manicures and eat brunch. They often had girl days. 

Seeing Y/N with his daughter had just made Jimmy love her all the more. 

It hadn’t been easy navigating love as a widower, but Jimmy had found that Y/N was patient and soothing. She wasn’t afraid to push him when he needed to move past his comfort zone or to hold his hand when he needed to be grounded and brought back down to a sense of comfort. He’d realized his mother was right; love was not selfish at all.

Love still felt terrifying of course, as beautiful and warm as it was. He still felt anxious about it all. It was still intimidating at times.

Tonight felt particularly intimidating. 

When Kasie had won a trip to Vegas Jimmy and Y/N had no qualms about accepting the invitation to come along, after they’d found a reliable babysitter for Victoria of course.

Of course the trip was given to Kasie with the promise that she’d spend plenty of time in the casino. Kasie as it turns out was a high roller in Vegas and the casino hotel they were staying at wanted her to gamble.

The hotel room Jimmy and Y/N had wound up with was far less lavish than Kasie’s but Kasie’s had been given to her with the promise of casino time and Jimmy’s and Y/N’s room had come out of their own budget. 

Jimmy and Y/N weren’t gamblers. So, that meant they’d been left to their own devices while Kasie spent time at the blackjack table.

So far they’d done a lot of sightseeing and eating. They’d even drank a little and played a couple of slot machines. Jimmy and Y/N had just been enjoying some one on one time together free of distractions that were involved in their everyday lives.

They’d been enjoying a grown-up vacation.

There was a certain sense of anxiety hanging in the air though over what they’d decided was going to happen on this grown-up vacation.

Jimmy knew they’d been working their way up to this but that didn’t make it any less intimidating.

As they rode the elevator up to their hotel room he was almost certain his heart was beating so loud that it had become audible.

When his beautiful sweet girlfriend had confessed her limited sexual experience to Jimmy he’d been dumbfounded.

That sense of shock had morphed into anger when she’d described her one and only sexual experience and exactly why it had turned her off of going that far with any guy ever again.

She’d described her first and only experience as being awful. She described an experience that was far too rough with a partner that hadn’t taken her pleasure nor her comfort into consideration at all. Her last sexual partner had been far too aggressive and more concerned with getting himself off than making it feel good for her. He had cared little for her lack of experience or her boundaries. She’d described the entire experience as being overwhelming in the worst way possible and anxiety inducing. She’d described a man who had seemed to manhandle and mistreat her more than make love to her. She’d described unbearable pain during the experience and a sense of feeling violated and empty when it was all said and done. 

Jimmy had felt his stomach turn at her descriptions of not being wet enough, bleeding, and her feeling overstimulated and unloved. He’d felt his heart twist when she’d admitted that though it had been years, the concept of sex still scared her. 

Jimmy Palmer wasn’t a violent man, but hearing all those details had left him feeling certain that if he was ever left alone in a room with his girlfriend’s former sexual partner then Jimmy would be sure the other man left in a body bag.

Jimmy had done everything in his power to reassure her that he was fine waiting as long as she needed him to before taking their relationship in that direction. He had worked hard to promise her that he was a grown man who was capable of moving at her pace. He had promised her that he was mature enough not to feel disappointed or as though he was missing out on anything if sex was something they waited for. He had done his best to show her other ways they could feel intimate with one another without going with more traditional means in the bedroom.

So, they’d made out a lot, more than a lot. They’d moved at her pace and Jimmy had eagerly taken what she was willing to give him. They’d spent a lot of time kissing, grinding against one another, and giving lingering touches over one another’s clothing. They’d never proceeded further than that though. 

When they had decided to take this adult-only vacation Y/N had said the words that had made Jimmy’s heart feel as though it was stopping and racing all at once. “When we’re in Vegas, I was thinking we could go further than we’ve been going…as in all the way. I think I’m ready…I want to at least try.”

Tonight was the night they’d agreed to try and Jimmy was filled with a cocktail of emotions and anxieties.

He prayed his hands weren’t sweating as held her hand in his, allowing her to lead them out of the elevator and to their hotel room.

He tried to focus on his breathing as he fished the key card out of his pocket, his hand shaking as he moved to open the door.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, their faces both flushed pink from more than the dry heat outside. “I’m going to go get ready. I won’t be too long.”

He nodded his head, certain that his heart was racing so quickly it might zoom out of his chest and take off across the room. He managed to speak hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “I’ll get things ready out here. Take your time.”

Jimmy studied the room as Y/N disappeared behind the closed bathroom door. He debated taking the extra step and ordering champagne through room service but he knew they’d had some overwhelmingly sweet fruity cold cocktails hours ago and he knew they were both lightweights. The cocktails had been enough to ease some of the anxiety but Jimmy didn’t want to risk either of them becoming impaired.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his stomach in knots as he moved around the room, straightening up some of the clutter that had accumulated over the past two days they’d spent on this vacation thus far. 

He shuffled through the plastic shopping bag they’d acquired earlier, his cheeks flushing as much as they had when the purchase had been made as he fished out the tube of lubricant they’d bought just in case.

He took a deep breath second guessing the choice to not buy condoms. She was on the pill and they’d agreed they were comfortable moving forward with that being their only form of birth control.

The idea of moving forward with that little protection filled Jimmy with an equal sense of excitement and anxiety.

The entire concept of what was due to happen tonight actually filled Jimmy with a mix of lust, excitement, anxiety, and fear.

This was a huge step not only for Y/N but for him as well.

She was trusting him to move past her fear and experience this with him. 

It was a huge responsibility. Jimmy could admit he had his own fears about tonight.

This was the first time he’d be intimate with someone new in over a decade. He knew he wasn’t inexperienced but he felt clumsy and daft.

He feared disappointing or underwhelming Y/N. He was terrified of triggering some bad memory or just flat out being a lackluster defective lover. What if he made this experience awful for an entirely different reason than her only past experience? 

Being with a new partner was intimidating enough, then add on a bad past experience on her part and his experience being tied to one partner for over a decade and it felt incredibly terrifying and nerve wracking.

Jimmy wasn’t even sure he’d been this anxious his very first time.

He took another deep breath, shakily kicking his shoes and socks off a voice in the back of his head reminding him that there was nothing dorkier and less seductive and being nude except for a pair of socks.

He chose not to strip down completely, deciding to just ditch the cargo shorts he’d bought especially for the desert heat.

He found himself left in boxers and his t-shirt he making his way over to the bed.

He debated getting under the covers but decided to hold off on it, choosing insead to pull back the bedsheets making sure they had easier access.

He made sure the bottle of lube was accessible on the bedside table he dimming the lights by the bed making the room less bright and hopefully making the atmosphere in the room less intimidating.

He sat on the edge of the bed trying to calm his racing heart as he mentally prepared himself for this.

He was silently debating the best way to perhaps prolong his stamina, a voice in the back of his head telling him that it had been so long since he’d done this that he might orgasm far too fast, when the bathroom door opened.

He quickly forgot his game plan to think about his least favorite sport, baseball if he felt himself getting too close to cumming far too soon, when she exited the bathroom.

She felt her cheeks flush debating if the white silky chemise was a little too on the nose. Though she knew she was no virgin the choice in such a pure sweet looking white silk nightgown seemed somewhat cliche in hindsight.

The chemise was low cut enough that it gave a healthy view of cleavage and it was short enough that it made her legs look incredible in her opinion. It fit against the curves of her body nicely and the fabric felt heavenly against her skin. The lingerie had been well worth the price. 

Worries that she was a walking cliche disappeared when she caught sight of her boyfriend’s gaze, the man looking up at her like she was by far the most stunning sight he’d ever seen.

He stood up from the bed, his knees feeling wobbly, his heart racing all the quicker.

He made his way towards her his hands held out to her, almost sure he’d trip over his own feet and break both his arms in the process.

He took her hands in his once again praying that he wasn’t sweaty or clammy. He spoke, unable to hide the lust dripping from his voice. “You look perfect.”

She felt the words leave her first instinct to give him one response. “There’s no such thing as perfect.”

“I’m looking at it.” He insisted the words coming to him without any sense of hesitation.

She released one of his hands reaching up to caress the side of his cheek, Jimmy unable to stop himself from leaning into her touch. It was something he’d discovered throughout their relationship; he was touch-starved. 

He was just relieved she was so willing to offer soft touches and gentle reassurances.

He leaned down his lips meeting hers, the kiss soft and uncertain almost like the first kiss they’d ever shared.

It didn’t take it long for the kiss to grow in confidence. He released her other hand, his hands finding a place at her sides, a soft moan leaving him at the silken feel of the fabric against her skin.

Her hand moved from his cheek placing at the back of his head, messing his hair as they continued to kiss. Her other hand placed at his side she gripped down onto his t-shirt trying to calm any anxiety swirling in her gut.

She pulled from the kiss the anxiety easily becoming a lingering pest in the back of her brain. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything, I’d do anything for you.” He was fast to respond, he was certain of the promise. He would give her anything. He was sure of it. She could ask him to go bungee jumping off the roof of their hotel right now and he was certain he’d agree to do it.

She felt her cheeks flush hoping she didn’t sound so childish for what she was about to request. “During it, can you talk to me? Just keep talking to keep me in the moment? I just…I want to know it’s you…I mean.”

She paused her stomach knotting up. “I know I’ve told you I’ve tried to do this before once after that first time…I tried with one other guy after my first experience but I couldn’t go through with it. I just thought it was easier to swear it off after that. The only other time I tried it with another guy…when I got brave enough to try I…it was easy for me to get in my head and panic and it stopped everything from proceeding. I don’t want to panic. I want to be reminded that I’m doing this with you…I guess I’m just thinking you always know what to say to make me feel safe. I want to feel safe. This should be about expressing love and I know it shouldn’t be scary. I feel so dumb for feeling scared…I’m a grown woman but I just get so in my head. I know I’ve made you wait so long and now I’m making it complicated. I know that it may sound like a stupid request but...”

He felt his heart ache and twist at the request he quick to reassure her not allowing her to devalue her own needs or apologize for taking this at her pace. “I’ll keep you in the moment. I promise, I will do whatever you need. It’s not dumb, nothing you need from me is dumb or something to be sorry for.”

She felt her eyes well up with tears. She spoke feeling pathetic. “Sorry for forcing you to give a pep talk…I’ve probably wrecked the mood.”

“You haven’t. How many times have you given me a pep talk? I recall you talking me down that first time we made out in my bed and I got weird. I’m pretty sure I’ve had to have you talk me through my fair share of misplaced shame and all my other baggage.” He reminded her his lips pressing to her forehead.

He embraced her, giving her a moment to relax, rocking her in place trying to wordlessly make it clear that they were moving at her pace. He didn’t care if it took all night and it was all stop and go. He wanted to make this what she deserved.

Her hand placed back at his cheek gazing down at her she becoming lost in his gaze for a while. She was almost convinced no one had prettier eyes than Jimmy Palmer. She was convinced that no one had kinder eyes either.

His kindness had played a factor into her falling for him.

She felt like the luckiest girl in the world. She had a kind, intelligent, sweet, funny, thoughtful boyfriend. He was an incredible father and a gentle partner. 

Falling in love with him had given her a sense of mixed up emotions. Adoration mixed with the guilt of knowing he was only hers because he’d lost such a big part of his heart.

Falling in love with a widower wasn’t without its misplaced guilt. Jimmy had mentioned his own shame but she could admit to hers as well.

She could remember the biggest thing that had broken that shame and made it fade. It had been a talk Jimmy had with Victoria about his relationship with Y/N as he’d tucked her into bed one night. It had been pretty soon after their relationship had become romantic. Y/N had only heard part of the conversation, but the words had still stuck out to her. 

“Loving Y/N doesn’t mean you and I didn’t love your mom. Loving Y/N doesn’t mean we love anyone else any less. I’ll always love your mom and I know you’ll always love her too. I loved your mom so much. Your mom is going to always love us even if she’s not here anymore. Love is pretty special because it’s not limited to just going to one person. Love is something that should be shared. You can’t hold on to love too tightly and you can’t refuse to give it to someone. Our hearts are big and they are filled with so much love. You shouldn’t hide any love you feel in your heart. You should always let people know you love them even if it feels scary. Life is so short. Remember how we talked about how everyone dies? Dying isn’t the important part honey. It happens everyday. Love is way more important than death. Everyone may die but love doesn’t die.”

If she’d had any doubts about loving Jimmy Palmer she was almost certain they would have died that night as she’d overheard that conversation. 

He was right, love was to be shared even if it was scary.

She pulled back from his embrace just enough to speak the request soft on her lips. “Can we lie down?”

He nodded his head wordlessly, taking her hand in his, leading her to the bed he thankful they’d gone with a larger hotel bed even if it had brought the price of the room up.

They laid down side by side Jimmy taking the opportunity to ditch his glasses on the nightstand before he turned his attention back to her.

His lips met hers, his hand reaching out to caress her side.

He knew that this was not an unfamiliar position lying side by side their lips locked.

She placed a hand at his cheek feeling a little bolder allowing one of her legs to slide over his scooting closer to him.

He moaned at the sudden movement, the chemise riding up exposing more of her leg dangerously close to revealing the lace of her panties.

She pulled her lips from his feeling daring enough to reach for the hem of his t-shirt pulling it up. He took the hint pulling it up and over his head tossing it across the room.

He felt his pride spike at her reaction to his bare torso, her moan soft as she took him in. He knew that he took good care of his core and his abs were always something he could at least feel confident about even if he wasn’t always the most psyched about the rest of his appearance.

She placed a hand at his side caressing his warm skin, his lips pressing back to hers he reaching out to caress her over the chemise.

She reached down, finding a little more confidence placing her hand over his maneuvering it to slide under her nightgown, his large hand pressing to her bare skin.

She spoke her voice a soft plea. “Talk to me please.”

“You’re so soft, the softest.” He blurted out the blood flow moving far enough from his brain to fill other areas of his body that he couldn’t find it in him to worry if he sounded dorky or foolish.

He lips pressed to hers between words. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too.” She managed to reply her lips pressing against his he continuing to caress her shyly exploring without pushing too far.

She placed a hand at his back caressing his skin, she moving her lips down his neck nipping at his skin, certain she’d leave a mark behind. She moaned at the thought.

Jimmy groaned at the stimulation, he continued to talk, saying anything that came to his brain. “Your lips feel so nice. I could kiss you forever.”

He continued to caress her, her lips and tongue sliding along his pulse point. He whined the lower region of his body, easily reacting.

She pulled from his neck her lips slightly swollen, the slight hint of lipstick she’d worn earlier smudged.

She placed a hand at his cheek, her eyes locking with his before she spoke. “Tell me you love me.”

He moaned the words falling from his lips without any second thought. “I love you. You have no idea just how much I love you.”

She placed a hand at the hem of her chemise pulling it up, she sitting up enough to pull it up and over her head.

She felt her cheeks flush this being the most exposed she’d been in front of any man in a long while.

Though a voice in the back of Jimmy’s head screeched to be a gentleman and to show some self control his eyes shifted down to her bare breasts an audible moan leaving him.

He spoke more to himself than to her. “Fuck.”

She let out a soft moan, the response surprising. Jimmy Palmer was not the type of guy that threw around curse words by nature. She wasn’t sure if it just came from being a parent, or if he was just naturally that polite. 

She relaxed back against the bed, their lips meeting again. Jimmy hesitantly reached out to touch her side, remembering to speak. “You’re so perfect. I love you so much.”

She dared to scoot closer to him, her bare torso pressing to his the sensation making audible gasps and moans leave them both.

She wrapped an arm around him she tracing his skin. Jimmy spoke against the kisses daring to ask. “Can I touch them?”

It took her lust hazy brain a second to clear and realize what he was suggesting but the answer came without doubts. “Yes, please.”

He groaned a large hand pressing over her breast. He caressed her skin before gently massaging her breast. His fingertips slid across her nipple teasing it, the action working a moan from her. 

He spoke following through on what he’d promised. “They’re so perfect, so fucking soft and full. Looks so perfect in my hand. Fuck, I’ve touched them over your clothes before, but this is so much better.”

He paused, managing to bring humor into the moment even if his brain was preoccupied with lust. “Just warning you, you’ve probably created a monster. I’m going to touch these any chance you allow it.” 

She managed to laugh at the comment the response leaving her. “I’ll allow it as long as we aren’t in public.”

He spoke again knowing he sounded desperate but he refused to take any step without her consent. “Can I kiss them, please, baby?”

“Please.” The reply left her she feeling breathless, her own lust beginning to flood over any other coherent thought.

He locked his lips over her breast suckling her nipple desperately. He moaned against her skin the vibration making her whimper. He spoke against her damp skin his lips and tongue teasing her nipples. “I love you. Thank you.”

She moaned surprised by the reaction her body had to him thanking her. She couldn’t deny that her clit throbbed at the statement as innocent as it seemed.

