#there was a fourth panel but i thought it looked better without it

[seasidemew]

I can't say she looks happy about that

Next.

#seaside art #mew #pokemon #digital art #artists on tumblr #i have NO art motivation so i made myself do this #it took all night but hey #there was a fourth panel but i thought it looked better without it #lilith

[jamminvroomvroom]

4k celebration

congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.

i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴

we made up.

LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration

in which you can never just bite your tongue

eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3

songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey

warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink

2.6k words

you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.

after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.

maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?

it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.

you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.

“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.

“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.

it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.

“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.

“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.

“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.

there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.

-

turns out, you have to apologise.

you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.

so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.

but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.

“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.

“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.

“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.

“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.

“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.

the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.

you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.

“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.

“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.

your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.

“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.

“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.

“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.

truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.

as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.

“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.

“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.

“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.

“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.

“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.

an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.

“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.

his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.

once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.

“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.

“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.

“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.

“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”

“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.

he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.

“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.

lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.

“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.

“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.

“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”

with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.

“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.

sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.

“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.

“learned your lesson?”

“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.

you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.

still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.

“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.

“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.

you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.

“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.

you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.

“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.

“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.

he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.

“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”

you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.

“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.

“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.

those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.

“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.

you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.

you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.

-

two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.

when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.

“we made up.”

-

oof

-

taglist

@mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @formulaal @carlandoxlestappen

if you wanna be added or removed lemme know! :D

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton fics #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fics #f1 driver x you #f1 oneshot #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton oneshot #lewis hamilton imagine #formula 1 smut #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fics #jas’s 4k celebration #writing things #request #smut #enemies to lovers

[ruporas]

lonely

[ID: A limited palette of green and pink, Vashwood comic. The first page serves as a prologue. The first panel shows Vash speaking to someone off screen while Wolfwood is lingering behind him. A black arrow is drawn pointing at him. In the second panel, Vash is buying donuts in the distance while Wolfwood is once again in view, lingering. and the black arrow is drawn pointing at him. In the third panel, Vash is leaving a cubicle and turning towards his right with a slightly peeved expression. He sees Wolfwood, leaning against the cubicle, waiting for him, and with the black arrow drawn, pointing at him, implicating the consistent hovering of Wolfwood’s presence during Vash’s everyday. At the bottom of the page, they’re drawn out of panel with Vash turning to Wolfwood and saying with an irritated expression, “You’re really following me everywhere, huh?” Wolfwood responds, “What, you got a problem?” Vash responds without hesitation, “Yeah, kinda...”

The second page starts with a new day. In the first panel, Vash is seen alone, weighing apples in his hands at a mart, with crowds passing behind him. In the second panel, he turns to his right and starts to say, “Hey, Wolfwood...” In the third panel, he’s startled from seeing a stranger, whom he’d accidentally called out to when he was expecting to see Wolfwood. He says, “Oh, you’re not him. Sorry!” In the fourth panel, the stranger walks off and Vash muses, “Right, he said he had something to do today...”

The third page begins with a close up of Vash's miffed expression, the continuation of Vash's thoughts, "Now that he's not here, this is just like how I used to be, but... It feels lonely somehow. Oh well, I'll see him again tonight, like always." In the second panel, it shows Vash walking through the marketplace crowd, alone. In the third panel, the door panel is a close up of the door opening with a peek of Vash's head. He says, "Wolfwood!" In the fourth panel, Vash is holding a bag of food with a bright smile and says, "Are you hungry? I got you something to eat today!"

The fourth page begins with a shot of the room, two beds being highlighted, one of them being made properly with the blanket draped over the bed and the other with the blanket folded and pillow sitting on top of it. There's no sign of Wolfwood. The second panel shows Vash with a disappointed look as he thinks, "He's still not here?" The third panel shows Vash putting the bag of food on the table. Stapled to the paper bag is the receipt with a written note "For Wolfwood." Vash's thoughts continue "He does like to stay out so, I guess there's no reason to worry..." The fourth panel shows Vash sitting his bed somberly with his thoughts continued, "It's not any of my business anyway..."

The fifth page starts with a close up his blank expression as he looks downwards, thinking, "Even if he left completely... That'd be understandable and better for him. I'll just travel alone again... like before... Huh?" The next panel shows Vash's composure break, tears welling up in his eyes suddenly, as he didn't expect to cry. He starts to sob, putting his hands to his face to quiet himself and wipe at his tears, as he says, "Ugh... Dammit... I miss h..." The last panel shows Vash leaning over into his hands, still crying, and in the back, the door swings wide open with a bam as Wolfwood walks through with the punisher swung behind him. He shouts, "SPIKEY! You in here?!"

The sixth page starts with Wolfwood confused, looking at Vash and Vash looks back, just as confused, with tears in his eyes and snot out of his nose. Wolfwood starts saying, "Ah? You..." No longer in panels, at the bottom of the page, Wolfwood takes the Punisher off of himself and starts to walk towards Vash, continuing with slight concern, "What's wrong with you? Did something happen?" Vash, hurriedly begins to wipe at his tears, denying immediately, "No! No, I'm fine! Nothing happened!"

The seventh page, Vash points towards the table, with a hand still wiping at his tears and he smiles as he says, "I uh got you food. On the table." Wolfwood looks towards to the table and responds, "Oh. I was getting hungry, thanks." He turns his head back to Vash immediately after with an uncertain expression, knowing the other wasn't responding to his concern, and says, "But, I know you're an idiot with this stuff, so I'm reminding you again. Don't brush it off if it's an issue, alright?"

The eight page, Vash's tears have dried and he looks to Wolfwood with a soft smile and responds, "Yeah. It's okay though..." A panel at the center shows a side view of Vash approaching Wolfwood. At the bottom of the page, with no panel, is a close up shot of Vash's hand, holding onto the edge of Wolfwood's jacket sleeve, as he says, "Because you're here now. Wolfwood."

The final page is a back shot of both of them standing next to each other, Wolfwood's head tilted slightly to the left, not fully believing Vash as he says, "That doesn't answer anything, Spikey." Vash responds, "There's no need to talk about it! You should enjoy your food. Let's have a drink too?" Wolfwood responds, "Tsk, tsk. Fine, yeah. I could use one." END ID]

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #but onto this comic... i think and talk a LOT about vash's loneliness bc trigun is just. kind of central on that for a good while! esp in #the original manga he was alone for a good portion of it and he tends to keep others away like how he ran away from meryl and milly when #they tried to tag along. and he was kind of bothered when he realized ww was following him around Too. at the core even though he loves #humans and he loves deeply the people he does know -- he isnt really much of a people person and i think thats been the case since he was #young considering his initial doubts towards humans... with the exception of kids bc kids dont give him moral conflicts. so suddenly #here comes wolfwood!!! his guide. someone TRULY affixed to him until he has to get to knives. someone who isnt budging and someone whos #really good at following him around and even seems like he goes like 5 steps ahead to make sure vash doesnt run on him #in one way its - i don't want you to follow me bc i don't want to burden you and i don't want you to kill the people i want to save. #in another way its - i like this companionship. i like waking up to you and i like ending the way with you. i like talking to someone who #knows my world. i like being in your space and sometimes i enjoy talking about our day #theyre just living together. like. roadtrip buddies or theyre also under the same roof because they're going everywhere together. #trimax they mainly spend their mornings together and if they had personal business attend the other person would usually know and itd only #be during the midday. anyway bc of this kind of companionship i figure that vash eventually grew accustom to it and he really. cant go back #to the kind of loneliness from before. it's harder to imagine and it'd be harder to withstand. esp after 2 years with lina and her grandma. #ruporas art

[thetableintheback]

[I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be martyr'd for my religion - Love is my religion - I could dke for that - I could die for you.]