She placed a hand at the back of his head messing his hair as he continued to focus on her breasts kissing, sucking, and nipping at the delicate skin giving her the distinct feeling that at this rate she was going to have at least one serious hickey pressed to at least one breast. 

He spoke between the stimulation his voice muffled more praises and thank yous spilling from him each word making her center clinch. She was certain her panties must be drenched at this point. 

She was astounded given that if someone had asked her a few years ago she’d exclaim that she couldn’t comprehend going this far with anyone, but here she was wet and desperate with a man she was crazy about attached to her breast praises spilling from him.

Jimmy moaned against her skin knowing he was so hard he was almost sure he could break glass. 

The fear that he might possibly be a disappointing lover seemed to be slipping from his brain the only thing he could focus on was the woman beside him and the moans leaving her. He knew he was babbling against her skin the words needy and full of reverence; beautiful, soft, perfect, sexy, incredible.

She reluctantly scooted from his ministrations, feeling her cheeks flush from more than arousal as she spoke. “Can you take your boxers off?”

He moaned almost sure he’d never moved faster in his life. His movements were so clumsy that he was shocked he didn’t accidentally kick her or fall off the bed.

He managed to somehow lose his boxers kicking them somewhere across the room.

He felt a spark of insecurity begin to blossom in his brain. Maybe he should have manscaped a little better? Was he way too hairy? Would this spook her given that he was fully nude now even if it was at her request?

She dared to gaze down at him her cheeks growing darker any insecurity that had been blossoming in his brain withering up and dying at her words. “Fuck, it’s thicker than I thought.”

He gazed down at his erect cock, he almost certain the sight must look a little ridiculous they both gazing down at his privates examining his dick. 

He felt his cheeks flush at the statement the words leaving him. “I’m pretty sure I’m mostly average…I mean I’m pretty sure I’ve read that the average length is around five and a half inches though most guys will argue that they’re at least six.”

“You’ve looked into it? I mean you’ve researched it?” She dared to ask, the amusement somewhat evident in her voice.

Jimmy felt his cheeks flush further. “I have a deep understanding of anatomy due to the nature of my profession…and I had a lot of access to the internet and a lot of freetime in my early twenties.”

She spoke, still unable to tear her eyes away from his cock. “Can I touch it?”

He moaned his cock twitching at the request as though it was answering for him. He nodded his head trying to balance out being needy and reassuring all at once. “Only if you want to. I…I don’t want you to feel you know…like I expect it. I want to move at your pace.”

She tore her eyes from his cock as she pressed a kiss to his lips. She couldn’t hide the adoration from her voice as she spoke. “I want to touch it, trust me. I want this.”

She pulled her lips from his staring back down at his cock. She reached forward gently wrapping a hand around him, a soft gasp leaving her.

He moaned his gaze following hers. He whined as she placed a thumb at his tip rubbing the slit gathering the precum that had begun to bead up. She used it to swipe across the tip of his cock his balls throbbing at the action. 

He spoke certain he was supposed to keep up with his promise to talk to her during this entire experience. “Fuck, oh babe. Love you, fuck.”

He groaned knowing it wasn’t the most eloquent thing he could say but it was hard no pun intended when she was currently sliding her thumb along his sensitive tip precum desperately seeping from him.

She spoke her voice soft. “I should probably use some lube before I go any further? Can’t imagine it’ll be any fun dry?”

He desperately reached out, finding the tube of lube he’d left on the nightstand fumbling through opening it as he handed it to her.

She took the lube and her cheeks flushed. She was unsure where she’d found the confidence to be this dominant after all she’d spent so long terrified of all things related to sex. She guessed it was just that it was Jimmy. She trusted him immensely. Exploring this with him and giving sex a chance seemed less intimidating because it was him.

The further they went tonight the less frightened she felt. 

She warmed a healthy amount of lube in her hand before wrapping her hand around him. Jimmy moaned at the sensation, his hips moving a little eager to chase the stimulation. 

He spoke as she began to stroke him, unable to take her eyes off him, almost fascinated with the concept that she was feeling this confident and making him feel this good. “I love you. Oh my God, babe. That’s so…that’s perfect, just like that.”

He kept his eyes locked on what she was doing to him, almost sure that this was the most erotic thing he’d seen in his life. He couldn’t help but to wish he could save the sight in his brain forever. Her delicate hand wrapped around his slick cock, her nails painted a bright shade of blue, he leaking against her skin making a mess.

He gripped down onto the bed sheets, his gaze unable to leave her treatment of him. He spoke his voice needy. “I love this so much. Fuck that’s so perfect, my love.”

He whimpered his balls aching it taking everything in him to say the words he hating that he had to stop this so soon. “I don’t want to cum like this, not right now. Fuck it’s so tempting. You can make me cum like this later.”

She pulled her hand from him, the giggle that left her making him throb all the more. “I’m going to so do this again before we leave Vegas.”

He moaned as her lips pressed to his. He managed to speak against the kiss. “I feel pathetic for being so close that quick. It’s been so long.”

He felt his cheeks flush all the darker the confession spilling from him. “I mean I’ve jacked off probably a little too much especially lately, but you know someone else touching me is way more intense.”

He resisted the urge to bury his face against the pillow and never emerge knowing he had a case of babbling and shoving his foot in his mouth as it was. Apparently if his dick got any stimulation he became an even bigger social disaster.

She spoke holding her hand up thankfully not calling him out on his confession. “Got a tissue?”

He moved quickly, finding them on the nightstand she cleaning herself.

His lips met hers, the kleenex going somewhere on the floor.

He moaned his cock pressing to the lace of her panties he resisting the urge to grind against her.

She caressed his body, not shy about grasping onto his backside giving it a squeeze, her voice teasing against his lips. “Not going to lie, pretty sure I spent way too much time staring at your butt before we started dating…and probably a lot of time after.”

He moaned against her lips, his voice just as teasing. “Stared at yours too, it’s okay.”

She spoke, deciding to take the next step feeling more and more confident the longer they went. “Jimmy, take my panties off please.”

He groaned, his hands moving sure his movements were clumsy. He spoke as he began to slide them down her hips. “I’ve never heard a prettier request.”

He stared down at her, a moan spilling from him as they worked her panties down her legs they disappearing somewhere towards the foot of the bed.

He kept his hand at her hip unable to work up the nerve to move it as he gazed down at her center.

She spoke uncertain of how to read his gaze. “I thought about doing a full brazilian wax, but there’s something about that just feels I don’t know…too much. So, I just decided to take care of the bikini line and clean up as usual.”

He nodded his head a moan leaving him. “Good choice. To be fair though…pretty sure I’d like it no matter what.”

She couldn't help but to giggle though she had a feeling he was being sincere.

He stared down at her overwhelmed with thoughts of what he wanted. He wanted to bury his face in her pussy. He wanted to bury his cock in it. He wanted to bury his fingers in her. He wanted to cum on her and in her.

He shoved the thoughts back a voice in the back of his head fast to speak up Let her set the pace dumbass.

She spoke a hint of shyness sneaking in now that she was completely bare in front of him. “Can you touch me…and keep talking please.”

He nodded his head eagerly reaching forward, his fingers sliding along her slit. He spoke the moan leaving him. “You’re soft here too. Fuck, my love, you’re wet too. You’re soaked.”

He spoke needing to get the green light from her. “Can I put my fingers in? I want to make you feel good.”

“Please.” The words barely left her before he slid one finger through her slickness allowing another to join along beside it.

He spoke his voice thick with lust. “Oh my god, fuck, you are so wet. You’re tight too and hot.”

She whined as he stroked his fingers experimentally sliding them in and out of her. The sensation wasn’t unfamiliar from when she occasionally touched herself but his fingers were far larger and they went a lot deeper than her own.

She spread her legs encouraging him the action working a praise from him. “So perfect, such a perfect girl, letting me make her feel good.”

He found her clit rubbing soft circles against it causing her to grip down on the bedsheets a moan leaving her.

Jimmy spoke daring to ask. “Can I taste you? I want to go eat you out, only if you’re okay with it. I won’t be upset if you say no.”

She nodded her head no doubts appearing in her mind. “Do it, please Jimmy.”

He moved down her body, his voice reassuring. “I obviously won’t be able to talk to you down here, but if you need me to stop just say the word. I won’t be upset.”

She nodded her head relaxing a whimper leaving her as he removed his fingers from her center he unable to stop himself from cleaning her taste from them. He spoke a moan leaving him. “Love how you taste. I said earlier I wasn’t going to be able to stop touching your breasts, but now I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to keep my mouth off your pussy either.”

She felt her center clinch there something so satisfying about hearing him say something so filthy. Maybe it was just that she knew it was a side of him only she was getting to see.

He spoke his breath warm against her center. “You ready, babe?”

She nodded her head the answer leaving her with no hesitation. “Yes.”

He lapped at her center slowly, delicately taking his time. He encouraged her to place her legs over his shoulders, wanting to be as close to her pussy as possible. He moaned against her those fears he had about being a disappointment in bed fading even further away.

He wasn’t lying. He had a feeling he’d want to spend even more time down here if she’d allow it.

He licked her from her perineum up to her throbbing clit unable to hold back any sounds of pleasure from his own lips. The moans and whines of his name that left her encouraged him to keep it up.

He gazed up at her from between her thighs moaning as he watched her reaction, her head thrown back one of her hands massaging her breast.

He reached up allowing his hand to take its place eagerly massaging her breast toying with her nipple causing her to gasp his name all the more.

She managed to speak her voice soft and sweet. “Oh, God, Jimmy. Feels too good.”

He moaned in response his cock leaking precum against the sheets he hoping he wouldn’t cum from this alone.

He began to focus on her clit remembering her reaction to his fingers moments ago. The action made her thighs quiver a whine leaving her as he gently sucked at the bundle of nerves.

He allowed his fingers to slide into her center sliding in and out of her as his tongue busied itself with her clit.

She gripped onto the back of his head pulling his hair probably a little too hard her voice shaky. “Fuck, Jimmy. I’m gonna…I’m so close.”

He moaned in response her comment encouraging him to continue; she so wet she was dripping down his fingers as he thrusted them in her center. 

She cried out her thighs shaking her back arching her end hitting her so quickly and suddenly she almost felt breathless.

Jimmy continued to focus on her clit, his movements a little gentler and slower as he worked her through her orgasm.

As she came down from her orgasm the stimulation became too much she frantically moving out of his touch.

He stared up at her, the adoration clear in his eyes as he once again cleaned her from his fingers.

He pressed his lips to her thighs wanting to check in on her well aware that he still needed to be delicate with her. “How are we doing? You okay?”

She spoke, her voice shaky. “Fuck, Jimmy. So good.”

She took a deep shuddering breath, her body feeling limp and pleasant. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard.”

He felt a sense of pride wash over him, he moved back up her body, pressing soft loving kisses to her skin. 

His lips met hers, she gasped at the fact that the lower region of his body was still very much alert and excited. 

She whimpered as his cock brushed against her center desire, easily flooding through her even in the afterglow of the most intense orgasm she’d ever had in her life.

She spoke almost sure she’d never been so certain of anything in her entire life. “I want more. Want you in me.”

He groaned, his cock aching at the request. He spoke needing to know she was sure. “Are you sure? You’re ready? I don’t want you to feel pressured. Trust me, babe. I’m having a good time regardless of if we continue or not.”

“I want more, please Jimmy. Make love to me. Want you to bury yourself in me and make me cum again.” She replied not above lying it on thick wanting to express just how badly she needed this to continue.

He groaned at the words, his voice still hesitant. “And you’re sure we don’t need the condoms? I mean...you're 100 percent sure you're okay proceeding without…I know you’re on the pill and we're both clean. You're completely sure about this?.”

He felt his cheeks flush remembering the awkwardness of the first conversation they'd had about birth control. He was pretty sure he’d blurted out that he wouldn’t mind having another kid but he would prefer to wait even if they waited a while and it made him an old dad. He was also pretty sure he mentioned that they should talk to his daughter before they even considered trying for a baby.

He was just relieved that she hadn’t minded his babbling and hadn’t run far far away at the mention of making a baby. She'd given him the gentle reassurance that she was on the pill and had been for a long while. She was fine not bothering with dealing with condoms if he was okay with it. It was a waste of money if she was on the pill she'd pointed out.

She caressed his sides, the neediness clear in her voice. “I'm so sure. I want to feel all of you. Please, Jimmy. I need you.”

He groaned, nodding his head, the question leaving him. “Me on top?”

She nodded her head, the response leaving her. “For the first time. We are definitely trying other positions before we leave Vegas.”

He groaned, nodding his head knowing she’d get no arguments from him on those plans.

He reached down grasping his cock in his hand sliding it along her center trying to coat himself in her knowing the lube they’d used earlier was most likely dry by now.

He spoke needing to ask as he positioned himself at her entrance. “Do we need lube?”

She shook her head a giggle leaving her. “You just ate my pussy like it was your last meal. Pretty sure you know how soaked I am. I don’t think we need the extra moisture.”

He giggled at the comment, his cock twitching at the reminder of what he’d just done to her.

He took a deep breath needing to say it. “If it gets to be too much just say the word. I’ll stop no hurt feelings.”

With that he thrust forward her tight center enveloping his aching cock. He groaned as he buried himself in her slowly to the hilt a cry leaving the both of them as his pelvis pressed to hers.

He spoke knowing that her request to talk wasn’t any less relevant now. “You feel so good. So so so good. Could spend the rest of my life here.”

She giggled at the statement Jimmy groaning as her body shifted against him. She spoke her voice light and airy as she stroked his skin. “You fill me up so good, Jimmy.”

He moaned at the comment daring to rock against her, not quite ready to pull out just yet. “You’re so fucking wet and you’re so snug around my cock.”

She whimpered at the comment needing to say it. “I love you.”

“I love you so much. Love you.” He replied, finally forcing himself to pull out before thrusting back in.

He did his best to keep his gaze locked with hers as he found a rhythm, her legs wrapping around his hips, tilting her hips back giving him a deeper angle to thrust.

He groaned as he watched her reaction, he was sure he’d never get enough of seeing her in this moment. Her eyes struggled to stay locked with his and not slide closed as she soaked up the pleasure. Her lips were parted soft sweet moans leaving her. 

He spoke, continuing to rock in and out of her. “You’re so perfect.”

She whined at the praise, her nails digging into his back as he sped up his pace. The only thing that managed to fill the room were shared moans, soft praises, the creak of the hotel bed, and the sound of his skin meeting hers.

He groaned the words leaving him not caring if he was just saying anything that came to his brain. “Feels like your body was made for me, feels too good. Fuck, you’re never going to get rid of me after this. Gonna follow you like a lost dog. I’m yours.”

She pressed her lips to his a giggle leaving her. “Don’t want to ever get rid of you.”

She dared to reach between them, finding her clit rubbing tight circles against it. Jimmy groaned as it hit him what she was doing. He made a note to get her to do it again in those other positions she was promising he wanting a better clearer view. “That’s my girl, fuck yes. Help me make you feel so good. Want to make you cum again. Gonna make you cum so much before we leave Vegas.”

She whimpered, doubling down her head falling back ,the stimulation almost too much. She was almost certain if this was anyone but Jimmy she would have tapped out by now.

She was amazed that something that she’d been so afraid of for so long now managed to feel so amazing. She knew that Jimmy was the main factor in it feeling so wonderful. No other man would have ever made her feel this secure to ever give any of this a chance after last time.

Her last experience was pushed so far from her mind the only thing she could focus on was the man over her making her feel this amazing.

She whined, her body sliding closer and closer to finding release for the second time tonight. Jimmy sensed it, he speaking unable to stop himself from babbling it clear he was struggling not to become lost in his own pleasure. “Fuck, hon, oh God, beautiful, feels too good, oh fuck, perfect love.”

Her clit throbbed her body sliding closer and closer the feeling euphoric and so all consuming. She could feel the tension building in her body, she sliding so close to release.

She felt herself slide over the edge, Jimmy's name leaving her lips ,she digging her nails into his back she was almost sure she was risking drawing blood.

If she was, it went unnoticed by Jimmy, the sensation of her center fluttering around him she so soaked and hot he almost wanted to cry.

He did his best to keep thrusting through her orgasm though his movements were sloppy and clumsy, his cock aching his balls drawing close to his body signaling his own end was right around the corner.

It didn’t take long for him to follow her right over the edge as she finally began to come down from her own orgasm. He only managed a couple of clumsy thrusts, his own body reaching its end.

He moaned so loud he had to bury his face against the pillows, almost certain he’d deafen her or piss off their neighbors as he fell over the edge.

He spilled into her his release hot, his hips weakly thrusting. He knew they were making a mess as he came deep inside of her, her body taking it all a soft gasp leaving her the sensation intense even with as overstimulated as she was from her own orgasm.

He collapsed against her his body feeling heavy and drained as the last of his release seeped out of him.

His cock began to soften knowing any movement would mean sliding from her warmth but he found himself unwilling to pull out of her. He was relieved that she held onto him desperately, apparently just as eager to keep him within her as he was to stay.

He whined as his anatomy won out over his will he sliding from her.

He reluctantly rolled off of her, wasting little time to slide as close to her as possible.

She turned to face him cringing both at the soreness between her thighs and the smallest hint of their mixed releases leaking from her.

Jimmy reached out, smoothing back her hair, his voice raspy and exhausted. “You okay?”

“Never better…what about you?” She dared to ask knowing that tonight had been just as big of a deal to him.

“So good, perfect.” He insisted daring to lean in his lips sliding along hers lazily.

She returned his kisses, her voice soft and drowsy as she struggled to stay awake. “I love you.”

“Love you too, so much.” He insisted his hand pressing to her cheek his other hand pressing to her back as he held her against him.

She held on to him just as tightly, her voice so sleepy. “Can we share a bath after we rest?”

“Definitely. A bath sounds perfect. Then I think you said something in the midst of passion about trying other positions. I know we’ve got a week in Vegas, but there are a lot of positions out there. We can probably even google some new ones.” He replied, his lips pressing to any bit of skin he could reach he unable to resist teasing her about her earlier comment about different positions.

She giggled, nodding her head. “The hotel does have free wifi. Rest first though.”

He managed to speak as her eyes slid shut, his lips pressing to her temple, his own eyes growing just as heavy. “Love you, thank you for not letting me be scared to love you.”

#jimmy palmer #jimmy palmer x reader #jimmy palmer smut #ncis smut #ncis fanfiction

[jintaka-hane]

Paulie: *Glancing at you and muttering* Honestly, it is impossible to work like this…

You: YOU are the one making it impossible to get anything done with your constant whining…

Paulie: WHAT? Now it's MY fault?! *losing his nerves*. I'm not the one showing up to work at the shipyard dressed like that! How do you expect us to focus when you're showing off your legs like THAT?

You: PAULIE! I've been working here for a year dressing however I want, and I haven't seen productivity decrease! It seems like YOU're the only one with concentration issues here!

Paulie: ME? *crossing his arms* There are plenty of guys here!

You: Well, none of them seem to look at me the way you do! What's your fucking problem?!

Paulie: I DON'T WANT ANY OF THEM LOOKING AT YOU THE WAY I DO! *blushing* Geez...

…

You: … P-Paulie…

Paulie: *VERY angry* WHAT?!

You: OH! If you're so worried about other men looking at me, WHY DON'T YOU ASK ME OUT ON A DATE ALREADY AND END THIS NONSENSE?!

Paulie: FINE!! *clenching fists* ARE YOU FREE TONIGHT?!

You: YES!

Paulie: THEN I'LL PICK YOU UP AT YOUR PLACE, DAMN IT!

You: FINE!

Paulie: FINE!!!

*He storms off angrily, taking long strides while the entire lot of shipwrights bursts into laughter*

#jintaka stuff #one piece #paulie one piece #paulie #x reader #water 7 #paulie x reader #silly dialogs #op paulie #one piece paulie

[existentialcrisistime]

you know what I love about the aos movies? the sense of scale. like yes, space is so vast that even trying to comprehend the size of it is near-impossible. yes, spaceships are enormous, so big that they're really fucking terrifying when something inside goes wrong and that's not even mentioning that there's only a metal hull between staying alive and dying in the vacuum of space.

and of course the shipyards would need to be even larger, looming over the countryside with their tops hazy from the height. of course tower blocks would be impossibly taller in the 23rd century, if you can't build out you build up, rising out of the cities like silent giants.

and yes, space bases have got to be way larger than spaceships, entire cities in space, thousands upon thousands of people, and why would you stick to building on a flat plane when you're gonna generate artificial gravity anyway? if it's gonna be a feat of space engineering it may as well look like it, loop-the-loops and buildings in all directions arcing across the sky.

like yes, we get that a spaceship with a few hundred people on it is gonna be big, but what the movies get across so well is that everything is so much fucking bigger, and for our 23rd century friends, that's just normal, their average everyday view, and i think that's what makes it even more awe-inspiring and unnerving.

#yes i am watching beyond again for the second time in three days what of it #star trek aos #aos #star trek #nic watches star trek

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 5: Insight

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance.

COVER ART BY @zaana!! And this was my first fanfic ever, y'all! :D

Master List of Chapters

Another mission, another risky departure. This time, the hyperdrive wasn't working, and as a last resort, Tech asked Vel for help. Once again, she came through, in another impossible situation. The team was amazed at her mechanical knowledge. As soon as they had a break between missions, though, they had their orders to drop her off. But she had so much knowledge. All mechanical, delivered dryly and peppered with laments about her now-useless status to both the Bounty Hunter's Guild and the Jedi Order. After much deliberation, the team asked her to stay, as a ship mechanic, until she decided where she wanted to go.

At this point, it had been long enough that she agreed, having grown accustomed to the ship's little nuances and quirks. But it came with one stipulation: she wasn't to be a prisoner anymore. She had no reason to turn against them and she was grateful for their help, though still hopelessly jaded about her future and resentful about her past.

She fashioned some makeshift quarters in the hold, still dark but better than bars and a stark cell. She had no personal items except a pouch with some credits, a basic medpack, and the multi-use weapon that Crosshair had relieved her of upon her capture, which wasn't returned to her just yet. The ship was under constant need of repair or maintenance, so she worked frequently alongside Tech, as well as the others, depending on what was needed. She was quiet and efficient, grateful for the lack of conversation when she assisted Hunter or Crosshair and chagrined at the constant questions and thoughts that accompanied any project with Wrecker.

Tech, however, was hard to discern. He spoke factually -- only when needed and immediately applicable. He did sometimes tend to explain a single topic in far too much detail, but she found it preferable to any questions or conversation directed at her, so she didn't make any effort to stop it. She found her interests piqued at his different approaches to certain processes, and they both shared an endless curiosity for the various intricacies of the galaxy.

They spoke of past missions, of their childhoods and experiences. Vel divulged bits and pieces here and there, and Tech began constructing a mental map of her story. Born on a lush forest planet, she was taken to the Jedi temple as a youngling when her Force abilities had surfaced, but throughout the Padawan training, it became painfully apparent that she was insufficient.

"Diplomatically dismissed," Vel said, rolling her eyes and waving the spanner in front of her, "Although I'd just call it what it is -- I wasn't good enough."

Tech remained silent, considering the ramifications. He was lying flat underneath a control panel, welding some rough edges while she rerouted the wires to avoid damaging them. "I went back to my dad, but he had moved to Corellia," she continued. "He tried to hide his disappointment, but it was apparent. So he thought he could make me the best mechanic in the shipyard instead. He hired me out as an apprentice to every specialist he could find. I worked during the day and studied in the evenings." "It sounds quite intensive," Tech responded, momentarily pausing from the flying sparks in front of him. "He was trying to do whatever he could to make me useful," Vel answered, her voice tight to conceal the deep pain. Tech remained silent, keeping his thoughts to himself, partially due to the emotional precision required and partially due to the discomfort of the situation. He lifted the face shield to rest atop his head, patiently awaiting any further revelation.

"Anyway," Vel continued, clearing her throat and regaining an air of carelessness, "It was never enough. I made him so much money, got him known throughout the system for ship modifications, but I made one small mistake on a Techno Union transport, and he kicked me out."

She shared the story factually, as if it meant nothing to her, but the constriction in her throat was unmistakable. "His own daughter -- imagine that," she said, returning to her work with a clenched jaw. 

Tech felt deeply unsettled, not having much training on this sort of situation. He racked his brain, searching through the literature and studies he had consumed regarding human interaction and family dynamics before settling on his best attempt at encouragement: "The hardcell-class interstellar transport was a notoriously unique model, especially since it did not use conventional repulsorlifts for flight but opted for--"

"--rocket propulsion for atmospheric and stellar travel," Vel interrupted, "I know... Now."

"Ah," was his only response. He regarded her for a moment, and considered returning to his welding, but felt a compulsion to try again. He considered what she had shared, noting her body language, and decided on a different approach. 

"I am sorry that your father failed to exhibit the loyalty one would traditionally expect from a birth parent," Tech said. "I would posit that it had more to do with his own ethical shortcomings than your perceived incompetence. If I had been born in the traditional human method, I would likely feel similarly disenfranchised by a lack of a secure attachment."

Vel didn't expect to laugh at this, but a chuckle burst out nonetheless. First of all, she had never expected to be sharing her aches and pains with a random clone engineer, and second of all, she had never guessed she would be comforted by a factual analysis of her developmental psychology.

She looked at him, staring solemnly right back at her without a trace of sarcasm or judgment, and couldn't help but smile. "I don't even know what to say to that," she said.

"No response needed," Tech responded matter-of-factly, pulling his face shield back down and returning to his work. Sparks began to fly again, and not just in the literal way this time, yaknowwhaddimean? ;) 





Tag List: @merkitty49 @vimse @arctrooper69 @dystopicjumpsuit @starrylothcat @ghostperson69 @dreamie411 @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff (If you're on my regular tag list, let me know if you want to be tagged in this; I didn't want to spam ya!)

Click here to join or leave the tag list. <3

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfiction #the bad batch fanart #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tech fanfiction #tech romance #tech x oc #slow burn romance #tech #tech bad batch #tbb tech

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 5

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Reader is Mando's bounty, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, starship mechanics, unresolved sexual tension, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and injuries, minor peril, hurt/comfort, Din speaks Mando'a

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

As you had experienced on your first jaunt with the Mandalorian, time seemed to have little meaning while the Razor Crest was in hyperspace. You could sense it passing in the intervals between the sensations of hunger rumbling in your stomach, between the periods of heaviness in your eyes, but other than those persistent bodily demands, the inky blackness of space was omnipresent. You had been a space dweller for most of your life, so the lack of external cues as to the hour or the day was not exactly new to you, but in the shipyards, everything had operated with an almost militaristic adherence to schedule. Chronometers set to mimic the time of day in Chardaan’s capitol city had been placed prominently in every barrack, every mess hall, every hangar bay, and shift change was marked with a blaring siren that echoed across the entire space station system every eight hours. It had been impossible to lose track of time in such a structured environment.

Life on the Crest could not have been more different. The bounty hunter had not been exaggerating when he told you that he was used to going long periods of time without sleep, and as he had indicated in one of your first interactions, he would not eat in front of others, making it nearly impossible for you to tell when the last time was that he had consumed food. As for Grogu, although the Mandalorian had revealed that he was much older than he appeared, he still seemed to have the biological needs of a toddler. He napped often and snacked even more so. Both of your companions were, therefore, poor references for the passage of time.

For the first leg of your journey, from Tatooine to Ryloth, you found yourself spending the majority of the trip in one of the copilot seats in the cockpit, Grogu nestled snugly in your lap. Mando had graciously given you access to the Razor Crest’s internal computer, and you busied yourself running system diagnostics while the hyperdrive hummed in the background. There wasn’t much that your analyses with Peli hadn’t uncovered about the ship’s health, but there was something to be said for running such analyses while in hyperspace, so you appreciated the opportunity to take a more thorough look “under the hood.”

As you had expected, the bounty hunter wasn’t exactly the most talkative travel companion. You had attempted to fill the silence by peppering him with questions about your destination, and while he never outright ignored you, his answers were brief, three- or four-word things that made it clear that he preferred the quiet, so you didn’t push the matter. Instead, you filled your time in between diagnostics playing quietly with Grogu and trying to keep him from fiddling with the buttons and dials on the console in front of you.

When your eyelids started to feel leaden and you found yourself beginning to nod off in your seat, you passed the snoozing child into Mando’s arms and excused yourself to the cargo hold, and before you could allow yourself to think too hard about it, you slid off your work boots and clamored into the ship’s singular sleeping bunk. The mattress was thin, and there were no blankets to speak of, but the pillow was soft, and the whole alcove was steeped in a deeply comforting scent – warm, spiced, and male.

You fell asleep curled on your side, the Mandalorian’s pillow cradled against your face and a hot blush warming your neck. It was the most restful sleep you had gotten in recent memory.

___

You landed on Ryloth what felt like a few hours later, touching down in the shadow of a craggy rock outcropping which Mando insisted would help keep the Razor Crest from drawing any unwanted attention while he was away. Nonetheless, he took some time before he left to show you how to engage the ship’s ground defense systems, and you agreed to activate them once he was out of range. He left with very little ceremony after that – he strapped his preferred brown satchel across his body, murmured something soft in a language you didn’t recognize to Grogu, dropped a comm link into your hand for emergencies, and then he left.

On that first hunt, Mando was gone for four days.

As he trekked through the planet’s many underground cave systems on the trail of his quarry, you took the opportunity to turn the Crest’s stores upside down inventorying the tools, spare parts, and mechanical supplies you would have to work with while you were traveling with him. Grogu stayed strapped to your back for much of this work, and when he got bored and started to squirm, you filled the silence by reciting to him fairytales and nursery rhymes from your childhood. You spent the evenings picnicking cross-legged on the deck of the cargo hold, fresh fruit and self-heating ration packs spread between you, and when you went to sleep at night, Grogu slept in his hammock above you, filling the bunk with gentle, contented snores.

By the time the comm link crackled to life with Mando’s voice telling you that he had the quarry in tow and would be back to the Razor Crest within the hour, you had created both a list of upgrade projects you could complete with the ship’s current supplies as well as a wish list of things you planned to ask him to pick up for you at the next available parts supplier.

You kept Grogu clutched close to your chest when the blast doors hissed open and the gangplank extended, hovering near the ladder into the cockpit just in case. Thankfully, as expected, it was only Mando, a stiffness in his shoulders and his blaster trained on a middle-aged, green-skinned Twi’lek in binder cuffs. The bounty was walking with a pronounced limp, and the left side of his face was scuffed and bruised, as though he had slid along the ground on it at some point. His gaze met yours for a brief moment, his black eyes bloodshot and cold, and you watched him pause at the top of the ramp and raise an interested eyebrow as he took you in.

“Keep moving,” Mando growled.

An involuntary shiver shot through you at the sound, his voice dark and commanding through his helmet vocoder, and you took a step back as the bounty hunter prodded the Twi’lek between his shoulder blades with the barrel of his blaster. His eyes immediately dropped to the ground, chastened, and he took the final remaining steps into the Razor Crest’s cargo hold.

And then, without another word, Mando immediately backed the distracted quarry into the carbonite unit and slapped the control panel.

The device flared to life, spewing its signature mixture of dense gases into the chamber. You watched, your eyes wide, as the Twi’lek let out a shriek of pain at the icy pressure, and your hand flew up to cover the back of Grogu’s head protectively, suddenly determined to keep his face pressed against your neck and turned away from the scene before you.

By the time the impenetrable fog of the gas mix began to dissipate, the carbonite panels had settled. The flat, gray metal molded grotesquely over the anguished face of the Twi’lek, now indefinitely suspended in time.

After a beat of deafening silence, Mando turned to you and bowed his head in approval. “It works,” he said bluntly. “Well done.”

You swallowed audibly, your head spinning. He was right, your repairs had worked. That was an inarguable success, and there was a part of you that felt that triumph – that thrill at the praise for a job well done. However, that thrill contrasted sharply with the sinking sensation in your stomach. That scream… Had you sounded like that, when Mando had attempted to freeze you?

You couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from the Twi’lek’s matte, gray face.

The bounty hunter seemed to notice your hesitation then, and with something like caution in his steps, he crossed the cargo hold to stand in front of you, blocking your view.

You stared at his breastplate instead.

“You did well,” Mando repeated, his voice earnest and almost gentle. “My bounties cannot be allowed to wander the ship freely. It’s not safe for the kid. Or for you.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, and stroked your fingers across Grogu’s soft, downy head. “I know. I know, you’re right. It’s just…” You tilted your chin up to look at the Mandalorian then, gazing at your own warped reflection in the inky black surface of his visor. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”

“I’ve never lost a bounty that was put in stasis still alive. He might end up with some hibernation sickness, but he’ll recover,” he replied.

You nodded wordlessly. Hibernation sickness rarely lasted more than a day, and even when it did, it was very rarely fatal. Still, you appreciated the reminder.

“Let me take the kid – why don’t you get us out of the atmosphere?” he offered in that same even, soft voice. “I’ll get the bounty out of the chamber and onto the storage rack.”

You nodded again, a wave of relief softening your grip on Grogu’s tiny body. Releasing a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, you passed the child into the bounty hunter’s waiting arms and scurried up the ladder to the cockpit without a second glance.

It had been ages since you had piloted a vessel, but you felt as though you could do it blindfolded. With smooth, practiced motions, you completed your flight pre-checks, confirmed that the blast doors were closed and the ramp retracted, and flipped on the twin engines. The low vibration of the deck plating beneath the soles of your boots was grounding, and as you settled into Mando’s pilot chair, you felt your heartrate dropping. With hardly another thought, you smoothly lifted the Razor Crest off of the rocky ground, retracted the landing gear, and set her on an ascension path through the atmosphere and into the surrounding star system.