[My favorite part's when I die / In your arms like a movie]

[My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.]

[I said I loved her back. I put my hand on the door and I said I loved her back and when I said it I thought of kissing her and also of shooting her through the eye.]

[It's winter. You ask me about love / and I tell you about violence. / I'm sorry. / I thought that that's what love was. / It's all the same anyway. / Love is never what you want it to be. It can be better but it can be worse.]

[I always knew that you would hurt me to death some day, but I hoped to choose the time and place.]

[You'll always be like a nightmare to me / And I'll always be begging for sleep]

[[on a firsr date] so the figs and the wasps rely on each other to live in the end even though the wasp dies inside the fig the figs cannot live on without the wasp and the wasps cannot live on without the fig to lay their eggs in. don't you see how this is love in its purest form? would you be the wasp or the fig?]

[a four panel comic titled "sun". the first panel shows a black and white figure in profile looking up at a yellow figure with orange hair extending around its head like sun beams. the second panel shows the yellow figure facing foward and saying 'you should not look at me. I know it hurts you.' the third panel shows the black and white figure at an angle, looking up with wide eyes. a speech bubble shows the yellow figure, out of frame, saying 'why do you not look away?'. the fourth panel shows the black and white figure through the yellow figure's hair, making them orange, as they look up and say 'you're beautiful.']

devotion/destruction

john keats/kishi bashi/charles bukowksi/catherynne m. valente/heavensghost/rebecca west/sorority noise/saintophelia/mayaparker8

#john keats #kishi bashi #charles bukowski #catherynne m. valente #heavensghost #rebecca west #sorority noise #mayaparker8 #quotes #words #web weaving #from the table #described

[heroesriseandfall]

I just think Jason Todd should get into historical fashion again.

Batman #413 // Countdown Presents: The Search for Ray Palmer: Gotham by Gaslight #1

Image description: First image is part of a comic page from Batman #413, showing Bruce Wayne in a suit walking up to a young Jason Todd, in a museum. Bruce reaches toward Jason with a smile and says, “Good afternoon, Jason...I didn’t expect to run into you here.” Jason turns to him and smiles back, holding a tiny notebook and pencil in his hand, and he says, “Bruce! Hi! I left you a note when I got home from school. Right now our class is studying European history--the Napoleonic Wars--but the school thought it would be a good idea for us to take advantage of this opportunity, too.” Jason gestures at a display of three historical women’s outfits, then he says, “Like, that stuff over there is all old clothes people were actually wearing at the time of those wars. Some of it’s pretty interesting...And they said we could do extra credit on this Japanese stuff, if we wanted to pull our grades up. My history grade could use the help...”

Second image is part of a comic page from Search for Ray Palmer: Gotham by Gaslight #1, showing a 19th century Gotham City with people milling around. Jason Todd is standing staring around the city, dressed in period-typical clothing with a dark top hat and jacket. Behind him are Donna Troy, Kyle Rayner, and Bob the Monitor, all dressed in similar Victorian outfits. Jason’s narration boxes say, “It’s really weird, but as alien as this place is, I know it well. Gotham City is Gotham City no matter where or when you find it. I can see myself living here. I can feel the rightness of that. I would fit here, I think, in ways I don’t everywhere else...”

Third image is a cropped part of a comic page from Batman #413 showing Bruce, Alfred, and Jason in the Batcave, near a desk and various equipment. Bruce is in his Batsuit without the cowl, smiling at Jason who is wearing civilian clothing sitting at the desk where there is a book and papers. Alfred is carrying a tray with a glass of water over to Jason. Bruce leans against the desk as he says, “Maybe they couldn’t...but your guardian is a little better informed than they are. What’s your report on?” Jason says, “Oh...a comparison of everything in the Tahara Exhibit with everything we’ve learned about England in the early nineteenth century...weapons, clothes, pots, pans, art...I don’t know if I’ll ever need to know that stuff again, but my teacher loves it.” Jason takes the glass from Alfred as Alfred tells Bruce, “I took the liberty of looking over Master Jason’s report when he’d completed it, Master Bruce. It seemed most comprehensive. I’m certain the professor will be impressed.” Jason grins and says, “Thanks, Alfred. I guess I shouldn’t worry too much about missing a couple of nights on patrol. After all, not even Batman and Robin can be everywhere at once.”

Fourth image is a cropped comic panel from Search for Ray Palmer: Gotham by Gaslight showing Jason in Victorian clothing, tapping the shoulder of Bob the Monitor as Kyle and Donna watch from behind. Jay says, “Wait a minute...we’re trying to find the impossible and we’re overlooking the perfect resource...Bob--does this world have a Batman yet?” Bob says, “Indeed. A few other costumed heroes as well...”

#jason todd #batfamily #gotham by gaslight #batfam #red hood #also i'm obsessed with the way jay thinks about gotham during the search for ray palmer but that's another discussion #robin jason todd #robin ii #alfred pennyworth #dc comics #the search for ray palmer #bruce wayne #bonds: he was the best #heroesriseandfall #batman: second chances #described

[madxmellon]

Well... here’s a project I’ve been procrastinating on for precisely one year. I’ll update links when I get the entire comic out :)

I’ve made some *slight* edits to pacing, and had to cut some text/dialogue from the original chapter so I could execute the flow a little bit better.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Image description beneath the cut

The first panel depicts a war camp, with tents propped up against a dark sky and light rain. There’s a soldier to the left, holding a spear, and a smoking fire to the right. At the end of a muddy path is a tent, that faintly glows from inside itself. There is a speech bubble coming from this tent reading: “And... you, messenger boy, grab your friend and get some spears. Gor, put them in front.” 

The second panel is more zoomed in, and we can see more clearly that there appear to be four figures within the tent, their silhouettes visible from outside. Another speech bubble comes from the tent, this time from the opposite side reading: “In front? You certain, Varth?”

In the third panel, we are as close as we have been yet, and the tents entrance has been opened to reveal an older Alethi man, his skin a tan brown with dark black hair. He wears a grey chest plate over a dark maroon shirt, along with a teal skirt and dark greenish brown cloak. Behind him is a lantern filled with glowing spheres. As he opens the tents entrance, he says: “You work with what you have...”

The fourth panel, in the top left of the composition features an interior view of the tent, over Varth’s shoulder. The lantern continues to glow, illuminating Kaladin, who is seating slightly behind the tent’s entrance. He wears simple leather and padded armor, with a blue undershirt. His hair reaches to about his shoulders, and is wavy and black, and covers the sas nahn glyph on his forehead. His nose is long and slightly broad, his lips full and his eyes thin as he appears to squint in thought. His skin is brown and he appears slightly confused as he stares towards the ground. Above him, extending into the fifth panel, are the same words Varth just said, italicized: “Work with what you have...”

The fifth panel, placed to the right of the fourth, zooms in on Kaladin’s face, which suddenly looks slightly surprised and forlorn, his eyebrows pinched upwards above his nose, and his eyes are widened slightly in shock. 

The sixth panel shows a younger Kaladin without his brands among a group of faceless shoulders, their bodies pressed in around him as he reaches forwards. They all wear similar armor as Kaladin, although in different shades of maroon and green. Present in the composition are the words “He knew where he was. How had he not seen it immediately?” and “Kaladin had been here. Rushing through these lines,”

The seventh panel depicts a field of enemy soldiers, wearing slightly different sets of armor over light yellow undershirts. They fight upwards on a hill, troops from Kaladin’s division facing them off from the right. In the middle is a lone figure, young with a tan skirt and a spear clutched towards his hands: Tien. The words “Searching for...” appear in the bottom left of the composition.