___

After that first hunt, you found it easier to fall into a loose routine, one governed not by the time on the chronometer or the date on the calendar, but rather by the day’s primary activity.

Travel days, rocketing through deep space in between quarries, were spent in the cockpit. As most of your maintenance work required the hyperdrive to be offline for your own safety, there was very little for you to do while the Razor Crest jumped from planet to planet. You often found yourself curled up in the co-pilot seat behind Mando, playing games and singing songs to keep both yourself and Grogu occupied. The bounty hunter seemed to tolerate this for the most part, though you could tell when he found your antics particularly grating, as he would sigh quietly, flip on the autopilot, and excuse himself to the cargo hold, where you would find him later either napping in the bunk or cleaning one of his many firearms.

Of course, you never failed to give him a hard time about this, implying that a big, tough Mandalorian such as himself ought to be able to handle a few hours of high-pitched giggling and children’s songs. He never dignified your ribbing with a reply, but once or twice, you thought you might have heard the huff of a soft laugh through his helmet. It gave you a strange lightness in your chest every time.

Hunting days were spent on your own up to your elbows in the bowels of the Razor Crest. With the old gunship on solid land, you were able to turn systems off and on at your leisure, making for a much safer and more efficient workflow. On these days, Grogu was your little, green shadow, following you around and watching your every move with wide eyes. You took to filling the silence by narrating what you were doing and providing explanations as to why. You weren’t certain how many starship maintenance skills the kid was picking up on – you weren’t even certain he fully understood Basic – but if his eager face and wiggling ears were any indication, at least he enjoyed himself.

Then there were “Mando comes back” days, which were always the most tumultuous, as they involved adding another frozen body to the ever-growing collection of carbonite slabs taking up more and more space on a rack in the cargo hold. These days would typically start with a communication from Mando saying he was nearing the Razor Crest’s docking location, but occasionally, the only warning you would have of his impending return would be the ship’s ground proximity sensors blaring from the cockpit.

You had learned that this often meant that Mando was dragging an incapacitated bounty, making it difficult for him to use his comm link.

On one such occasion, you and Grogu were sitting across from each other on the floor of the cargo hold, as you often did, splitting a simple lunch of rehydrated bread and a self-heating ration pack of stew when the proximity sensors sounded, high pitched and shrill. Grogu started, his bug-like eyes wide, and your heart jumped into your throat at the sound. You were on your feet in an instant and quickly began gathering up the remnants of your meal to clear the floor.

Once everything was either tossed in the refuse recycler or tucked back away in cool storage, you bent down and scooped the now-whining child into your arms. “C’mon, kiddo, up you go. You know the drill,” you murmured, bouncing him gently on your hip. Crossing the narrow space, you pressed the control panel to open the bunk alcove. “You’re just going to hang out in here until Mando takes care of the bounty. I’ll come get you as soon as he’s done, promise.” You settled him carefully into his little hammock that hung above the narrow bunk, adding, “Be good now.”

You closed the alcove then, swallowing back a pang of guilt. Grogu wasn’t a rowdy pet; you didn’t savor the idea of putting him away like this. But it was undeniably safer to have a layer of durasteel between him and the quarry, and based on previous experience, you had a feeling that the Mandalorian might need a second pair of hands – hands you couldn’t lend him if they were full of a little green toddler.

Not a moment later, the blast doors were sliding open, the gangplank was extending, and you laid eyes on the bounty hunter in question. You swore under your breath, and your feet started carrying you in his direction before you could think better of it.

His typically flawless beskar armor was streaked with mud, blaster marks, and something dark and crusty that you realized had to be drying blood. His steps were slow and labored, landing heavily on the ramp as he made his way up, and he appeared to be favoring his right side. Behind him, he was dragging the unconscious form of a male Devaronian, one you immediately recognized from the bounty puck Mando had shown you before his departure.

The bounty’s russet skin was littered with deep, mottled bruises, and he sported a swollen, bleeding lip, split knuckles on both hands, and a blaster burn on his abdomen. His own blaster holster hung empty from his thick, trunk-like thigh, and his limbs were caked in mud.

You were halfway down the ramp in an instant, falling into step beside the Mandalorian and grabbing onto one of the Devaronian’s legs.

“Where’s – ” Mando began to rasp, his voice strained and thin, but you shook your head and cut him off.

“He’s safe – he’s in the bunk,” you reassured him quickly. “Let me help you.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to – ”

“I know that,” you insisted. “But you’re hurt. And this guy is a giant. So shut up, and let’s get him inside so we can get you patched up.”

You thought you might have heard a curse filter through his helmet modulator, but thankfully, he stopped protesting, and with both of you throwing all of your weight up the gangplank, you were eventually able to slide the deadweight of the unconscious Devaronian up the ramp and into the ship.

It also took both of your full strength to haul his limp body into the carbonite chamber and prop him up there long enough for the pressurized gases to take over. Once the freezing process was complete, you slumped against the nearest bulkhead and sunk to the cold, metal deck, your chest heaving with your exertion. You were certain that you had never been so relieved to see anyone sealed in carbonite as you were in that instant.

Your moment of respite, however, was short-lived. You watched as Mando staggered back from the carbonite unit, unsteady on his feet, and as you looked him over, you noticed that the spot he had been favoring – that stitch in his right side that seemed to be the source of the all the dried blood – was no longer dry.

He was bleeding again. The dark, padded flight suit under his armor was soaked in it.

“Shit,” you swore, jumping to your feet. “Mando – ”

He held up a hand to you and leaned heavily back against the pile of grey storage bins. “In the med kit. The cautery. Bring it to me.”

“A cautery?” you echoed in disbelief. You could feel sweat breaking out on your neck and forehead at the mere thought. “We definitely have a few bacta shots – why would you want a cautery?”

“Those are for…emergencies.” You watched as his breastplate rose and fell heavily. You could hear his harsh breathing through his helmet, an almost staticky panting sound that you had never heard before.

“What exactly do you call this?” you demanded, your eyes wide and your voice rising a few octaves in your distress.

Mando had returned from hunts injured before. You had almost begun to expect it. A bump here, a scrape there, some stiff muscles, a bruise from taking a hit on his beskar. But this? You had never seen him bleed like this. You hadn’t even been certain that he could.

It was a startling realization, to suddenly know beyond a shadow of a doubt that under all of that armor and honor and stoicism, he was just a man.

The Mandalorian shook his head at you then. “Not…an emergency. I’m fine. I just need to…close this. The cautery. Now.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. “Fine,” you conceded. You started digging through the ship’s supply storage then, rooting for the med kit in question. “But I’m doing it.”

“I can do it myself,” Mando rasped.

You dismissed his protests quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a much better welder than you. Cautery’s basically the same thing, right? Just…flesh, not metal.” You tossed him a tight smile over your shoulder at your attempt at levity, knowing it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The Mandalorian simply leveled you with what felt like an incredulous stare, as though you had shocked any possibility of a retort right out of him.

After another moment of searching, your hands landed on the med kit. You made a little triumphant noise at the discovery and turned back to him finally. “Take off your cuirass,” you commanded brusquely, gesturing to his breast and back plates. “I need to get that flight suit jacket open.”

The bounty hunter continued to stare at you, unmoving. You watched him ball up his fists in silent reluctance, and you cocked your head at him, confused.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to you.

You had never seen Mando without his armor on before.

Growing up, like many children across the galaxy, you had been told stories of the Mandalorians. You had learned of their fierceness in battle, their unparalleled skill with weaponry, and their dedication to their code of honor, their Creed. You had also heard that some Mandalorians believed that in order to keep that Creed, one must keep their helmet on at all times and never reveal their face to another. You had never asked Mando explicitly – it had never seemed appropriate to do so – but now, you wondered. Was it possible this belief extended to his body armor, too?

“Is…is that okay?” you asked, unexpectedly tentative. “You can keep your helmet on. And the rest of your armor. Or I…I can leave if you’d rather have some privacy.”

Mando held your gaze for several, long moments then. You could see the weight of this choice in the stiff set of his shoulders and the straining, black leather of his gloves over his knuckles. Not for the first time, you wished you could see his face, if only to read his expression, to get even an inkling as to what he was thinking. You seemed to have unknowingly stepped on a landmine, and though there was a part of you that usually took a perverse satisfaction in pushing his buttons, you crossed your fingers that your ignorance in this instance hadn’t made him genuinely uncomfortable.

Just as you were about to back-track your offer and hand the cautery over to him, the Mandalorian sighed raggedly and nodded. “Fine,” he finally replied, the tension in his voice plain. “Just the cuirass.”

You were quick to nod back to him reassuringly. “Of course, that’s all I need.”

With cautious, labored movements, Mando began to shed the clothing covering his chest – first, his leather bandolier, then his beskar breastplate and matching back piece, and finally, a piece you had never really noticed before – a black, padded bib that covered both his chest and back and connected at the shoulders. As each piece was peeled away, it became even more apparent that the dark, rugged fabric of his flight suit jacket was thoroughly soaked in blood, not just where you could see the wound, red and angry through the torn material, but across his chest and down to his utility belt, as though it had been pooling beneath his armor for quite some time.

You wondered silently exactly how far he had traveled with this wound, how many miles he had dragged the unconscious body of his quarry while in such a state. It sent a cold chill down your spine to think about.

“Go ahead,” he said roughly once each piece was set off to the side. “Do what you need to do.”

You swallowed thickly, your heart hammering in your chest as you came to stand in front of him. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” you promised. Taking a deep, centering breath to stop your hands from shaking with nerves, you reached out and slid the zipper of his flight suit jacket down.

Taking great care not to touch him more than was necessary, you swept each half of the garment to the side as far as it would go, revealing as much of his bare torso as you could manage. The fabric was coarse, warm from his body heat, and damp on your fingertips, and you tried to keep your gaze from focusing too closely on the deep red now staining your skin.

The wound looked somehow even more unpleasant now that it was uncovered. A thick, jagged line about two inches across had been scored into his skin across his right side, starting near the bottom of his ribcage and extending up and diagonally to a point about six inches below his armpit. Even through the blood, you could see that the surrounding skin and muscle had been heavily bruised, and you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of weapon would have caused an injury like this.

You looked up at him then, making eye contact as best as you could through the blackness of his T-shaped helmet visor. Keeping your voice steady and composed, you said, “Okay, deep breath, Mando – here we go.”

You watched as his broad chest expanded with as deep of a breath as he could manage, and with a confidence you weren’t certain you felt, you placed one hand flat against his ribcage to stabilize the wound, flipped on the cautery, and set it to his skin.

The cautery sparked and seared, and you gritted your teeth against the sickening smell of burning flesh as you felt Mando’s obliques seize beneath your touch. You started at the top of the gouge and slowly, painstakingly dragged the tool down the length of it. This close to him, you could hear his ragged breathing as well as a low groan that didn’t quite make it past his helmet vocoder. His skin was hot and slick with sweat and blood under your hands, and you made a mental note to get him a cold, wet cloth to wipe down with when you were finished.

“Halfway there,” you murmured after a moment, watching the once raw injury crust over as it burned beneath the cautery. Although you had been joking earlier, you found this experience to be shockingly similar to welding, and somehow, that allowed you to sink into a place of calm concentration.

“Dank farrik,” Mando swore breathlessly, as though he were clenching his jaw.

“I know, I’ve got you. We’re almost done, I promise.” Words of comfort seemed to flow from you so naturally you were hardly aware of saying them until after they had already left your mouth, and you could hear them echo in the air. You felt a faint flush rise up your chest at that, but with a quick shake of your head, you pushed away any sensations of embarrassment. The task at hand deserved your full attention.

You would unpack your immediate and thoughtless urge to offer the Mandalorian soothing reassurance another time.

Finally, after another minute of tense silence but for Mando’s labored gasping, you reached the end of the wound. Flicking the cautery off, you let out a deep, shaky breath and took a step back.

“Stay put. I’ll be right back,” you said softly. Leaving him to collect himself, you crossed the cargo hold to the space you had cordoned off around the ship head to serve as a makeshift ‘fresher. There was a bin you had taken to keeping in there filled with Mando’s meager collection of linens, and you grabbed a rag from the top of the pile without a thought. After a bit of rummaging, you found a vacuum-sealed pack of sterilized saline solution in the med kit and used it to soak the rag.

The bounty hunter seemed to have caught his breath by the time you made it back to him. He was still leaning heavily back against one of the gray storage bins, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms holding the weight of his upper body. His helmeted head hung limply on his neck, his chin resting on his chest, and his blood-stained jacket still gaped open, revealing the entirety of his trunk.

You cleared your throat a bit to get his attention, and he looked up at you, weariness evident in his posture. “Here,” you nearly whispered, extending the soaking rag to him. “To clean up.”

He inclined his head in your direction and accepted it. “Thank you.” With a bit of effort, he pulled himself into a slightly more upright position and began dragging the cloth over the freshly-cauterized wound and across his abdomen.

As the dark red stains dissolved under the saline solution, streaks of warm, golden tanned skin appeared. The sight made your breath come short in your chest, and while something in the back of your mind screamed at you to look away, to give the man a moment of privacy, the fascination that skin inspired in you was stronger.

You had known that he was broad, but a part of you had assumed that his impressive figure was due to the bulk added by his armor. That was certainly part of it, but now, with his torso exposed to you like this, you realized that most of it was natural. His shoulders and chest were wide and well-muscled, and his waist and hips were a touch narrower, cutting a masculine silhouette that caused heat to rise in your face. Dark, fine hair dusted between his pecs and down the center line of his abdomen, there was just a touch of softness to his belly, and his skin was littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. As he dragged the wet cloth across himself, you watched as rivulets of saline dripped down his body, catching and pooling in those scars in a way that made you want to reach out and follow them with your fingers. You had to ball your fists up at your sides to keep yourself from doing so.

It occurred to you then that the Mandalorian was not just as man, as you had thought earlier. He was, in fact, an incredibly attractive man.

The wayward thought ignited a fierce blush in your face and neck, and you tore your gaze away from his exposed skin in response. A rush of guilt and shame flooded your body as you stared at the deck plating. Mando had just been through combat and had been injured badly. Taking advantage of that situation to…ogle his body was completely disrespectful and inappropriate. Not to mention your status as his bounty, his captive, someone he would be trading for credits in the coming weeks.

Such thoughts were entirely unacceptable given the circumstances.

By the time you managed to muster up the courage to glance back up at him, the Mandalorian had finished cleansing the blood from his skin and had zipped his flight suit jacket closed once again. Although clearly exhausted, he appeared much calmer, the worst of the pain from the cauterization fading.

“Thank you again,” he rasped when he caught your eyes. “That helped.”

“Of course. It’s hard to do stuff like that on your own,” you replied, your voice soft. “Happy I was here to help.”

A beat of silence passed between you before you asked, “What did that to you? I’ve never seen an injury like that before – it was too…jagged to be a blade.”

“Not a blade,” he confirmed. “One of the bounty’s horns. I disarmed him, and he tackled me instead. Barely got out of the way in time. I’m lucky only one of them got me.”

You felt your eyes widen, and you spared a glance over your shoulder at the frozen face of the Devaronian, suspended in time unconscious and beaten. His species’ characteristic horns were clearly visible through the opaque sheet of carbonite, and you shuddered at the thought of one of those fierce-looking appendages ripping through one of the only spots on Mando’s body not protected by armor.

“That’s horrifying,” you said, at a loss for any other words.

Mando nodded once but chose not to acknowledge your comment. “You can go get the kid now, if you’re ready,” he said. “He can always tell when I’m…injured. He’ll want to make sure I’m all right.”

You startled a bit at that. In the intensity of the last several minutes, you had completely forgotten about Grogu, sealed away inside the bunk alcove. “Yes! I’ll bring him to you right now,” you said quickly.

Grogu was, of course, thrilled to be let out of the bunk – when you slid the door open, he was standing just on the other side, his little three-clawed hands raised as though he had been about to attempt to lift the door himself. He squealed indignantly upon seeing you, and you muttered soft apologies to him as you picked him up and carried him over to where Mando sat.

The child immediately extended his arms toward his guardian as you approached, and you passed him into the Mandalorian’s arms as quickly as you could manage.

“There you are, ad’ika,” he said tenderly, and you felt an almost fond smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

Grogu cooed and babbled for nearly a full minute, the most noise you had ever heard him make at once. He ran his tiny palms over Mando’s chest and abdomen, his batwing ears tugged downward and his wrinkled brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” he assured. “Vaabir naasad baatir ni.”

“What is that language you speak to him sometimes?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it, and the Mandalorian turned his gaze from Grogu to you in surprise.