The eighth panel brings us closer to Tien, and we see he has lowered the spear slightly as his eyes appear to focus on something past our right shoulder, widening in recognition, his fear seeming to lessen slightly as the rain continues to fall around him. His face is rounder than Kaladin’s, although his eyes are similarly slanted, and his hair wavy and black although it is kept much shorter. Around his neck is a sort of yellow bandana, tied underneath his chin. The words “searching for” appear again, this time italicized to the left of Tien’s face.

The ninth and final panel depicts a stormy sky, rain coming down slightly harder than it had in previous panels, a large pyre in the distance giving off smoke that mixes with black clouds in the sky. Across the ground are shadows that appear to be fallen soldiers, and in front of us in the center of the composition, with his back turned to us, is Kaladin. We cannot tell if he is older or younger, and he kneels over a small body, the shoes are visibly the same ones Tien had been wearing two panels ago. 

#my art #row spoilers #row comic #rhythm of war #rhythm of war spoilers #row fanart #rhythm of war fanart #kaladin #kaladin stormblessed #kaladin stormblessed fanart #the stormlight archive #stormlight #stormlight archive #the stormlight archives #stormlight fanart #the stormlight archive fanart #stormlight archive fanart #the stormlight archives fanart #tien #tien fanart #brandon sanderson #cosmere #cosmere fanart #cosmere art #arts arcanum

[smol-dargon]

Not me posting a fourth chapter because I really wanted to see where this story would go

The air was completely still inside the mausoleum, as if the place were holding its breath. The knight shivered, her chain mail rattling. Her breath was visible in the air. This was not a place for them to linger, clearly.

In the floor ahead of them, several panels in the floor rattled, as if barely containing their occupants. Dan led the way, club at the ready. The knight raised her axe and nodded at him, prepared for whatever might come crawling out of the floors. He bashed the panels in one after the other, sending tiny gremlin creatures scurrying across the chamber. The knight had her hands full corralling and killing them all.

In short order, the room was silent again, save for the sound of their armored steps. One of the panels didn't have anything inside. Rather, it dropped out into a corridor below. With little else to go on, Dan hopped down. The knight followed quickly behind.

Their path was blocked by a stained glass panel. He hated to destroy such art, but he hoped the souls of the recently risen dead would forgive him. He had to pass in order to save the kingdom. The knight was one step ahead of him though; she destroyed the panel without a second thought. In fact, she looked rather upset at it. Beyond the shattered pane, more of the gremlin creatures scurried about, swiftly dispatched by her axe. She took a moment to catch her breath, looking even more distressed at the sight of three more pathways, each blocked by their own stained glass design.

He gave her a bit of a questioning look. It was one thing to be committed to saving Gallowmere. It was quite another to be so hateful towards art.

She heaved a great sigh and rubbed her knuckles as if they ached.

"My father sent me to a convent once for 'misbehaving'. I've hated anything that even smells like a church ever since."

He'd heard of such things happening in other places. Places far removed from his beloved Gallowmere. Women here might not always do the same things men did, but never were they punished for being unusual or unladylike. It explained why she had been so stressed about being discovered, and why she was so aggravated at the mere thought of not being respected as a knight.

"Sounds awful. Sorry."

He hoped even if she couldn't understand his words that his tone at least would carry. To his immense relief, she took a few moments to breathe before steeling herself to continue.

"Let's just get this over with. The sooner we're out of these halls, the better."

He took the lead this time. It was a good thing too. The left path send them down a corridor half blocked by jagged crystals. He smashed their way through a sea of them so she could charge into the room at the end and take care of the creatures within.

With that done, she picked up the rune in the corner. The corridor shuddered. The floor was suddenly very unstable beneath their feet. They both made a mad dash out, barely making it before the floor completely disintegrated. Perhaps that had been a trap. They would have to keep an eye out for other such designs.

The panel across from their original entrance was next. Just beyond it lay the gate the rune opened. Even before she placed the rune, they could hear more chattering creatures past a short drop-off into another chamber. Without waiting for him, she dashed ahead, eager to blow off some steam. By the time he caught up, she'd taken care of them all, then dashed up the stairs in search of more.

He shook his head. She could handle herself. It might do her some good to get the anger out. He noted a gate on the opposite end from the stairs, but without a rune to open it, all he could do was follow the knight back to the upper level.

He had barely left the staircase when he felt a sudden lightness at his hip. His sword was gone! He whipped around to see one of the gremlins tearing off with it. Annoyed, he decided to test something he'd been curious about since waking up again.

He pulled his left arm from its socket and threw it as hard as he could at the creature. It yipped and lost its grip on the sword, but his arm kept going. He groaned, but looked back just in time to see his arm heading straight back for the creature, streaking through the air like a boomerang. It hit the gremlin a second time, more than enough to take it out for good. He was quite pleased with himself!

He wasn't counting on his arm still having momentum when it made it back to him. His own arm backhanded him before clattering to the floor behind him. He was getting really tired of doing cool things and then immediately going back to being ungainly.

The knight reappeared around the corner, surveyed the scene, and couldn't suppress a hearty chuckle. She retrieved his sword from where it had fallen while he fumbled with getting his arm back into place. It was a little easier said than done.

"Uh... help?"

She snorted and held his sword out to him.

"I'll trade you."

She took his detached arm and gave him back the sword. Sheathing it one-handed was tricky, but he managed. After a brief moment surveying his shoulder and arm joints, she fitted them back into the proper places with a satisfying crack. He tested his limb out and made a mental note to never try that again.

"This leads back to the entryway and downstairs. I found the runes we need."

After a short trek through the halls, they were back at the three-way junction facing the final stained glass panel. She destroyed it, this time with a great deal less malice than before. The hall was once again crusted with sharp edges, which Dan helpfully cleared from their path.

She stopped him before he could step fully into the room at the end.

"If this one is booby trapped like the other one, I'm faster. I won't be long."

He retreated back to the junction to wait. Certainly enough, shortly after the sounds of combat faded, the building rumbled and shook. The knight came tearing back up the hall, narrowly throwing herself clear.

"Much easier that way, see?"

He chuckled and turned to continue down the center path once more. Back upstairs, she led him through the main chamber and into a side room. A ghostly organist banged away haphazardly at the keys. He was no musician, but he was pretty sure that wasn't how one played the organ.

The knight pulled a set of papers from her breastplate and offered them to the specter. He happily took them and placed them on the stand before him. After the first few chords, a side door opened, revealing yet another of the strange chalices.

Dan retrieved it and awaited the appearance of Canny Tim. However this time, he was met with another face.

"Ahh Fortesque! What's this I hear about that arch cad Zarok still being alive? Thought you killed the fella?"

Dan grimaced.

"Well, about that--"

"Never mind, you old war-horse, better show 'im what's what, eh? I expect Johnny Zombie's a bit more of a handful than you remember. How are you doing for weapons?"

Dan held his club out for the ghost to see, gesturing with his free hand to the mostly dull broadsword at his hip.

"Here, take my warhammer, it'll smash anything and it won't fall apart like a club. I only ever get to use it cracking walnuts around this place."

He started to refuse, worried he wouldn't be able to handle such a massive weapon.

"Nonsense, Fortesque, I won't take no for an answer. Knock a few heads for old Stanyer Iron Hewer, eh?"

With that, the spirit disappeared, leaving his massive warhammer behind. A bit doubtful, he did try to pick it up. It ended up lighter than he was expecting. He tucked it into place and prepared to continue. When they turned back around, the phantom of the organ had vanished.