“Mando’a. The language of my people,” he replied. “He is a Mandalorian foundling. I want him to be able to speak the language when he’s ready.”

You grinned at that. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes. It is.”

“You call him something, too…add-eeka? What does that mean?” you asked, allowing your curiosity to continue.  

Mando looked down at the child again, who seemed much more content now that he had established that his father figure was safe and well. “Ad’ika. It means ‘little one.’ It’s a…a term of endearment.” If you didn’t know better, you would say that a touch of self-consciousness could be heard in his voice.

“That’s very sweet.” Your heart warmed in your chest at the clear affection the rugged bounty hunter had for his ward. It felt as though you would never stop being taken aback by the way he could swing from fierceness to tenderness in the blink of an eye.

“Why don’t I get us out of here, huh?” you offered then, pointing a thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the ladder. “I’ll take the kid with me, and we can stay up there for a while so you can get changed and put your armor back on in privacy.”

“Yes. That would be…appreciated, thank you.”

You offered him a small smile and scooped Grogu up into your arms. “Take your time.”

Once you both were in the cockpit and settled into the pilot’s chair, you again felt your thoughts racing as you flew the Razor Crest up and out of the planet’s atmosphere.

The Mandalorian was…troublesome. The man was both brutal and gentle, aloof and yet kind. A clearly accomplished warrior with a depth of softness to him that continued to surprise you.

The image of his broad, tan torso glistening in the dim cargo hold lights flashed in your mind’s eye, and you gulped, feeling warmth pool in your belly at the vision.

And he was dangerously attractive.  

You resolved then to keep a closer leash on your emotions when you were around him. Your days as his live-in mechanic and babysitter were numbered. It wouldn’t be long before you would be on your way back to Chardaan, your freedom and the weeks spent on the Razor Crest nothing but a distant memory.

It wouldn’t do to get any more attached than you already had. If you weren’t careful, you were going to break your own heart.

___

Mando'a Translations:

ad'ika - little one, son or daughter of any age

Vaabir naasad baatir ni. - Do not worry about me.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[swanmaids]

post breakup sex (that helps you forget your ex)

ao3 link Caranthir/Caranthir's Wife, e rated, no warnings. for @silmsmutweek, for the day 5 prompt "complicated relationships". In Fourth Age Tirion, Caranthir comes face to face with the woman he abandoned for Beleriand.

Caranthir had known that attending his aunt and uncle’s party was a terrible idea. When his mother had first raised the subject, his first thought - well, his first thought after fuck no - was that she could go and enjoy herself, and he’d stay late in the shipyard doing more of the menial but not unbearable grunt work that was part of the conditions of his release from Mandos. But then his mother had told him that she actually wanted him to come, and she proved impossible to sway. Even his argument that nobody had enjoyed his presence at parties even before he was a double mass-murderer was deemed not good enough. 

Well, almost nobody. One person had stayed by his side all night at every gathering or dance; told him that there was nobody she would rather be beside and maybe even meant it. But she was gone – he had thrown her aside for his father’s oath on the shores of the Swanhaven, and for that crime there would be no forgiveness. 

In the time before, Tindawen had made social events under the light of the Trees not only bearable, but even fun. They would dress up, him in red and her in pink, and draw hundreds of pairs of eyes when they stepped out arm in arm. But they would scarcely dance – they would find some secluded corner where Caranthir would make more and more scathing comments on the other guests – their outfits or their hair or their dance steps; while Tindawen would snort her ridiculous, lovely laugh – “Moryo, stop it! You can’t just say that! Oh Moryo, I can’t take you anywhere!” Then they would leave together, kissing in the carriage, and fall into bed the moment they reached their shared home, laughing all the time. 

But there was no point dwelling on it. Those days were over. But there was one person who had taken him back, and there was a part of him that was loathe to deny Nerdanel anything these days - not only had he let her down in just about every way that a son could; he was also, for some inconceivable reason, the only son who had been granted permission to return to her. So it was that he found himself donning a passable set of robes, and taking a carriage with his mother to Finarfin and Eärwen's palace in Tirion. 

Caranthir drank from Finarfin’s wine, and spoke to no one. He found a suitable corner to retreat to, and watched the other guests. He conceded that it was at least a nice view.  The royal family’s nearest and dearest looked like a flock of the jewel-coloured birds that graced the slopes of Taniquetil and the gardens of Yavanna, dressed in a whole spectrum of colour and gems. From his vantage point, Caranthir could see oranges, yellows, blues, greens…

Pink. 

It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. 

He looked again. 

Elaborately embroidered pink silk. A flash of sealight-shining pearls. Warm brown skin, and ornately pinned dark curls. 

Eru. Eru Ilúvatar. 

Was it possible that he had been granted reembodiment only for the purpose of further punishment? 

There was only one thing for it. Caranthir set his drink down and made for the door. 

If he tried to speak to Tindawen, he did not know what he might do. Perhaps he would fall to his knees and clutch at her skirts, perhaps he would shout, perhaps he would cry. 

He had approached her once before, in this second life. Stumbling on newborn-colt legs towards the little house in Tirion that the Maia of Námo had told him was her home, he had come to her door with no expectation or plan – save to tell her, I am sorry, I am sorry. But when she had opened the door, neither of them had managed words. She had screamed at him; pained, wordless, and slammed the door in his face. 

No, he needed to leave before she saw him again. Blindly, he made his way down corridors, head down, though he saw no-one. He would take a carriage home, he decided, and try to explain himself to his mother the next morning. It was not as though he was unused to disappointing her; nor she to finding herself disappointed with him. 

He was almost to the main door, could hear the murmured conversation of the footmen and feel the cool breeze of the night air against his cheek, when he felt a hand close around his wrist. 

Tindawen’s voice was jackknife- sharp. “And where do you think you’re going?”

Caranthir opened his mouth to speak, but only managed a “wha-” before he was shoved, one-handedly, backwards through an unobtrusive side door. Caught off-guard in more ways than one, he staggered backwards ungainly, and fell down, hard, onto his ass. Something brushed against his head, and looking upwards, he realised where he had landed. The heavy coats and stoles of Tirion’s finest hung around him, like a bizarre, many-coloured forest. And he was not alone in the coat closet – Tindawen stood; furious, beautiful, in front of the door. 

“Unbelievable. You really thought to run away from me? Big fucking man, scurrying away with his tail between his legs from his own wife.” 

To hear her name herself his wife was jarring, even more so than falling backwards into the coat closet had been. It was true that there had been no formal dissolution of the marriage, like the one that he heard his cousin Aredhel had recently acquired, but he hardly thought such a thing was needed –- he had butchered her people. 

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” 

His mouth opened and closed. He scrambled, hopelessly, for the words that would somehow fix his crimes, fix their marriage. “I - I’m sorry -”

“Oh!” Tindawen laughed, and there was not a bit of mirth in it. “Oh, you’re sorry! Well, that’s alright, then. You’re sorry. I know you’re sorry, Caranthir – you have said it to me, you have said it to Olwë, presumably you have said it to your mother. But what exactly does a sorry fix?”

He sat up. “I – I don’t –”

“Nothing, Caranthir!”

She was almost shouting, tree-lit eyes flashing with fury. Then all of a sudden, she stopped. She took a deep breath. And very calmly, she emptied the contents of her wine goblet, that he had not even realised she was still holding, over his chest. 

Stunned, he staggered to his feet, feeling the telltale heat as his face turned as red as his tunic. “Tindawen, what–?” 

But she was continuing, though her voice was cracking like ice. “Do you have any idea of how much you’ve hurt me?” She sniffed, and her eyes were welling up with jewel-bright tears, and suddenly he ached to throw his arms around her and soothe this most ancient ache that he had caused. “You turned your weapons on my friends. I let you into my home. I shared my body with you. And that’s how you repaid me? Do you know how many people blamed me for your sins? Kinslayer’s whore, they called me! If Arfin your king had not been kind enough to speak for me in front of mine, they might call me that name still. You treated me like nothing. You humiliated me. You left me. And now you think you can just come back and…and…” She broke off, sobs finally bubbling up and breaking. 

He could not bear it. Perhaps she would hate him all the more for it, but to leave her in her pain felt all the more wrong. He reached for her, and wrapped both arms around her as she cried. Something was breaking inside his own chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, uselessly, and then, “I love you,” which was less than useless. 

She kissed him then, her tears still flowing, and he tasted the salt of the sea that had sundered them for so long. “I love you,” he said again when they parted, “and I’m sorry. Let me prove it.” Perhaps he could not find the words – he never could, not in either life – but he could show her with his body; and it would be the last time, and he would never have her again, but she would know. 

“Yes,” she breathed, “yes, go on then, do it.”

He stripped himself first. Shrugged off his outer cloak, and peeled off his shirt, soaked through with wine. Red rivulets ran down his bare chest, and even he, who long-lost Maglor had always mocked for his lack of artistry, could see the symbolism there. Rings and hairpins were next to go, clattering to the ground, uncaring of where they fell, and then he shrugged off his slippers and stepped out of his skirts; and sunk to his knees bare before her as though he had just crawled out of the barrow of Mandos. 

The dark quiet of the closet was punctuated only with their breathing, until Tindawen reached for her own hairnet, a fragile thing made from saltwater pearls, and tugged it loose with enough strength to break it. Her curls tumbled free, and the pearls cascaded down, down, down to the floor, where they shone in the darkness like Varda’s stars. 

She did not let him strip her. Instead, she only kicked off her own shoes, and lifted her layers of silk chiffon skirts around her waist. It was a clear invitation, and Caranthir, so renowned for his pride, crawled towards his wife and took her pearl garter into his mouth, pulling it down to the ground between his teeth. His teeth he used, too, to slide her silken underwear away to join it. 

He was pleased, he realised, to find that Tindawen still wore soft, beautiful things; that her body was still unscarred. She was never made for violence – the closest thing to a weapon he had ever seen her bear was the small knife she used for pearl-diving. How had he ever thought himself worthy of her?

He turned his face towards her sex, and breathed in the heady scent of her, knowing that he would get no other chances. When he pushed the thick muscle of his tongue inside of her, she tightened her thighs around his head, and he felt the clenching of her inner muscles around his tongue as he licked. She pulled at his hair, moving his head as she wanted, and he heard her say again: “Yeah, big fucking man. All that for your stupid fucking pride.” 

It was true, he knew it was true, and he buried his face in the hot centre of her as though he could somehow absolve himself through this. “It wasn’t worth it, none of it was fucking worth it, was it,” she was saying, and he wanted to tell her what he could still barely tell himself – no, no, it wasn’t – but his mouth was occupied. 

She came grinding against his nose as he circled his tongue inside of her, and he drank from her hungrily, willing himself to remember the taste of her pleasure and how it felt when her thighs shook as she came. When she pulled him to his feet, he half- expected her to put her shoes back on and leave, or perhaps to throw him out of the closet naked and wet-faced. 

She did neither. Grabbing his hair and pressing their lips together, they shared the taste of her between them, the sticky wine on his chest dirtying her dress. 

“Go on, then,” she said, “have what you want.”

The closet was not small – they had to push their way through the forest of fabrics to find the wall. Sex with Tindawen had always been something revelatory, and here, now, was no exception. Her legs wrapped around his waist were an anchor as he drove himself into her, and the warmth and softness of her had him burying his face into her neck, lest he begin to sob. 

His thrusts became erratic before long. Determined not to fail her in at least one small way, he shoved two fingers into his own mouth to wet them, and rubbed desperate, insistent circles around her clit. The clench of her cunt tightening around him as she came was almost too much – he fumbled to pull out before he spent himself inside of her, coming instead into his own hand. 

They stood apart, breathing heavily, for a long moment. 

Outside, Caranthir could hear the faint sounds of revellers, as the party began to spread from the ballroom throughout the palace. They would have to leave their makeshift hideaway soon, before some unfortunate partygoer came seeking their jacket and found much more than they had bargained for. 

He did not want to go. To leave her now felt almost worse than it had that terrible day back in Alqualondë, so long ago. But he had made his choices, and these were the consequences. That was what it was all about, he vaguely remembered some servant of Nienna telling him, back when he was still dead. Consequences. He turned to find his clothes. 

“Wait.”

Her voice was quiet. He almost did not hear. 

“I’m not saying everything’s alright now. But if you wanted to spend tonight at my house – you could.” 

Nothing was fixed, and he had no idea where they could possibly go next. Still, his answer was the easiest “yes” that he could remember giving.

#silmsmutweek #my post #my fic #my ocs #tindawen

[waking-electric]

A Grave Is A Beginning

Tonight, a grave is a beginning. Centuries ago, Astarion’s tombstone had silently watched as Cazador dragged him into a nightmare. Now it bears witness to a kiss.

An exploration of That Graveyard Scene…and a whole lot of smut.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2.5k Tags: Astarion x Tav: One-shot, fluff and smut (with a little angst) [Read On AO3 Here] Over the centuries, Astarion has found himself with an unending array of bedmates on an equally varied number of beds. From plush Upper City carriages to bug-ridden mattresses in the worst inns Baldur’s Gate has to offer. His back has been dampened by the wooden floor of the shipyard and his knees dirtied by Bloomridge Park soil.

Astarion is sure there is hardly an alley in all the city where he hadn’t fucked some victim or another against a wall.

The graveyard is a new one, though. Then again, everything about his life these past months has been impossibly, terrifyingly, wondrously new.

Tonight there is no reluctant hunt, no resigned flirtation. There are no doomed strangers following his siren call. There is nothing in the world, nothing at all but a familiar hand warming his.

The woman at his side is no naive mark primed for manipulation. She hasn’t been for a very long time. In truth, she never really was, and he just hadn’t realized it. He supposes it was the single stroke of luck in his long, unfailingly unlucky life that Tav is the most forgiving woman in Faerûn. At least where he is concerned.

She is not the only thing that is different about tonight. Astarion himself feels changed.

Unlike during the hundreds of trysts before her, he does not flinch at Tav’s touch. Nor does he carefully arrange his face to hide a grimace. He has no need for a mask.

No desire for one either, unlike that first time at the Tiefling party. He wants Tav to see his entire self. He wants her to know him, know everything, know that she is the sun over his bright new world, rising from the rot and ruin.

He tells her he loves her, and this time he means it. He tells her that he wants her, he wants this. He wants everything she can give and to give her everything he can offer. His proclamation is as much a spell cast into the universe, echoing with arcane intent, as it is a confession. Tonight, a rogue is an archmage and he will have his due.

Tav smiles softly beneath the shadow of Astarion’s tombstone. Tonight, a grave is a beginning. Centuries ago, it had watched in stony silence as Cazador dragged him into a nightmare. Now it bears witness to a kiss.

Her lips taste like freedom. He could swear his dead heart is beating a frantic tattoo against his chest. He pushes her to the cemetery ground.

Astarion wants to laugh at himself. For months he has hunted for a miracle in a necromancer’s tome, in a tadpole’s whisper, in a devil’s word. Only to find it here, in a woman’s smile, in his own two hands that squeeze and grasp and caress in a hundred tiny choices. His to make and — his eyes rake over her form — his to take.

He climbs over her like the predator he is not and shall never be again. Tav rises to meet him, this lioness of his who dares, again and again, to meet his eyes with neither pity nor fear.

How many pairs of eyes have stared back at him with lust? How many more with numbness and despair? How many times has a lover looked at him with foggy eyes, pretending to see another?

Astarion looks into Tav’s eyes and sees lust, yes, but also the love behind it, glowing like sunlight through mist, too brilliant to be obscured. He cannot not see his own red eyes reflected back. Still, he is sure that if he had a reflection, he’d spy the same adoration burning in them.

He and Tav had already changed into their camp clothes before he led her out here. He is glad of this now. He feels too wired for his normally dexterous hands to manage the numerous buckles of his armor. He rips his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. It lands on his tombstone. He kicks his trousers and undergarments away as though they have done him personal harm.

Astarion forces himself to take his time as he sets to work on the fastenings of Tav’s dress. Each button is yet another iron padlock. Oh, for a skeleton key. But there, that’s the last one. Décolletage now suitably exposed, Astarion traces his fingertips across her clavicle and dusts his lips across her breasts. His fingers tremble. She is so soft beneath him. Gods above and below, he could worship forever at the altar of her skin. And yet his muscles shake with the effort to linger there, when every instinct screams at him for more. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

This restraint lasts all of thirty seconds when Tav murmurs, “Astarion...please.”

He yanks at her dress so hard the fabric tears. No matter, he can sew it up for her later. And he can make it up to her now. A growl erupts from his chest.

He curls his fingers through her hair and pulls, trailing kisses hot and swift across her jawline and sternum. His tongue flickers over her nipples, earning him a loud gasp. The soft sound is a red-hot brand running through him, throat to spine to cock. He blazes with excruciating pleasure. Astarion makes his way down and laps at her cunt, eager for more. He is not disappointed.