At long last, they could open the final gate with the rune she had picked up. Down the hall were shards of glass jutting forth. But a path lay in the middle, just wide enough for a brazier on a pedestal. She scouted ahead and peeked around the corner.

"Aha! The beast's heart! We can set it alight and make killing him that much easier!"

She returned and they began the arduous task of pushing the stone monolith down the thin path between the crystals. It grated down the hall, sparks flying from the friction. Between the two of them, it was short work. At the end of the hall, a massive crystalline heart beat, floating serenely between a pair of statues. They redoubled their efforts and finally shoved the brazier into place beneath it. The heart beat faster in the heat before shattering into countless pieces.

Unlike the other corridors, this one didn't crumble beneath them. They checked over their weapons and armor and headed back up into the main chamber.

The final pane of stained glass bore the image of the demon himself. As they entered, the pane vibrated angrily. Without further warning, it shattered, the stained glass demon bursting forth with a shriek.

Dan charged in ahead of the knight, swinging viciously at the demon. It only took a few hits for him to realize nothing he did was even slowing the thing down. The demon leapt about, aiming to crush them beneath its talons.

The knight stayed well clear of the two of them, her axe stowed into a holster at her back. He wondered for a split second how she intended to help without a weapon. The demon took the opportunity to slam its fist into him, sending him flying across the room and into the wall.

The demon moved to the center of the room, charging an attack with its heart floating free of its chest. He drew the crossbow Canny Tim had given him, but before he could get fully to his feet and take aim, the knight stepped between him and the demon.

She took up a defensive stance. Her arms sparkled with a crackling blue energy, almost like lightning crawling towards her fingers. In the next moment, she let it fly. Twin beams of energy flew through the air towards the demon's heart, causing it a great deal of pain.

He managed to get back on his feet just in time to leap out of the way of a stream of glass shards the demon channeled from its heart. He was startled at the knight's ability to use magic, as it was incredibly uncommon among humans. But he didn't have much time to ruminate on it. Glass shards flew every which way, and he was hard pressed to hold the demon's attention so the knight could reposition.

She let him keep the thing's focus while she charged up another magical attack. The next time its heart came out, it froze Dan in a glass prison from his waist down. His weapon arm was trapped as well. Seeing this, she aimed one beam at the demon and the other at him. It hurt greatly, but it did free him, so he couldn't complain too much.

Between her magic and his crossbow bolts, the demon slowly began to weaken. Its attacks became more harried and frantic, even as it lost the strength to continue its assault. Seeing its tactics failing, it turned its attention to the knight instead. The jagged bits of glass streaked towards her. She raised a hand, creating some sort of barrier that stopped them just before they reached her. He took the opportunity to deal ever more damage to the cracking heart with Canny Tim's crossbow.

With these last few bolts, the heart shattered into pieces. The demon froze, cried out in anguish, and fell to the ground, where it too fell completely to pieces. Amid the pieces, an ornate key with a skull on it lay. He scooped it up and tucked it into his breastplate for safe keeping.

They breathed a collective sigh of relief. At last, they could leave the graveyard proper and take up the chase in earnest. The demon itself had given the. Their exit from the mausoleum, its empty pane leaving an opening from which they could carefully drop back into the graveyard below.

But before they could continue, Dan squared up to the knight properly. He didn't trust magic as far as he could throw it, especially after the mushroom incident. The entire court had done things they regretted that night...

"I have questions."

She nodded, her proud stance faltering under his scrutiny.

"I figured you might... What do you want to know?"

#medievil #sir daniel fortesque #the left handed knight #the errant knights #oop lore reveal #more lore coming next chapter!

[deenoss]

Dreamcatcher Chptr. 26

"I'd better start helping Chloe with the cleaning. And while I'm at it, I can't take one long, last look around the place. Then, I'll go see Clark. It's about time we got things cleared up between us." Max thought to herself.

Once the brunette was done soaking in a majority of the good times she'd spent in Chloe's room, she assisted Chloe by observing things around the room in order to get a start on what she could add to the 'TRASH' pile. At the same time, everything she observed closely brought back fond memories.

Max first made her way over to Chloe's shelf which had a bunch of books and boxes on each shelf, most of which were textbooks and school supplies.

She then eyed a skateboard that she recalled the amount of times Chloe persisted Max to try skateboarding, much to her preference for taking photos instead.

By the door, Max recognised a drawing Chloe once made which included the three of them in a mini-comic labelled 'The Adventurous Adventures Of Super Max, Dr. Chloestein & Mr C' - there were only three panels with a fourth missing, leaving them to wonder what happened next.

Two tickets were laid on Chloe's bedside table along with some other photos of locations and a self-portrait of Chloe and Clark. The tickets went back three years ago early July - an unsupervised concert Max, Chloe and Clark went to. It didn't take long for either of their parents to discover what their children had done.

Other personal belongings of Chloe's was scattered around the room. There were some report cards documenting the young Price girl's excellent academic work, a glowing bear, board games, a camera and a few other things that stood out to Max Caulfield. Above Chloe's bed was a saggy string with pictures clinging onto it. Each picture was taken by Max herself which Chloe saw befitting to commemorate by displaying her best friend's photographs in front of the window.

Max focused on the vintage Polaroid camera, recognising it as William's camera.

"Hey, what's your dad's camera doing here?" Max piped up.

Chloe looked over her shoulder, distracting herself from tidying up. "Dad said I could bring it up here for you to use. He's tired of watching you drool all over yourself every time he uses it. His words."

"Your dad is the best."

"Sure. Just don't ever tell him that. We need to keep him on his toes."

Max went to pick up the camera. By the way she grabbed the camera by its sides, her thin, nimble fingers accidentally triggered the flash as she lifted it up, causing her to jump.

"You're off to a great start."

The brunette flapped the photograph lightly until it revealed her unintentional selfie.

"Actually.. it's kinda cool." Max said aloud before thinking to herself. "I should take one with us three. They always loved hanging around me. Almost too much, I think. They are going to be so heartbroken when I tell them I'm leaving. It's so hard to believe. This room, this house, this town... all in the past now. Or soon to be. Who am I even without the twins? Chloe's the one who's always started things, pulling us into adventures. And Clark. He's always had our best interests at heart. Acting like the big brother and the bestest friend to me. Has he always been this cute now that I think about it? I can't imagine life without them."

Casually, Max donated some more belongings into the 'TRASH' box until she concluded that there was nothing else worth tossing out.

"That's it. I'm calling off the search. If you want more trash, you'll have to find it yourself. I'm gonna go see if Clark needs a hand now." Max announced, expressing her disinterest in cleaning the room.

"Well, it wasn't exactly the purge mom was hoping for. But at least we tried, right?"

Max nodded her head and walked towards the door, disappearing from the room. By heading across to the room next door to Chloe's, Max raised her hand up to the door. Her knuckled tapped on the door to announce herself before she entered the room.

It was very uncommon for Max to enter Clark's room. A boy's room for that matter. But then again, rarely anybody entered the room unless it was Clark. In which case, he was more than happy to make Max the exception, excluding his sister, of course.

"Hey Max! Thanks again for helping me out with the cleaning." Clark hollered as he waved the brunette over.

Clark was seated on the floor with his legs crossed. He was rummaging around a box filled with action figures and toys he played with as a kid. Footsteps got closer to Clark when out of the corner of his eye, a pair of chopstick legs appeared beside him, followed by the rest of the body belonging to none other than Max herself.

"Whatcha doin'?" Max asked coolly.