“Yes! Yes!” she cries. Yes. The word is fresh and renewed and all his.

Tav returns in kind, swiping her tongue gently over the shell of his long pointed ear. She traces faint patterns down his chest, over the hard muscles of his stomach. Her path is slow and meandering as it edges downwards, as though she is buying time for him to stop her descent. It occurs to Astarion — somewhere in the more-coherent parts of his brain — that that is exactly what she is doing. Even now, even after his bold words and even bolder deeds, she is giving him the space to stop. Gods, this woman.

He softly covers her hand in his and guides it downward. She looks up at him, eyes partially obscured by hair that has escaped its fastenings. “Go on,” he murmurs. “Please.”

Tav gives him a small smile and works her fingers around his throbbing cock. It knocks the wind out of his chest (which is saying something as he doesn’t strictly need to breathe).

Amazingly, his skin does not shudder against her touch. There is no instinct to freeze, only to enjoy. He groans in appreciation as her other hand skims across his shoulder blades, his ass, his stomach.

Amazing how tender a touch can be, he thinks, as Tav’s fingernails rake across his back, where once a knife carved a damning pact. He closes his eyes and narrows his focus until his entire world is the warmth of her hand on his cock.

Each stroke is the breath of a bellows, building him higher and higher and higher. Then, all too soon, the warmth of Tav’s hand around his length is gone and his body aches with the loss.

Suddenly, Astarion is guided backwards by Tav’s gentle hand pressing against his chest. He feels cold stone at his back and overgrown grass prickling at his thighs. For a moment, Astarion is alone with his grave.

Then Tav returns with the warmth of her mouth around him. Astarion gasps. Pleasure courses through him in blissful, rolling waves. He suddenly remembers a line, one of many meaningless nothings, from that first fateful night at the party.

The gods made you just to ruin me.

A choked gasp of pleasure escapes his chest. Not so meaningless now, is it? He begins to laugh.

The waves stop again as Tav’s head pops up in curiosity. Astarion could kick himself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, my love.” He shakes his head and shoots her the biggest, most sincere grin to ever grace his face. “Just fate.”

Gods, he is ruined.

He pulls Tav towards him and kisses her deeply. His tongue slides into her mouth. He can feel her shudder in desire beneath him as his leg hooks around and expertly pushes her thighs apart. He must have performed this same sequence a thousand times before. Never has he felt so powerful while doing so. Never has it stirred in him such hunger.

His lips find her ear. “I want to live,” he whispers. “Help me live.”

When he enters her, there is no tension in his chest, no fleeing of his mind a thousand leagues away. Only Tav’s warm pressure against him. The little noises she makes sends thundershocks through his brain and he does not have to pretend when he moans in response.

Astarion is drowning in an ocean of wetness and still he yearns for more. His teeth find her throat. Tav’s blood tastes like the mercy he’d never thought he’d find. The more he swallows her, the more he is lost. Their blood mingles together in his veins and he thrums with arcane connection, the borders between “Astarion” and “Tav '' becoming fuzzy and mutable. How ironic, to find himself most clearly in the heartbeat of another.

Like a blind man, he fumbles in the dark for her wrist. A brush of his lips, a prick of his fangs, and ah, bliss. The vampire alternates between kissing and sucking. Tav shivers beneath him, both the bounty and the goddess who provides it. Her legs wrap around his torso. His eyes nearly roll back in his head. He has always viewed his condition as a curse, but tonight it blesses him with the power to reach impossible bliss.

In the distance, Astarion hears Tav cry his name. He gazes at her face and he finds that he is so desperately in love with her he is sure he will shatter into a thousand pieces and scatter over her like so many flakes of snow.

She shouts “Fuck! Fuck, yes, Astarion, yes,”into the night sky. Remarkable how such crude language is a poem on her lips, on this night, with nothing but a man and a tomb for an audience.

As they move together, he whispers her name in her delicate ear. This is new, too. Before he had avoided names if he could help it, in a bid to make it just a little bit easier, a little less real. It never worked.

Now he names her with abandon. He would sear it into the night, weave her so deeply into the fabric of his reality that she would never end, that this moment would stretch on to eternity.

He would fashion a universe made entirely of their rhythm and their sweat.

Making love. He has heard the phrase a thousand times, and has said it himself a thousand more, in a tone so facetious it hid his disgust. But tonight, he makes love. And it’s good.

Tav’s hands creep to his face to caress his cheek. She truly is a wonder, he thinks. Even in the wildest throes of passion, she makes a point of tenderness.

The rolling of his hips begins to speed up and he strains to maintain their steady rhythm. They start to stutter. Sweat beads up, glistening like diamonds on his pale skin. Tav is a wildfire beneath him as she clenches and releases around his cock. She cries his name once more, head thrown back to expose that bewitching neck, and he is done for.

Astarion spills into her in a great rush. He cries out her name like a battlehorn, proclaiming his place in the universe.

When it is over, he feels an odd but not unpleasant kind of relief. As though his skin had fit two sizes too small before, and his lover tore it off and exquisitely tailored it before sewing him back in. He rolls his head, tested the muscles of his arms and back in languid stretches. He feels… right.

Still, there is no perfection tonight. There are a few too many fumbles and startles and half-remembered flashbacks for that. Astarion has died from a thousand cuts and will heal bit by bit across countless minutes and kisses and setbacks and stumbles. But tonight is one hell of a start.

Tav shoots him a playful grin. “So, what’d you think of the first night of your life?” She sounds a bit breathless, still recovering from their exertions.

Astarion kisses her on the nose. “It was fairly alright, perhaps a six-and-a-half, seven out of ten,” he teases.

“That’s all? That can’t possibly be all!”

“Oh, darling, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He kisses her deeply and hopes she can sense all of the love and desire and exhilaration behind his banter.

He is alive. He is so fucking alive and this remarkable woman is here at his side to live it with him. And Astarion has plans for the two of them.

He and Tav later find a host of other unlikely places to make love. The hidden room in the attic of the Society of Brilliance headquarters. Just about every inch of their Underdark fortress that isn’t occupied by vampire spawn. Gale’s kitchen table in Waterdeep, which Tav profusely apologizes for afterward.

They do not find themselves in Baldur’s Gate often. They are busy building a haven in the dark, hunting for the sunlight, living their lives together. Every so often they are even intrepid rescuers again, to Astarion’s continued (and possibly feigned) chagrin.

Yet without fail, he returns every year to the graveyard on his newly-minted birthday, Tav in tow. Sometimes the couple linger in the city for a tenday and catch up with old friends, the “Heroes of Baldur’s Gate” come again. Other times, they slip into town for just a single night, the secretive and uncrowned Lord and Lady of the world’s most unlikely vampire nest. Other times still, they are just two more strangers in a city of rogues. But they always come, and always come together.

The cemetery in the Lower City does not have the best security, to put it mildly. They are never caught, although more than one urban legend has sprung up about spectral lovers who may be heard on a moonlit evening if you listen very closely. Astarion cannot help but smile when he hears them — he knows there are far worse ways one can feature in a ghost story. He resolves to coax louder cries from Tav. He can never resist a chance to fuel drama. Tav, for her part, doesn’t complain.

He grows to love their yearly pilgrimage, that annual rite of renewal. He finds it strangely fitting to celebrate life and love in a graveyard. And oh, how they celebrate. Astarion is convinced that at least one of their children is conceived in the shadow of his tombstone. Tav accuses him of “weird and wishful thinking.” No matter. The point is that they are and they are safe and before dawn he will join them, far away from his empty grave. And in a nearby palace, even emptier still, the nightmare that was Cazador is nothing but dust.

#astarion x tav #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion graveyard scene

[hummingbird-of-light]

Round 2: Twelfth story for @badthingshappenbingo ~

Title: My Dearest Robbie

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)

Character(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott, Chris Scott, Original Alien Character(s)

Relationship(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott & Chris Scott

Rating: T

Words: 1,186

Prompt: I Have Your Loved One

Warnings: Mild Violence, Kidnapping, Blackmailing

(You can also find this story on AO3)

~ My Dearest Robbie ~

When Robert "Robbie" Scott once again read the message he had recieved a day ago, he still didn't know what to do. His mind was empty as he stared at the letters presenting themselves to him on his comm.

And even though he read the words over and over, he couldn't get a hold on the actual meaning behind them.

'We have your son. Do what we ask of you and he won't come to any harm.'

Robbie had no idea who these people were. Hell, he didn't even know why they had chosen him to be their puppet!

All he knew was that if he actually did what they wanted, he'd be one of the Federation's most wanted criminals. He'd betray every ideal the Federation stood for.

But looking at the picture of his injured and unconcious son Chris - a wee lad, only eighteen years old - the Scotsman knew that he didn't have much of a choice.

If he wanted him to survive, he'd have to do as these persons told him. He'd have to hack into Starfleet's systems from the inside and cause a huge malfunction that would allow for anyone to steal data.

It was hard. But not impossible for someone like Robbie. Like his girlfriend Leah always said, he was a mastermind. He could do basically anything.

And those persons blackmailing him seemed to know about that fact too. They knew what he was capable of. They knew who he was. And, most importantly, they knew that he'd do anything to protect his son.

There was no way out of this dilemma.

Robbie buried his face in his hands, hopeless and desperate. The criminals had been pretty clear about what would happen if he tried to contact Starfleet or the police and his heart ached at the thought of it.

He couldn't endanger his son. He had to save him.

And in order to do that, Robbie had to break the law and risk the end of the civilization they all knew. For if the wrong people got their hands on secured information, then the whole universe would turn upside down.

Robbie startled when his comm suddenly rang. He didn't know the number, yet still he answered the call.

"H-hello?" He couldn't keep his voice from trembling, fearing to hear the kidnappers of Chris talking. But it wasn't them. It was his son himself.

("D-Dad?")

"Chris! Chris, are ye alright? What did they do to ye?"

("P-please, ye h-have to do what they want. They s-said that they'll kill me if ye don't, dad. P-please, I don't wanna die!")

It broke Robbie's heart to hear his son's fearful voice. It was quite obvious that he was crying.

"I'll get ye out of there, laddie. Ye'll be okay. Just-"

("Hello, Mr. Scott.)

Robbie froze when he heard a different voice speaking. It was a deep baritone. The voice sounded smooth and cold.

"Who are ye? Why are ye doing this? What-"

("You're asking too many questions, Mr. Scott. And you're wasting time. Precious time you should use to get your work done and save your son.")

Robbie tried his best to analyze the voice and the words. A strange accent. Maybe even a translator was being used to translate the words into Federation standard. Okay. That was important. He needed to gather helpful information on the kidnappers.

"L-listen, what ye ask of me is crazy! I cannae just walk into the shipyard and hack into the system. I-I-I'd have to get into headquarters which isn't easy for a simple engineer who only designs and builds ships." He needed to get this man to see that what he and the rest of his people wanted wasn't possible.

("Then you better work on a solution for that problem. I would hate to harm such a bright young mind like your son is.")

In the background, Robbie could hear Chris muttering desperate pleads.

"D-don't hurt him!" Robbie yelled, actually surprised by how strong his voice sounded, so he quickly added a trembling, "Please."

("You have three days, Mr. Scott. Hack the system or your son will pay for your failure.")

The call was ended, leaving behind a sobbing Robbie in his room.

~

He buried his head in his hands. One day had passed and he still hadn't found a solution.

Robbie knew that it was impossible. He knew that he'd never get into Starfleet's headquarters. And even if he did, security would surely find and shoot him.

But he had to try it. Who was he if he didn't even attempt to save his son?

Determination mixed with fear as he got to his feet, grabbed his jacket and headed to the front door.

The Scotsman's eyes widened in disbelief at the sight that presented itself to him as soon as he stepped into the hallway.

Golden swirls of light. A human figure appearing inside his house. Robbie froze, fearing for the worst. But it was no intruder beaming himself into his house. No. It was...

"Chris!"

Robbie quickly ran over to the young man and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close to his chest.

"D-Dad?" Chris whispered in confusion, holding on tightly to the figure of his father. Both Scotts apparently couldn't believe it.

As soon as Robbie let go of Chris, he cupped the boy's face in his hands and stared at him with wide eyes.

"H-how did ye get here?"

Chris only shook his head.

"I-I-I... there... there was this strange alien woman. She a-and her people boarded the shuttle I was held captive on. She s-said that ye are a friend of hers."

The relief he had felt just seconds ago, instantly vanished when Robbie heard his son's explanation. His heart skipped a beat.

No... it couldn't be.

"She g-gave me this for ye."

With trembling hands Chris pulled a wee piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to his father.

Robbie's heart was racing as he opened it slowly and read the lines written down on it.

'My dearest Robbie,

it has come to my ears that a small group of criminals decided to kidnap your adorable son. Don't ask how I know it. Let's just say that I have an eye on you. Even though I promised that you would never hear from me again, I couldn't just let these people blackmail my lifesaver. And, you see, it's actually a win-win-situation. I got to save my lifesaver's child and, in addition, caught new goods. I always wanted to try Romulan.

Stay safe, sweetheart! And give your beautiful girlfriend my best regards.'

Robbie swallowed hardly. It really was her. It really was...

"Nomira," he whispered.

"She instantly brought me here. She saved me, dad."

Once more Robbie pulled his sobbing son into his arms and ran one hand through his thick hair.

And even though he hated her, even though he was disgusted by Nomira and what she was doing in her restaurant, in that moment the Scotsman couldn't help but be grateful to her. For she had saved his loved one. His one and only son.

A/N: This is obviously a sequel to "Getting To Know Each Other" and "All That She Wants".

#bad things happen bingo #prompt: i have your loved one #fandom: star trek aos #fanfiction #robbie scott #chris scott #original alien characters #whump #mild violence #kidnapping #blackmailing

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Unwise

(a very belated) Angstpril, Day 29: Mistake (Alt)

cw: illness, beating, violence, war mentions

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§

Tansy woke to the thin line of dawn on the horizon, their body stiff from sleeping on the wooden floor. They stretched quietly, massaging the back of their neck with one hand, then went to check on Cerus. 

The wool blanket was twisted and tangled around his sleeping form, as if he'd been restless all through the night. A little color had returned to his cheeks, but not enough to paint even an illusion of wellness, and there was a sheen of sweat on his pale brow. As they straightened the blankets, he let out a weak, rasping cough.

Cerus was ill, no doubts to be had there, and the cough made them suspect a chest infection. Gone were the thoughts of turning him over to the docks after a single night's rest. Combined with his injuries and malnourished state, recovery wasn't looking particularly bright, and would be impossible should they send him back to work.

They'd have to go into town today and visit the apothecary. A healer's herbs would ease his fever, and a draught of hot wine with honey and garlic should help his lungs. As they pick up their cloak and left their room, Tansy stole a glance back. When Cerus lay unconscious and silent in the bed, his winding black tattoos concealed by the blanket, they could almost forget who it was they were tending to.

Yesterday's rain had cooled the day considerably, and Tansy could see their breath as they stepped into the morning air and made their way towards the town. Their uncle was still asleep when they set off, and they'd left out honeyed bread and smoked fish for his breakfast. Once they returned, they'd prepare a hot meal to warm themselves from the cold, and hopefully coax a little more strength into Cerus.

Out near the water, the villagers were already going about their day. Tansy snuck a glance at the shipyard, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe they'd assumed Cerus had perished in the storm, and couldn't care less.

They didn't know if they should feel more relieved or disturbed by the notion.

Tansy strode into the apothecary, wasting no time in glancing over the bottled teas and herbs and colorful dried fruits on their way to the counter. The elderly man who'd once tended this shop was gone, they knew. Lost to old age or the war, replaced by a woman with a kind face and close-cropped white hair.

Enough had changed in the years since their childhood that they could nearly pretend they weren't home at all, and this was just another strange village. That was easier than the alternative; accepting how unrecognizable their home was now, accepting the fact that they'd come back just as changed.

"Hello dear, did you need a remedy? Sickness comes with the winter. Best to stay prepared."

Tansy offered the woman a smile, trying not to let their expression betray their thoughts. "What do you have for a fever?"

"Ah. Illness already gotten to your household?" she queried, running slender brown fingers along the shelves bottles behind the counter.

"Afraid so," Tansy said, deliberately keeping their answer short.

"I pray those affected make a swift recovery."

You wouldn't if you knew who it was. Or would she? The woman was a healer by trade, but would she have shown mercy to the Shadow King?

The healer selected a pair of jars, slipping a bit of each into a small leather pouch. "Boil a spoonful in water and serve it as a tea. Twice daily," she said, handing Tansy the pouch. "Be well, and be careful on your journey home."

"Careful?" Tansy slid a pair of coins across the wooden counter, tucking the pouch into their cloak. "What for?"

"Did you not hear? The Shadow King has escaped."

Their mouth went bone-dry as the words passed her lips. "Escaped?"

"Aye, he's abandoned his station. No one knows where he's gone, or what trouble he could have brewing."