"Just... going through some stuff. Remember these?" Clark stated, holding up a Donatello Ninja Turtle figurine.

The small figurine twiddled by the leg where Clark's fingers pinched it.

Her azure blue eyes forced off of the figurine to more things in the box. There were some props used for the pirate fantasies that kept the youngsters occupied out of school hours. Max reached into the box and pulled out a rubber handball.

"So, um... did you need help cleaning up anything?" Max inquired.

Clark swung his head around, peering all around the room before giving a vague gesture on where Max could start. She noticed a similar place to dispose one's rubbish in, except it was a black plastic bin bag.

Aimlessly, Max wandered around the room in search for somewhere to start. Her hands fiddled with the rubber ball as the means to keep her occupied. Her eyes traced around the room so to familiarise herself with the layout of the room for one last time, given that she was going to leave for Seattle in a couple of days.

A miscalculation in her tossing the ball in her hands caused it to slip from her fingers. It bounced off the floor, its trajectory pointed towards the bed on the far side of the room until it vanished from sight underneath the bed. Max pursued the ball and knelt down and bent over to peer underneath the bed. There was still enough brightness in the room to illuminate the darkest parts of the room, such including the bit of space underneath Clark's bed.

The ball rested conveniently next to a lunchbox underneath the bed. Going against her better judgement, Max couldn't resist ignoring the unknown. Out of pure curiosity, Max reached for the box and grabbed ahold of the handle, pulling it close to her so she could see it in better light. Mat sat upright and opened up the box.

By opening up the box, Max looked inside and was shocked by what she found.

The lunch box was filled with letters addressed to Max, all of which failed to be properly distributed with the confidence Clark wished to have. Now that his secret was out, Max had no way to approach Clark nor see him the way she did moments before. A million thoughts raced through his mind about his secret crush on her. She could not believe it was true, but the more she quickly read over the letters, the more she came to struggle to face Clark properly afterwards.

"Max? Any luck?" Clark sang out.

She was startled by his voice, which caused her to act out of haste and dispose of the letters back into the box underneath the bed.

"Uhh, n-no. Nothing." Max replied dismissively.

"Well... you gave it a shot. Thank you for the help anyway."

"Gave it my best shot."

Clark peered over his shoulder at her and noticed how distracted she appeared.

"You okay, Max?"

"Hm? Y-Yeah. Totally."

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

The brunette bowed her head and pursed her lips.

When Clark repositioned himself so he was right next to Max, it wasn't out of bravery that he decided to breach her personal space, but rather out of trust and companionship that he showed his undying support to her. His arm went up and across to wrap itself around her back. He pulled her tightly against him and gave her opposite arm a caress.

"Do you ever wish you knew you were living in your best days before you ended up leaving them?" Max asked, deadpanned.

Hesitantly, Max rested her head on his shoulder, embraced the comfort he provided. In return that Clark became stiffened and gobsmacked that she was resting her head on his should, Clark maintained composure and stared aimlessly at the wall.

"Actually, yeah. I do wish that. But what have I got to worry about if I got my best friend and my sister by my side? Nothing can go wrong. All I need is you and Chloe, mom and dad and I'll be just fine." Clark answered with full confidence in his voice.

Max couldn't help but bite her lip as he spoke. It pained her to think of the grief she would bring him once she left Arcadia Bay. The twins meant the world to Max, but having no say in her parents' decision to move to Seattle didn't make saying goodbye any easier, especially when she just found out one of her best friend's had an infatuation for her. And whether or not she'd accept that was entirely up to Max.

"Clark. There's somethi-'

The door abruptly swung open, interrupting Max. Chloe rushed over to her brother and her best friend to show them a tape recording they took five years ago. Chloe saw it fitting that they relieve their childhood for one last time.

"Avast, future wayfarers! Ye have uncovered the audio log of the most fearsome pirates in the Bays of Arcadia!" An eight year-old Chloe's voice came through the recording.

"Captain Bluebeard and Long Max Silver, with their trusty quartermaster, One-Eyed Parrot Joe!" The younger selves of Clark, Max and Chloe said all at once before they broke into laughter.

"So, yer in search of buried treasure, are ye?" A young Max Caulfield piped up, embracing her pirate fantasy. "Well, if it's treasure ye seek-"

"Do mine eyes spot two fair pirate wenches? What have we-" A random voice chimed in.

"Dad! Get away! We're in the middle of an important project!"

"Oh, a project! Nevermind, then. I apolog-"

"I mean it!"

"Alright, alright. Supper's in five. Wash your hands, you grubby pirate kids..."

"So lame."

"As I was saying...," continued the younger Max. "If it's treasure ye seek, ye've come to the right place."

And as if one cue, Clark's eight year-old self was made known.

"But be forewarned: the journey will be treacherous and full of... treachers. To find the treasure of Price Isle, you will need the map from the manuscripts of Captain Bluebeard and her trusty quartermaster, so humbly before ye now, One-Eyed Parrot Joe! Yaarr, me harties!!"

"Only the map can lead ye to the treasure ye seek. But be forewarned; uh, again. Only those with pure hearts will be able to see what the amulet shows them. Good luck. And, uh, bye," finished Chloe.

At the end of the tape recording, Chloe was blown away at how invested and devoted they were as eight year-old scallywag pirates. Max could only share the same optimism as she, while Clark couldn't help but cringe the entire way through.

It was Chloe's proposition that the three embark on the journey they'd long forgotten: to find the mysterious treasure they once purposed to fulfil their childish fantasies.

Max had never seen her so engrossed in anything before in her entire life, at least the memories that she could recall with ease. It brought a smile to her face to see her best friend dig around for anything that could provide hints at where to begin their journey. Fortunately, the one thing Chloe recalled was entrusting her ever so faithful 'quartermaster' with the information that they sought to uncover the treasure.

With a quick search through the shelves, Chloe quickly discovered and plucked an old sketchbook that provided the first clue to starting the treasure hunt they made specifically for their future selves to complete.

"Our old sketchbook!" Max cheered. "This is where we kept all of our pirate drawings."

"Yup. Now, let's see this map."

The front cover itself brought smiles to their faces at their creativity as well as the privacy warning specifically directed at Chloe and Clark's mother.

On the first page in the sketchbook was the design of their fantasy pirate ship, a galleon proudly titled, The Bane Of Arcadia. The ship had three masts with six cannons port-side with a plank as their particularly favourite part of the entire ship. The rest of the design was left completely to their combined imagination that spruced with creativity and liveliness to enthral the trio during their days off school.

Two portraits took up a whole page with the names for both Chloe and Max as Bluebeard and Long Max Silver. Clark's eight year-old self didn't get the luxury of sharing the page with his sister and best friend, but was safely accompanied by their late pet cat, Pogo, followed by a group photo of the four - including Pogo 'The Pirate'  - on the next page.

The page following after contained the rules which was mostly written down by Chloe.

PIRATE RULES

NO bathing

NO boys on the ship (except One-Eyed Parrot Joe!!!)

NO sharing pirate secrets

ALWAYS share plunder

ALWAYS bury treasure

ALWAYS protect fellow pirates

Failure to obey these rules will result in PLANK WALKING!!!

On the next page was the Captain's Log, according to Captain Bluebeard.

'Another day of plunder and destruction on the high seas. Our just buried treasure has come under attack again. The evil Commander Shelley, enemy to all pirates, has threatened to take the map from us if she sees it. Surely she has heard how valuable our treasure is and wants to steal it from us.

We are doing our best to keep the map hidden as we continue to work on it. Because our enemies want our treasure so bad, we must make sure the map is only readable to us. Captain Bluebeard and Long Max Silver with their trusty quartermaster, One-Eyed Parrot Joe.