As if he were capable of even standing right now, much less causing problems. Tansy was tempted to tell her the truth of it, if only to ease her worries, but what would she say? 'Oh I understand. You can't stand to see him suffer. The man who sent armies to raze and kill and burn throughout the kingdom. I understand.'

They kept their mouth shut, giving the woman a short nod, and leaving.

Whispers seemed to follow them as they made their way back through town, and Tansy couldn't tell if the villagers' voices were growing stronger with the daylight, or their sudden fear of discovery was what drove them to hear every word.

'Cerus is gone.'

'I hear he's reclaimed his magic. If that's true, the village is in danger.'

'A party has gone out to find him before it's too late.'

That last murmur quickened their pace. If that was so, they'd have to get to Cerus before anyone else did. 

But why? Why not let them claim him before any more trouble came down on Tansy's head? They'd done all they could within the bounds of the law, and going up against a frightened and angry village in Cerus's defense was a fool's errand. Besides, it wasn't as if he wanted their help. He'd made that perfectly clear.

But as they crested the hill and saw their uncle's house in the distance, half-ringed by a dozen men, their heart turned to lead in their chest. And as the door opened and a pair of villagers dragged Cerus outside, throwing his limp form to the ground, Tansy broke into a run. 

A few of the men turned their heads as they came up the road, looks of confusion plain on their faces, but any words of explanation lodged in Tansy's throat. What would they say? Ask them to leave Cerus be and go about their business? Apologize for all the fuss and let them drag him back to the docks, where he'd surely die? Neither option seemed right, but they didn't know what else to do.

Brushing off Tansy's intrusion, the party returned their attention to Cerus. A tall man planted a kick in his side, and the movement finally freed Tansy's voice.

"Stop!" they shouted, pushing into the circle. "Can't you see he's sick?"

The men nearest to them exchanged glances. "What of it?" one said.

"Look at him," they snapped, moving to stand between Cerus and the tall man. "He's had enough. He needs to rest."

One of the group, a broad, black-haired fellow, snorted. "Bastard doesn't deserve rest. Stand aside."

"Not unless you swear you won't hurt him," Tansy persisted.

"You a loyalist to the old kingdom?"

They scowled. "No, I–"

"Then stand aside."

Tansy grimaced, tempted to concede, to disappear into Uncle Aldon's house and forget this ever happened. A small, buried part of them found agreement with the black-haired man; the tyrant who'd brought so much despair onto the land didn't deserve a reprieve from his own misery. Then, out of the corner of their eye, they saw the tall man aim another kick at Cerus, his boot connecting with the mass of bandages on the downed man's back, drawing a sound from him that was more a hopeless wail than a cry of pain.

Fuck it.

Tansy whirled around, dealing a well-placed punch to the tall man's jaw and sending him crumpling to the ground. The other men were on them in an instant, but instinct took over before Tansy could second guess their actions. Fighting came naturally to them. They'd never started any brawls at the war camps, but they'd never had any problem finishing them.

They ducked under a ham-fisted strike from the black haired man, popping him in the nose for his efforts.

"Leave him alone," they spat. Around them, the rest of the search party seemed to have overcome their initial surprise. Tansy knew they could put up a hell of a fight, even outnumbered as they were, but instead of lashing out again, they stood in front of Cerus, fists held up in warning.

They took a deep breath, and slowly uncurled their hands. "Listen–"

Someone's fist shot out, hitting them in the stomach before they could react, and they hunched over with a grunt. More blows followed; a punch that grazed their cheekbone, a kick to the back of their knees that sent them to the ground.

"Conspirator, eh?" One of the men spit onto the road. "Thought you said you weren't a loyalist."

"I'm not—" another kick to the gut cut them off, and they curled in on themselves. They were a soldier. They would've cut Cerus down in a heartbeat, should they have met him in battle. They would've burned his castle to the ground. Wielded the executioner's blade themselves.

But they wouldn't kick a man when he was down. No matter who he was.

"We'll have to find somewhere to lock 'em up until the Council hears of this." The black-haired man was addressing the rest of the party now, his voice thick with pain. "I'll die before the Shadow King rises again."

Gods no, it wasn't like that at all. How could they look at Cerus, broken as he was, and even consider that? How could they think Tansy would be willing to help him reconquer the realm? 

Anger began to bubble up inside them. At the men, for their ignorance, for their cruelty. At Cerus, the Shadow King, and all he'd done before his fall. At themselves, for being so stupid. 

And at the very sea, for compelling them to stop and watch. For drawing their eye to the fallen tyrant's suffering in the first place.

It would've been different, they knew. Had they simply heard Cerus was working at their village's shipyard, they would've avoided the place entirely. Turned a blind eye, like everyone else. It had taken the witnessing of an act of cruelty to force their hand. And would they have still run to his aid, had they known it was the Shadow King? Would they have brought him home and given him their bed, had they known it would end with them lying beaten beside him in the dirt?

No. Yes. It didn't matter.

It didn't matter now.

Calloused hands found Tansy's wrists, and crossed them behind their back, winding cord around and around and tying it tight. Beside them, Cerus—pale and shaking and half-conscious—was given the same treatment.

Tears of frustration burned their eyes as they were hauled to their feet.

"I'm not a loyalist. I fought against him—" they tried again, but were only met with a harsh slap across the face.

"Council will be the judge of that," said the tall man. One side of his jaw was reddened, the sure start of a bruise. "But I know what I saw."

And as they were dragged down the road, side-by-side with the king they'd helped dethrone, the man they'd tried to save, Tansy couldn't help but feel as if they'd made the wrong choice.

§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chibichibivale @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them ,

#oh tansy #angstpril 2023 #day 28 #mistake #many others in the village would've done the same if they'd seen cerus being beaten on the rainy day #they would've at least ran to stop it and maybe helped him up #maybe not do something as impulsive as tansy but more people would care than they think #but its easier to hold on to hatred if you dont personally witness your enemy's suffering #and of course those who are actively willing to hurt him anyway are the loudest and leading the charge #whump #whump writing #penumbra: shadow king #fantasy whump #villain whump #royal whumpee #tw beating #beaten #tw violence #caretaker turned whumpee #reluctant caretaker #manhandling #fever whump

[carionto]

"So Basically... You Work For Cthulhu?"

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

Trisha was the first to break the strange silence after Iorvan had finished explaining in the most vague terms possible what his purpose here was.

"That is a very crude and inaccurate oversimplification, but yes." with a hint of irritation in his voice, he agreed to her assessment. "The High Priest is all knowing on matters that matter, yet every now and then a "nothing", as beings of such magnitude view mortals like us, will happen upon the right combination of irrelevant information to form new true knowledge."

"Like the million monkey typewriters writing Shakespeare!" Trisha energetically interjected. "So why not just scry or whatever they do every brain and pluck out all the good info?" she questioned.

"As I said, we are "nothings" to them, and though their capabilities are beyond our understanding, they are not without limits, and observing billions of human minds is just incomprehensible static, I imagine." Iorvan looked directly at Trisha, "How much effort would you say it would take to comprehend your thoughts alone, Trisha?"

"Good point, I don't bother doing that half the time myself." she replied eagerly without a second thought.

Chief Engineer Tameki, very clearly confused, finally gathered herself enough, "Wait, please. So why are you here? What does any of that even mean?"

"C'mon ira, keep up, it's not that complicated." Trisha seemed to be more surprised by everyone else's apparent confusion than everyone else was by how she wasn't.

"Us going through a tear in space-time made the universe glitch out. You know, the quantum entanglement thing breaking when it shouldn't and some mumbo-jumbo about our spiritual selves being in two places at once or something. Oh yeah, souls are a thing, but only sorta? Did I get that right, Prof? To Cthulhu it looked like we duplicated our ethereal form and that should not be a thing that anyone can do, so they took notice and sent you here to investigate."

"In the simplest and most inaccurate terms, but correct." Iorvan, now more composed after accepting that Trisha's brain functioned imperfectly enough to somehow comprehend his altered understanding of the true nature of the world. Well, changed by as much knowledge as the High Priest deemed essential to impart onto him.

He continued, adjusting his own explanation to match the intellectual level of the subjects. "Such an unprecedented occurrence will not go unnoticed by the rest of the Old Ones, and the consequences for this event originating directly from the High Priest's physical domain are unpredictable, hence the unprecedented intervention you see before you in my form."

He continued, "In the simplest acceptable terms possible - the actions you took to arrive here must be reversed. I was granted all relevant knowledge about the hybrid warp engine, however, the local domain here is inaccessible and information must be retrieved manually. What is the status of it and all related matters?" Iorvan addressed the question with an icy stare towards everyone on the bridge.

Ira, with a slight look of worry, answered: "It didn't come with us when we warped. Because of the instantaneous nature of the transportation, it couldn't send any data about itself during or after the warp."

At this, the unofficial head IT guy, Valencio, chimed in, "Well, it's not impossible that whatever energy discharge that did happen couldn't have sent some signal to the nearest connected devices. The warp cut every quantum connection, but some of them were connected with a hardline, right?"

"That is true, the Dusk was printed at a military shipyard," Haespar Kraus, having found something sensible to cling to, was finally able to feel useful. "Short range redundancies like that are always integrated, even with unconventional designs like the hybrid warp engine. We'll just need to retrieve them and look at their final logs-"

"D O S O !"

The bridge, which had begun to regain a bit of life, was stunned silent by Iorvan suddenly echoing this command in a voice that came not just from his mouth, but also the walls, the floor, ceiling, and even right behind everyone's heads.

While Trisha, once again, composed herself first, even she was unnerved by the ominous aura Iorvan was exuding.

"A-alright, Prof. No need to be all evil occult on us. You're human too, or were at least. You know pressure like that isn't the most productive, yeah? So, like, chill. Please?"

His dagger-like stare towards her did not diminish, but his presence on the bridge did become less intense.

"Find the answer. Deliver it to me in one year. My own visit to this foreign domain will not go unnoticed, but the High Priest accepted this price. The knowledge you obtain, however, MUST be worthwhile. It is, after all, a trivial matter for any Old One to simply erase all "nothings" that have made themselves known in a... negative light."

With those final words, the form of Professor Iorvan evaporated into a mist.

"Back to 27..." came Emily's voice after a moment of sobering silence.

"So, uhh..." Trisha felt the need to fill the air with something productive, "basically, if we don't figure out what exactly happens during a warp, everyone back home is gonna die. Umm... let's go get those data thingies?" with uncertainty, she looked at everyone on the bridge.

Haespar, wanting to keep his image of the sensible cool headed one, picked up the baton Trisha had almost dropped, "Yes, well, that is something we were going to do eventually anyway, it's just been bumped up the list. Ira, Valencio - will you need anything not currently here for a full warp simulation once we get whatever may exist in those terminals?" he regained his actual composure as he faked the first few sentences, and was now in his serious mode.

"There's not enough computing power hooked together with the quantum computers being all blank, and we'll need either one fully powered reactor running on overload for half a day, or get a second one back up." Valencio counted each though on his fingers, an old habit.

"Good. Emily will head that, everyone else will have to postpone your previous tasks." Haespar declared. "Ira? Ira!" Haespar approached her with worry. "With Knoslark being a grumpy baby, and Sergeant Zhao still in a coma, by rank, you're the de-facto leader. It's a lot to take in, but what are we going to do. Cthulhu is real. Magic is real. Souls are real. New information, sure. World upending even, but that doesn't change what reality is right now for us. So, please, don't break down on me. It's just one thing at a time, just like any other problem we've dealt with before."

Ira Tameki took a deep breath. Then another. After a moment, she looked over everyone on the bridge.

"Right, you heard Haespar, but I have one correction - I'll be heading the reactor repair and re-ignition. Emily, you take everyone you need and retrieve those terminals and any other digital and electronic devices close to where the warp engine was, even damaged ones. Extract everything.

Valencio, start working on the simulation code, you'll have all the computing and raw power needed, I'll make sure of that." she saw the uncertainty and nervousness on some of the junior crew members' faces.

"It's going to be a long year, but we already did the impossible once - we broke physics and traveled thirteen billion light years in zero zeptoseconds. Let's figure out how and get ourselves back home."

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #humans are deathworlders #story #scifi #cthulhu

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Martinaise, Terminal B

2. "I don't know, Kim, it just *feels* special."

KIM KITSURAGI - "It's a cargo container, detective. Just like all the others." He doesn't even look at it.

"We're not here to interact with containers -- we're here to get the body down from the tree."

Knock on the door.

Open the door.

Nothing more to do here for now. [Leave.]

CARGO CONTAINER DOOR - No reply.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - The knock produces a hollow ring of metal. Doesn't sound like there's anything inside the container.

2. Open the door.

CARGO CONTAINER DOOR - You attempt to turn the handle, to no avail. The doors seem to be mechanically locked.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Trivial: Success] - To your left, the lieutenant considers your actions -- with some puzzlement.

3. [Rhetoric - Impossible 18] Persuade the door to open.

+1 Erratic, yet thorough. +1 Been in the world for two days.

RHETORIC [Impossible: Failure] - Why are you even trying to open a door with rhetoric?

"Because getting physical wasn't an option!"

"Yeah, why *am* I?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Why are you what?" The lieutenant looks startled.

"Anything at all."

"Never mind."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Now is not the time to get philosophical, detective. You can do that after hours."

4. Nothing more to do here for now. [Leave.]

The shipyard ahead is oddly quiet. The great machines are sleeping.

+1.10 real

This speaker tower is silent. There is no work to organise in the yard below.

The musk of oil and rust comes from the chasm in front of you. Smells like blood.

FALN "ULTRA" SERIES GLOVES

+1 Half Light: Unfiltered contact

For ultimate performance efficiency these FALN Ultra series gloves come fingerless and with a grippy padding covering the palms, making these ideal for quadrupedal movement – or for lifting cargo.

Not strictly better or worse than our gardening gloves, in terms of stats. I like Interfacing better so I keep the gardening gloves on.

Industrial sized thermos. Smells like burnt coffee.

+1.10 real

+1.41 real

The banner sags under the weight of rain and show: white waves on red.

EASY LEO - "Container, container, I'll turn you nice and red. Container, container, put the logos on..."

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - The lyrics to this container-song are being made up as he goes along.

EASY LEO - "Container, container, used to be Wild Pines. Container, container now belongs to Evrart!" The tiny man is so engaged in his work he doesn't notice you.

"Hi!"

Do not interrupt the little man in his joyous activity. [Leave.]

EASY LEO - "Evrart, Evrart, Evrart, he looks after everyone. Huh... well, hey there!" He smiles. "How can I help you, mister?"

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - The look in his deep blue eyes is as sincere as you've ever seen. Kind of makes you feel like an asshole for no apparent reason.

EASY LEO - "I see you are not a Union man, mister. Did you get lost? You're not one of them scabs, are you?" A shadow passes over his kind face.

"What is it with you people and scabs?"

"Actually I am, yes."

It happened a very long time ago, but this is referring back to our conversation with Manana.

EASY LEO - "I mean, I don't personally mind, folks is just folks, you know -- and folks gotta eat..." He doesn't seem to be waiting for you to answer.

"Just, some of the other guys don't look too kindly on the scabbing-kind, if you know what I mean, mister."

"What are you doing with the containers?"

"Where is everyone? The harbour is empty."

"Do you work here?"

"Are you the Leo, who wrote the note to make more banners?"

"What's in that container over there?" (Point to the container suspended from the crane arm.)

"I'm looking for the leader of the Dockworker's Union."

"Okay, I'm off." [Leave.]

EASY LEO - "Oh I'm just making some covers for them containers here, yes I am, yes I am... So it's easier for the crane operators to spot them." He waves at the containers towering behind him.

[Logic - Medium 11] "What's going on here?" (Look at the mountain of containers rising behind him.)

"Sure. Let me ask you about something else?"

This check might be easier if we come back to it later, but...

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - The containers in the yard are green in Wild Pines livery and the mountain rising behind Leo is all red in Union colours.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Easy: Success] - It's like some red infection was spreading outwards from the container yard's core.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - There appear to be cisterns underneath the Union container covers.

"This looks like a massive redecorating operation, Kim."

"Leo, has anyone told you *why* you need to change the covers?"

"What is underneath these red covers?"

"Thanks, Leo. You've been very helpful!" (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes. They're hiding it from the inside. All the red containers have the Débardeurs' Union logo on them."

2. "Leo, has anyone told you *why* you need to change the covers?"

EASY LEO - "No, not really." He shrugs and continues merrily: "Mr. Evrart doesn't tell me all the big things. Says I go and tell them to everyone."

3. "What is underneath these red covers?"

EASY LEO - "Oh I don't know, mister. They say it's some *chee-mikals*. Most of them have labels on them I think."

4. "Thanks, Leo. You've been very helpful!" (Conclude.)

EASY LEO - "Oh no trouble at all, mister, noooo trouble at all," the little guy affirms merrily.