To more plunder and riches!

Captain Bluebeard

Long Max Silver

One-Eyed Parrot Joe'

On the next page where the map was intended to be contained was torn from the sketchbook as means of protecting the location of the treasure. As a result, the three had to fan across both twins' rooms in hopes of gaining the vital part of uncovering the location of the treasure.

It didn't take long for somebody to discover the location of the map. In Max's success, she provided the map she, Chloe and Clark worked very hard on to create.

The map started at Chloe's Secret Lair, which lead to a Dark Cavern where an amulet was to be located; following on to Treasure Island and then wayward to Price Castle.

As they skimmed over the map, memories of the past came flooding back, which in turn provided the definition to the peculiar nicknames they'd thought of to describe the places they wanted jotted down on said map.

"I'm remembering this, now," said Chloe. "Didn't we make some crazy puzzle? You need the telescope and the amulet which we hid inside a dark cavern, A.K.A. the attic?"

"Ugh, why did we do that to ourselves?" Max asked nonchalantly.

"Because we were eight years old and the attic was the scariest place we could think of." Clark answered coolly as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Was? Your attic is still terrifying." Max said, establishing an eye connection with the brown-haired boy beside her.

"It's been five years, Max. I'm sure the Bogeyman has died of starvation."

"It's more the mice and spiders I'm afraid of."

"I'm with you there, excluding the rats."

"Time to face your fears, wussies! I'll head to the garage to dig up my old telescope. Max, you and Clark go find that amulet. We'll meet back at the pirate ship. Wa-hooo!!" Chloe shouted, whooping as she did so due to the sheer excitement she was unable to contain.

When Chloe left the room, Clark and Max smiled to themselves and begun their objective in heading up into the attic via the broom closet.

Max walked out of Clark's room with a smile on her face. She persuaded herself to have fun, even if that day wouldn't have likely been her last day in Arcadia Bay.

"The entrance to the Dark Cavern is here. Are you ready to begin this vitally important mission?" Clark asked with a sly grin on his face.

He offered his hand to her, showing that he would support her should either she or he get scared along the way. Max bit the inside of her cheek and smiled warmly at him as she took his hand into hers and used their combined effort to open the attic.

The attic was dark and barely lit, only illuminated by the light from downstairs. Fortunately, Max remembered where the light switch was before creating more light for both her and Clark to see. And yet, in despite of the endless possibilities in hiding the amulet, it was in plain sight, yet in the most difficult place to reach. This brought the challenge for Clark and Max to wander around the attic to the amulet by crossing memorabilia along the way.

"My gosh... there's so much stuff up here I remember from so long ago." Max commented in disbelief at how much old stuff was put inside the attic.

"I know, right? Feels like a trip down old memory lane - at least the stuff I remember mom and dad telling me about as a little kid. And you, of course." Clark replied in a gentle voice as if he was scared of frightening the creatures lurking in the attic.

Max looked over her shoulder at Clark, whom she caught staring at her with adoration when suddenly she hit her head on a low beam.

"OW!"

Clark gasped. "Max! Are you okay?!"

The brunette pursed her lips tightly as if it would help fight off the pain, even though it would do no good for her as she rubbed the spot where she hit her head.

"Yeah. I'll be okay."

When Clark began to touch her head around the sore spot, Max tensed but in a good way that made her feel comforted that he was indeed showing the support he offered to her. By the way his hands rubbed her forehead, it made Max feel slightly relaxed as Clark began to massage her sore, even being so bold as to give the bump that started to form a little kiss.

"You okay now?" Clark asked nervously.

"Yeah. Thanks, Clark."

"Anytime."

Unconsciously, Max smiled widely at him until she sedated that smile by bringing their attention back to making their way to the amulet.

Once they had acquired the artefact, the drawings and scribbles on it proved insufficient as to the meaning behind the symbols designed from so long ago.

Muffled shouts and grunts came from outside of the house. Max and Clark found a window in the attic which gave them a view of the backyard where they found Clark's twin sister messing around outside in some of the old gear she donned as a child, now as a young teenager with a spade as her weapon, an imaginary cutlass.

"Ha-ha! I have you now, scallywag!" Chloe exclaimed in her pirate accent.

As Chloe swung the shovel around, her attention was quickly brought up to the pairs of eyes on her.

"Are you just watching me up there, creepers?"

"You are one of a kind, Chloe Price." Max said in admiration of the imagination of her best friend.

Chloe raised an eyebrow in confusion and said, "What?"

"I'm lucky to you're my best friend, that's all."

"Damn right you are, you mushy weirdo! Did you find the amulet?"

Max showed her the amulet by raising it up so it was in sight.

"Awesome! Now get your asses down here, we have some treasure to find!"

Given that that was their cue to regroup with Chloe in the backyard, Clark and Max both made weaved their way through the intricate maze that was the attic before they headed downstairs and through to the backyard, where they spied Chloe standing on a ladder mounted on the swing, using a spyglass to wander her gaze wherever she pleased.

When the pair got around to showing Chloe the amulet, Chloe was stoked. The only disappointment was how neither of them figured out how they originally made the amulet attach to the spyglass. That was until Clark provided the solution with tape.

Once they figured out how to make it work, Max, who was so kindly bestowed the honours of locating the treasure, directed the twins to its exact position.

"Bingo!"

Chloe rejoiced and bounced on the tips of her feet before she and Clark scampered off to acquire a shovel and removed a fair size of dirt before the three used their hands to surface the treasure.

"What the...?"

"That is not what we buried."

"Don't give up just yet. Let's take it inside and see what treasure it beholds, Cap'n!" Clark said encouragingly.

Chloe looked at her brother, surprised. She didn't expect him to express any form of enthusiasm like that before, but it pleased her nonetheless.

And so, Chloe carried the treasure inside so they could examine its contents. Inside was a tape with a photo of Chloe, Clark and William, all dressed as pirates. At the bottom was a lunchbox which they assumed was the rest of the treasure they were after. Max rushed off to bring the tape player for them to uncover the audio for them to listen to.

It brought warmth and happiness to the twins that they remembered how much their father enjoyed being apart of their 'project.'

"Ahoy there, plankwalkers! It's me, Bloody Bill the Pirate King! By now, ye'll have seen that I dug up yer treasure, which would normally make us mortal enemies. But hear me out, I haven't pilfered a thing. On the contrary, I figured you swashbucklers might not be back to yer loot for some time, so I've given it extra protection from the winds and rain. I'm sure you're excited to open your time capsule, so I won't go on too long. Just know that Bloody Bill is bloody proud of you. All of you. Keep those sails trimmed and that anchor scrubbed. And always remember: the real treasure is..."

"Friendship," guessed Chloe.

"Love... your Oregon State pre-paid college savings plan! Argh!"

The three youngsters broke into fits of giggles and laughter at the end of the message before they all moved on to the treasure they buried so long ago.

Inside was a toy and letters distributed to and for Chloe, Max and Clark; each letter having sincerity and virtue in what was written.

" 'To Chloe Price.' Thanks, Max! 'I hope you are having a lot of fun being a teenager with your best friend.' Aww, you were so cute. Check it out."

All three letters contained questions regarding what their past selves were curious about, about the future - their futures.

It didn't take long for them to get bored with their time capsule slash treasure. Chloe decided to sketch something while her brother did some cleaning up in the kitchen and around the table and then in the backyard, as planned.

Max found it difficult to finally tell her best friends that she was leaving. The thought ruined Max's mood, making her moody and gloomy until she finally found the courage to tell them what was going to happen.

To Max's relief, she was pleased that they were understanding and thoughtful and considerate to plan ways they could discuss ways to keep in touch. But what concerned Max most of all was Clark's feelings towards her and how they would be interrupted by the long distance relationship the three of them shared together.

Just when they thought of a way to make the day pass by faster, Max heard the front door click open.

The brunette peered down the hall with such high hopes to see William and Joyce walk through the front door, carrying groceries and laughing at inappropriate things William would say to his wife to get her riled up.

But instead, Max saw something quite dreadful.

What she saw was Joyce walk through the front door, alone. Behind her was a stranger she didn't quite identify by the uniform they wore. As she read Joyce's body language and how sapped of joy she was, Max dreaded what bad news had befallen the Price family.

The twins were unaware as to what was going on, only relying on Max's blank stare down the hall, until they stood beside their best friend and looked at what she was looking at.

Joyce was already heartbroken enough, that it was even more agonising to see the confused expressions of her children as they scampered towards her in feared anticipation of what dreadful news Joyce had to tell them.

"Kids... it's your father. I... he... he's dead." Joyce said with a broken voice.

"What?!" Chloe exclaimed, her whole body going numb in disbelief.

"I-I know it's hard to believe, but... a truck collided with him on his way to come pick me up from the store. The truck ran a red light and y-your father died on impact."

"No! No! No, h-how could this be?! Why is it true?! It can't be true!"

"Chloe, Chloe. Dear. I need you to stay strong for me, now."

Chloe lost balance in her legs, which in turn caused her to fall down with the assistance of her mother who gently sat her down as she shared her pain.

What Joyce felt was missing was seeing her son's reaction to the sudden loss of his father. The blonde woman looked up at her son who was still standing on his feet.

His hands were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, almost drawing blood from how frustrated he was. His whole body trembled as hot tears ran down his cheeks, meeting in the centre of his chin. Clark's mouth was open but his jaw was clenched, showing that he was physically fighting back his emotions but as soon as he felt the soft caress of his mother's hand on his forearm, Clark faltered.

It took a minute for Max herself to absorb this information herself.

By looking over at the dinner table at the photograph of William, Chloe and Clark dressed as pirates, Max felt her heart sink into her stomach. To realise how much of an influence William Price had on Max was well enough to say that he treated her like his own daughter. And now upon hearing of his passing left a hole in Max's chest, even more so now that she realised her leaving Arcadia would not be justified. She came to realise that once she'd leave Arcadia, Clark, Chloe and Joyce would have nobody else to comfort them for William's passing.

The brunette put her face in her hands and bawled her eyes out while Clark and Chloe did the same around their mother.

It really was the worst time for Max Caulfield to leave after all...

#life is strange #max caulfield #chloe price #joyce price #angst #loss #depression #heartbreak

[moririki]

⤷ MORE THAN YOU'D BARGAIN FOR

DENJI X READER -> 1.7K
when it comes to a fool blinded by love, it sure hurts to have the short end of the stick

REQUEST -> ✰
CONTAINS -> angst, friends with benefits‼️, happy ending bc i'm weak like that, denji not knowing how to process emotions, very loose college!au cos i'm lazy, makima being slightly antagonised because fuck her, mentions of sex but nothing super explicit i don't think
MORI'S THOUGHTS -> thinking about denji's hands. i want to learn how to animate manga panels now so i can do a csm edit. also the writing style got kinda boring im SORRY

HEARTBREAK WAS ALWAYS BOUND TO HAPPEN IN THESE SORT OF RELATIONSHIPS. anyone with a pair of eyes and ears could give a clear answer to the question "who does denji like?" and no matter how much you wanted that answer to change, it would never be you.

even when the blonde boy had been so insistent on his heart belonging to another, he still had urges. so under the influence of one too many bottles of alcohol, it was a fairly easy decision for both of you to fall into bed together. more than once. more than you'd care to admit.

being with denji was nice. he was funny, sweet at times and vulgar during the others, and you found yourself repeating a mantra of don't catch feelings for your friend during your time together. and truth be told, it was hard not to, even when you and denji had finished your business and the topic of conversation always seemed to make its way back to makima.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth when denji acted like nothing had happened between the pair of you in other settings. the bitterness turned sour when you realised that there was no reason for him to have to either, and you cursed yourself when you realised you had done the worst thing possible and gone and fallen for your friend who so clearly wouldn't like you back.

but there were times where you thought that you just might have a chance.

even though your cursed your heart for fluttering and rearing its head each time so willingly at denji's mercy, you couldn't help but take every offhand action of his as a ray of hope. with the way his hands engulfed yours to anchor himself as he thrusted into you, the way his lips left urgent kisses on your lips as you panted beneath him, the way he whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you cried out in ecstasy.

and even when you were lying next to each other in his bed, catching your breath. you would turn to look at his face sometimes, only to see him staring at you already with a look in his eyes that could only be described as wistful. but you were a fool to think that you could ever upseat makima in denji's eyes.

false hope could only get you so far.

with his breath tickling the back of your neck and his large hand rubbing patterns into your hip, this false hope really had gotten you somewhere. but all good things must come to an end. words that you dreaded to say weighed heavy on your tongue, but you dragged yourself along, lifting them just enough to feel them escape your lips before you could really stop them.

"denji, what are we?"

you felt the hand that rested on you go still, and the arm that was poised as a pillow for you went rigid. hell, the boy that was holding you so close to his chest had practically stopped breathing, and you felt your eyelids slide shut in a bitter defeat before you heard another word. it's not like you needed them to understand how he felt, anyway.

"we're friends, aren't we?" his tone was so controlled, so even and level and unlike the denji that you knew and, dare you say it, loved. it sent another shot tubneling straight through your heart, and you were glad that you were currently facing away from him. you wouldn't be able to handle seeing the look on his face as all of your tentative hopes were crushed under his heel. all you wanted to do was curl in on yourself and maybe try to cry away the numbness that was invading your body from the chest outward.

you raised a shaking hand to push denji's own off of you, and you felt the mattress underneath you creak as the boy shifted in confusion at your behaviour.

"y/n?"

your kept your back turned to him as you got out of his bed, pulling on your own clothed and scowling in frustration when you couldn't find your shirt anywhere. you were seconds away from letting the first droplets fall, and you did not want to let denji see.

you snagged some random material of a shirt off of the bedroom floor, yanking it over your head and turning to face denji with a face that you hoped wasn't too scrunched from holding back your tears.

"we're not just friends and you fucking know it."

you didn't have time to register his wounded facial expression or the pleading calls of your name that he cast towards your retreating figure, but you grabbed your shoes before leaving his dorm, shutting the door behind you a little too forcefully and storming off back to your own room.

you must look insane, padding along the halls with no shoes as angry tears streaked down your face and you tried your best not to audibly sob. by the time you had made it back to your room your eyes were streaming, and you flopped on your bed with little regard for anything else other than crying your eyes out.

truth be told, after that fateful night and the best cry of your life you felt much better. you knew where you stood, you had your feelings sorted out, and you knew that a little distance would really help you to finally move on from your friend.

now, if only denji would stop calling and texting you like nothing had happened.

you felt like you could scream when you saw a notification from him, asking if you wanted to study for the test that you had next week. you bit back the petty urge to ask him if he wanted to study with you as just friends, instead opting to turn your phone off and bury your face in your pillow once again.

matters of the heart take time, after all.

on denji's end, things weren't looking much better. he brushed off his confusion at your actions and words when you had left so abruptly the other day, only to find himself staring at his ceiling trying to decipher his feelings and what the hell you had meant.

he likes makima. and he has, for a while now. he could count on one hand the amount of times he had interacted with the girl who sat in front of him in the lecture hall, and every time had been met with this strange giddy feeling in his chest. though it was rare, he knew that feeling.

but the one he felt right now was so, so, different. when the door clicked shut behind you, it felt like a piece of him had up and left along with you. the very reason that he had accelerated things so far in your relationship was because of how right things felt with you. the slightest graze of your fingertips across his chest didn't light any fireworks in his mind, but it's like warmth perforated his skin and was injected straight into him from you.

truth be told, that feeling was the most addicting he had ever felt. and when he heard that air of finality right after the door shut behind you, it didn't take long for denji to realise just how cold everything felt without you.

but he still liked makima, right?

that giddy feeling in his chest he got from her was enough to fill the you-shaped hole, right?

you not talking to him wasn't what made his heart hurt, right?

he only realised just how wrong he had it when he talked to makima for the fourth time ever. she had turned in her seat, even smiling at him and asking for a pen, and all that came to mind was how much he missed your smile.

hell, he missed everything. the sound of your laugh, the smell of your hair. the way you fit against him and said his name. and that's when he realised this you-related feeling was.

longing.

there was a knock on your door. and another. you groaned, rolling over to check the time to see that it was three in the morning.

by the time you had cracked your door open you saw a flash of blond hair and a face all-too-familiar, you knew it was too late to slam your door shut. denji's face perked up, and you already knew that you were done for.

he lifted his hand, revealing a pretty albeit crumpled bouquet of flowers. you almost giggled to yourself, guessing that the mastermind of that romantic gesture was most likely denji's roommate aki. but it was appreciated, nonetheless.

"what do you want, denji?" you were painfully aware of just how much of a mess you looked right now- eyes still red around the rim from how many self-pitying tears you had shed over this entire situation.

denji's mouth and opened and closed, and you sighed against your barely open door which still had a chain on it.

"i'm not in the mood, denji."

"no, no, it's just that i wanted to say that i've finally figured out what we are." it appears tgat your friend finally found his voice. you looked him in the eye again, trying not to let the hope in your heart build itself too high. "we're way more than friends, y/n."

you felt any resistance crumble at those words, and the sheepish smile on your face grew.

"so, can i come in?" you smiled at denji, shutting your door to undo the latch before opening it again, wide enough to let him back in to your life. consider him a weakness of yours.

the first thing denji did when he crossed the threshold of your door was wrap his arms around you, dried tears and crumpled flowers and all, and bury his face in your hair. the only words he had to offer was a mumbled i miss you into your skin, and you felt your body melt against him like it had so many times before.

when you finally broke apart, you couldn't help but wonder.

"so, what are the flowers for denji?" the boy before you blushed, his eyes flitting off to the side. he raised a hand to the back of his neck, taking a breath to summon some courage.

"i was hoping... that i could take you out on a date. or be your boyfriend. something like that."

"what?" denji was still bright red, though his eyes were locked onto yours.

"you heard me." you smiled once again, taking a step forwards and effectively closing the distance between you two.

"i would love to."

take a look at the menu - ,, ⚖️ ·˚ ༘ ꒱

#moririki‧₊˚✩彡.🧺 #100 followers event!‧₊˚✩彡.📦 #x reader #chainsaw man #csm #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #denji x reader #denji angst #chainsaw man angst #csm angst #chainsaw man imagines #csm imagines #chainsaw man imagine #csm imagine #denji imagines #denji imagine #denji #angst‧₊˚✩彡.🕰 #event‧₊˚✩彡.📦

[kiddiesmores]

You Need To Calm Down

What if one way the boys fall asleep is by sucking their girlfriends nipple for comfort? It starts as a joke but they end up getting really into it?

@skyguy-peach this one’s for youuuu <3

Bokuto

his team lost their game :(

he spent the day sulking after that

to calm him down you told him to take a nap with you

he was so pouty 🥺 he’ll drag his feet to your bed and collapse on you

“cuddles 🥺” he’d ask and OF COURSE YOU SAY YES LIKE UR NOT A MONSTER !!

next thing you know your holding him, his head on your chest

but he can’t sleep

the way you’re stroking his head isn’t enough

“bokubaby? What’s wrong?”

“i cant sleep” his voice muffles against your his hoodie

his hands slipped under the fabric, “Warm..”

you giggled watching him shove his head under the hoodie

suddenly you got an idea

“bo~ I know a way to get you to bed”

his head poked out of the hood, looking at his little pouty face made you coo

slipping down your bra, you brought his face to your boob, motioning for him to suck

hus eyes lit up as he immediately wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking softly, no questions asked

bo isn’t really one to question things, especially when boobs are involved

there was a quiet presence in your room, which isn’t really usual with bo. His face rested under your hoodie and shirt, mouth sucking on your nipple with his eyes closed.

his breathing slowed and his body relaxed while you cradled him, eventually slipping into a deep sleep, letting your nipple be released from his mouth.

you smiled at your boy under your hood, letting him keep his face in your warmth so he wouldn’t wake up back into his emo mode.

placing a soft kiss on his head, you let bokuto sleep for a hour or two, as you watched baking/cooking vids in the meantime.

when he starts to stir you caress his face, trying to coax him back to sleep. but alas, it was too late, he was waking up.

“hi baby~” you cooed, watching him rub thr tiredness out of his eyes. bokuto smiled that classic, goofy, signature bokuto smile at you and slipped his head out of your hoodie. “can’t elieve i sucked your boob to go to sleep.” he jokes, “i see why babies do this, it was comfy as fuck.”

“well maybe we should do it more often.” you suggested

“hell yeah we should, now come here i want the other one!!”

Akaashi

our editor boy 🥺

he was so stressed :(

they threw him into another project and he hasn’t even finished the first one

they won’t even extend his deadline and so that means staying up later and-

“keiji? are you okay?”

you shut your book, akaashis hands were gripping his hair, elbows on the desk, staring at the panels infront of him

he sighed, “i think i need a break..”

awh, opening your arms, you waitedfor your sleep deprived boyfriend to lay down

as he layed in your arms, you couldn’t help but notice how nervous akaashi looked

“y/n...do you remember the other night when we made love..”

you smiled, “how could i forget, you fell asleep while sucking on my nipple keiji~” you teased

then you realized, “you want to suck them again? will that make you feel better?”

he nodded sheepishly

you kissed his cheek, “alright then, if it’ll make you rest.”

you peeled off your shirt and bra, bringing keiji to your breast

his lips attached softly to your nipple, sucking gently and giving kitten licks

his other hand rested on your breast for more control, but it wasn’t long before sleep took hold of him

the way you cradled him and the comfortable feeling of you in his mouth was just too much, he was out like a light

once akaashi was asleep you laid his head down on the pillow next to you. His arms sprawled out like a toddler asleep in their crib, and you couldn’t help but coo at the sight. You threw you shirt back on, wincing a bit as it rubbed against your sore nipple.

waltzing over to keijis surprisingly neat looking desk, you sat down and started going over all the panels he was working on, translating words and fixing grammar mistakes. You put in headphones playing a playlist you made for him to stay focused.

you were too in the moment to notice akaashi stirring, eventually waking up startled because he had fell asleep when there’s so much work to be done. He also blushed realizing that he fell asleep attached to your breast like a new born.

but that’s besides the point, he looked over to see you gracefully doing his work, going back and fourth with both projects at once, looking at notes about what his boss said needed to be added.

he forgets you both work together sometimes and that he could just ask you for help. Keiji got out of the bed and came up behind you in his desk chair, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You jumped a bit, he had startled you.

grinning a bit, he took the airpods out of your