+5 XP

2. "Where is everyone? The harbour is empty."

EASY LEO - "Oh, most of the guys are down at the gates, keeping the scabs from coming in..." He leans in with a confidential look...

"We're on a *strike* -- the whole union is! You don't have to work when you're on strike. Ha -- we haven't worked for two months now."

KIM KITSURAGI - "So *no one* is working?"

EASY LEO - "Not everyone is down there of course," he chuckles, "Mr. Evrart is in his office, where he always is, and Jean-Luc is guarding the gate..." He pauses to think.

"...but Titus and his boys got into some drunken trouble and Evrart sent them on a nice vacation. For a week or so..." He stops -- but seems eager to tell you more.

"What kind of trouble did this... Titus and his friends get into?"

"Got it. But there were other things I needed to discuss..."

EASY LEO - "Oh... I'm not really supposed to talk about that. That's Union business." He smiles and leans closer.

"Him and his boys stirred something up in town. Probably drank too much and got into a fight or something… I heard Mr. Evrart telling them to take some time off…"

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - Don't go all *bad cop* on this simple friendly fellow.

"But what did they actually do?"

"Really? Did they kill someone?"

"I have another question."

EASY LEO - "I guess the boys got a bit too rowdy and had to let out some steam. I don't really know the details. That's just how boys are you know..." Another chuckle. "I haven't been in a fight since I was in middle-school..."

+5 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "Easy, Leo, let's keep this on the Hardies." He looks to you for assistance.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #easy leo

[ltwilliammowett]

The Gjøa

The Gjøa was the first ship to sail through the heavily iced Northwest Passage between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans in Canada's far north.

She was a herring jakt built in Norway in 1872. She was 21.3 m long, 6.1 m wide and had a speed of 7 knots. She was built of Norwegian wood and named Gjøa after the wife of the first captain Asbjörn Sexe from Haugesund. She was used as a herring trawler on the south-west coast of Norway until 1885, when she was sold to Captain Hans Christian Johannsen from Tromso, who used her as a seal trawler in the Berents Sea.

The Gjøa (x)

In 1901, the inexperienced Roald Amundsen set out to find a cheap but robust ship with which he could launch his ambitious attempt to cross the Northwest Passage. His choice fell on the small but ice-tested Gjøa. Aware of his inexperience, he hired the previous captain and his own Johannsen and sailed with him on a seal hunt to test the Gjøa. After returning to Tromsø, a paraffin engine was installed at the Tromsø shipyard in the winter of 1901/1902, which powered a small propeller. In addition, the hull was further strengthened against ice pressure and the ship was better insulated. In 1902, the ship went to Trondheim, where a fuel tank was installed and finally transferred to Christiania, where she was equipped for the expedition, so that supplies and spare parts were packed for 5 years. On 16 June 1903, the ship finally set sail for the Davis Strait west of Greenland. The crew consisted of six men: Roald Amundsen as expedition leader, 1st officer Godfred Hansen, as 1st mate Helmer Hanssen, as 2nd mate Anton Lund, as 1st engineer Peder Ristvedt, as 2nd engineer Gustav Juel Wiik and as cook Adolf Henrik Lindstrøm. 

The Gjøa (x)

After crossing the North Atlantic, she sailed north along the west coast of Greenland, crossed Baffin Bay at Cape York and entered Lancaster Sound. Ice conditions were good and the ship was able to sail swiftly through the sound and the subsequent Barrow Strait. The pack ice to the north of Prince of Wales Island then prohibited further westward travel, so the Gjøa sailed south through Peel Sound east of Prince of Wales Island to King William Island. In September 1903, ice conditions became increasingly difficult, so wintering took place in a natural harbour on King William Island. In 1904, the ice conditions were far worse than the previous year and so the Gjøa was unable to free herself from the ice that year. The crew used the forced stay to explore the surrounding area.

Gjøa during the wintering 1903-1905 in Gjøahavn, King-William-Island (x)

It was not until 1905 that the voyage continued westwards south of KIng William Island and Victoria Island, reaching the Beaufort Sea north of the mouth of the Mackenzie River. In October 1905, ice slowed down the expedition and made it impossible to continue, and the Gjøa froze them again at Herschel Island. On 11 July 1906, the expedition continued west to the Bering Strait and reached Nome, Alaska on 31 August 1906, crossing the Northwest Passage for the first time and arriving in San Francisco as a hero in October 1906. Amundsen and his crew returned to Norway, only the Gjøa the little hero stayed behind. She was acquired by the Norwegian-American Citizenship there and displayed at the Golden Gate Bridge as a museum ship.

The Gjøa in transit (x)

Gjøa in the Fram museum (x)

In 1972, she was returned to Norway and has since been housed in the Fram Museum in Oslo.

#naval history #gjøa #ships who made history #northwest passage #early 20th century #age of steam

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 1 - Post #7: This is the Way

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 2.4K (of 25K total in Volume 1)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

VII. “Can you pilot the Razor Crest?” Mando asks as you both watch the Trandoshan disappear into the desert. 

“What? Oh! Um, no.”

“You don’t get basic flight training in the military?”

“Medics are embedded. We get troop transport.”

“And you never thought to learn?” The incredulity seemed to bother him worse than his leg.

“Okay, well, speeders are very dangerous. Do you know what happens to the body when you’re thrown off the bike at that velocity?”

“Two days ago, I watched you rappel out of the Crest firing off a blaster rifle.”

“I couldn’t just watch and do nothing while–” 

When you dream about telling the Mandalorian how much you want to bear his Beskar-clad babies, the lead up to your confession doesn’t really include bickering. So you shut your mouth. 

It seems impossible that he doesn’t already know that you’re carrying a torch for him, but you have no desire to be the one who disrupts the unspoken status quo. “I don’t feel I have to explain my risk assessment criteria to you, Mando.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “We’ll walk.”

“Ok, but not through town. You have got just…so much blood splattered all over you.” 

“These catacombs run under the whole city. They’ll take us back to the shipyards.”

In a huffy silence, you follow him into the tunnels, the beam from his headlamp the only source of light to guide the way. Ugh, you are terrible at unresolved tension.

Finally, your nerves get the better of you. 

“I thought you said you’d never been to Al-Campur. How are you navigating a secret network of ancient underground tunnels?” 

“The Weequay chief gave me a map of the old ruins. It's how they move through the city undetected, freeing captives. I spent most of the day scouting them.” 

“Ha! Guess we shouldn’t have interrupted you,” you laugh awkwardly. “Actually, I was surprised when you agreed to meet us at the cantina.” 

“Nito’s message said you needed me. Urgently.” 

“Hmmmm, using vague threats to get what he wants…can’t imagine where he picked that up.”

Mando stops his relentless pace, and for a second, you worry that this time, you’ve taken the sarcasm too far.  

“I will come for you if you need me,” he says sharply, his voice ringing against the tunnel’s stone walls. You’re a little startled by the force of his conviction. Maybe Mando is, too, because he immediately decides to ruin the moment. “So, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t abuse that obligation.”

Obligation?!

“You’re right. It would be a lot easier if we could talk about this stuff without having to stage an intervention.”

“I’m the captain,” he growls. “Learn to live with my judgment.” 

Something about the past few days has shattered the polite boundaries of formality between you, and perhaps that’s why you feel entitled to speak so candidly. “It’s not about questioning your judgment, Mando. It’s about questioning whether every choice you make is entirely your own.”

Why was he always so taken aback by the idea that there were people in his life who cared about what happened to him? “I know you’re the captain, but it’s hard watching you risk your life unnecessarily and being left to wonder what we’d do without you.”

“Don’t.” He says evenly, as though you might be discussing whose turn it was to clean the privy. “You’re tough. You have the ship. You’ll take care of Nito and the Child.” 

And why could he not understand that he meant more to you—to all of you—beyond his strength and protection? 

Truly, it’s an honor that he trusts you to be a worthy guardian. But it also hurt, in these moments of realization, to know that’s why you’re still here. Not because he cherishes his time with you or was secretly hoping to fuck you. Whatever Mando feels is because of this. Because with you here, he doesn’t have to worry so much about the kids. 

Sigh. “Thanks for your faith in me.”

He pauses to look at you sideways before shaking his head. “I’m having doubts. Do I have to teach you to fly the Razor Crest?”

“Looking forward to it.” You smirk, imagining yourself sitting in his lap, learning how to work the gears. At least he wasn’t avoiding your company. “I’m sure you’ll prove to be a very patient and supportive flight instructor.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know. You’re always serious.”

“And you always turn everything into–farrik!” 

His leg gives out, and when he collapses to one knee, you have to wrap your arms around his chest to keep him upright. Helping him back to his feet, you bite the forefinger of your glove, tearing it off with your teeth. “I can reduce the pain until we make it back to the ship?”

“No,” he says bluntly, pulling away from you as though you might contaminate him with something. “That’s not necessary.”

And, see, it's shit like that, right there, when his careless insensitivity cuts through all the generosity you’ve extended him. Why must it always be one step forward and two steps back with this man? 

“Hey, I’ve done my best to honor your Creed principles, Mando, and meet you halfway!” The fact that you have exercised a lot of fucking restraint to be respectful, only to have your integrity questioned by a man who called you a glorified nursemaid mere hours ago? 

“I have never intentionally–”

Isn’t this exactly why he hired you? After Mando went into shock, any other medic would have ripped off his helmet and intubated his ungrateful ass. “Fine.” You throw up your hands. “Suit yourself.” 

Respect, gratitude...but you obviously haven’t earned his trust. 

The Mandalorian doesn’t bother explaining himself. He just trudges forward, and when his leg falters, he leans on the rifle like a walking staff. You slow your pace to give him the lead, letting him stubbornly limp on ahead. 

Tears well up with every breath you take in the pinched silence. If you reached out an arm, you could lay a steadying hand on his back. But he might as well be a galaxy away. It’s like you're not even there. 

Fuck, are you really going to ruin everything by crying in front of him? 

You proceed through the maze of dank tunnels, coughing when the indelible stench of mold and urine catches in your throat. Suddenly, you hear the dull sound of music. Voices raised in celebration, and stamping feet reach your ear through the stone walls. The festival. Thank the Gods! Passing under the Duwani district meant you were getting closer. 

Yes! You emerge into a curving passageway, and the light from Sriluur’s five moons pours into the catacomb’s barrel arches. It's only a bit further to the hangar, where you’re paying the port official double to dock the Razor Crest under fake tabs. 

6243-D5. Only four more to go.

When you arrive at the hangar bay entrance, Mando hesitates, gloved finger extended over the keypad, ready to punch in the code. His helmet turns, almost imperceptibly, to look at you over his shoulder.

“I was a foundling,” he says. “After my parents were killed, the Mandalorians took me in. They raised me in the fighting core, and when I swore the Creed, I…” he takes a deep breath, and a long sigh crackles through the modulator. “I gave up who and what I was before to become Mandalorian.”

Oh! So, that’s why…

“Mando. I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, you remember a beautiful face so full of grief, her arms reaching for you. “That woman. The one I see when...she’s your mother?”

“Yes. And in that memory, she cries out my name,” he sighs deeply, “No one has heard that name since I was a child. When I swore the Creed, I became Mandalorian only.” 

“I understand,” you bite your lip and try to put many unsaid things into each affirming nod of your head.

“This is the Way,” he adds in explanation. 

He could trust you with the kids. He could trust you with his ship. Mando just wasn’t sure how much of himself he could trust you with.

“I just need you to know that I’m not causing it to happen intentionally–”

“I know.”

“Ok, then...please don’t treat me like some cosmic witch using her dark powers to read your thoughts or control your mind.”

To your delight, Mando actually laughs. A small huff of air, nothing more than a smile, given sound, but it fills you with joy.

“Cosmic witch?” he enters the door code, stepping aside to let you pass. “You can stop a man’s pulse with the tip of your finger. I think the Nightsisters would take you. Even if you are a Hapan.”

Stunned, you turn your head sharply. “What–?” 

But to your horror, the Mandalorian slides his hand down the rifle and raises it into position under his arm.

“Stop right there, Mando!” 

Your heart, which felt like it might explode with happiness a moment ago, freezes. The Razor Crest is surrounded by a group of gladiators you recognize from the Arena. 

Whipping around, your eyes search furiously to check the ship’s sensors. Ground security protocols remain engaged. Nito and the kid were safe…for now.

“Isn’t this convenient?” The Chiss steps into the glare of the hangar’s floodlights flanked by several more fighters. Someone had tried to clean up his handsome face, but Har’sho’s voice came out muffled through a still broken nose. “Barka wants you. And I want the girl. Come quietly, and there’s no reason she has to die.”

Valiantly, Mando steps in front of you to shield a path toward the ship. He was telling you to make a run for it.

“I said, down!” The Chiss let off a warning shot, clipping the Mandalorian’s armor. Knocked backward by the blast on unsteady legs, the bounty hunter loses his grip on the rifle and it clatters to the ground.

Har’sho raises his blaster to aim it squarely at your forehead. “Or, I can kill her right now for helping you cheat me.” 

Fuck! Is that why he approached you in the Arena? Too much time spent in Outer Rim bars has just inured you to all the worst kinds of lechery. You don’t even question it anymore. Maybe your little scheme with the comlink wasn’t half as clever as you thought. 

Either way, it didn’t make much of a difference now.

“I want what I’m owed, Mandalorian.”

“Wait!” Fumbling with the knots of your belt, you tear the small leather pouch free and toss it on the ground at Har’sho’s feet. 

“Good girl.” He crouches down to pick up the pouch and stuff it into his jacket pocket without taking his eyes, or the blaster, off of you. Looking immensely pleased with himself, the Chiss beckons you forward with his other outstretched hand.

Nodding, you take a few tentative steps forward, reaching your elbows over your head as high as possible, the hem of your jacket lifting above your waist. All you can do is pray that Mando still has some fight left in him.  

“Just look at those lips.” The smile spreading across Har’sho’s face makes your skin crawl. “Maybe I should force her down on her knees right here, Mandalorian. Make you watch while—”

But he can’t get out the last lurid details with the whipcord wrapped around his throat. One hard yank from the bounty hunter and his esophagus is crushed.

As soon as you feel the blaster being pulled out from behind your back, you drop to the ground. Next to you, a body collapses, shot dead. Soon, a crossfire of blaster bolts erupts around you, lighting up the hangar. One of your attackers decides to tug the pouch free from Har’sho’s body and make a run for it. Picking up Mando’s rifle, you crouch into a lunge, lining up the sight as he sprints away and…

He pivots around the bulwark, and the moment’s gone. 

Abruptly, something rips your bent leg out from under you. Crashing face first to the hard, rocky ground, you work frantically to keep your grip on the rifle. All you can do is kick at the snarling Cathar over and over, trying desperately to break his hold on your ankle. Your foot connects with his jaw, neck, and shoulder, but he pulls you closer, paw over fist, claws piercing your flesh like needles. Then, a searing red light blinds your vision, and the Cathar’s body collapses on top of you. 

Instinctively, you thrust the rifle’s bayonet out to defend yourself against this new threat. In one fluid motion, the Mandalorian sweeps his vambrace around the barrel. Grabbing the rifle, he hauls you back onto your feet, hands still gripping the gunstock.

“I’ve got you.” He says, pulling you to him and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It's over.”

You try to focus on the way he holds you tucked in tight against his body, the way you can feel him breathing heavily against your ribs. But in the silence, you recognize the frenzied beat of footsteps. “We both know that’s not true.” 

“Why didn’t you take the shot?” Mando asks. “I’ve never seen you miss.”

“I–I didn’t know what was in the barrel.” 

You’ve never quite gotten over the shock of just…erasing the entirety of someone’s material existence in a puff of smoke and sparks. To his credit, the Mandalorian doesn’t berate your soft-hearted foolishness. 

“Here.” His voice is calm and reassuring as he takes the rifle from you. “Grip it underneath and pull the slide back to activate the blaster.” He breaks open the breech on its hinge to show you the cartridge in the chamber. “Single shot,” he says, snapping it shut. “Rotate this with your thumb, then press here to load the disintegration round.” 

“Should you need it,” he adds, almost tenderly, and your heart does a little jump.

Then, finally succumbing to the strain of staying upright, Mando falls against the diagnostic console. 

“Ok, just lean on—fuck, you are so heavy!” He shifts his weight onto your shoulders. “Come on, only a few more steps.”

“You’re shaking.”

“Well, it's been a while since someone shoved a blaster in my face.” 

“You did good,” he says. “Kept your head.”

“Nito! It's us!” You call out, turning your head so the Mandalorian won’t see the shit eating grin you’re wearing. “Open the port-side hatch!”

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

Read the next post - Post #8: The word you're looking for is, Blinking

Go Back to Volume 1 - All posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #sexymando #mando x you #din djarin smut #mandalorian smut #mando fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #star wars smut #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader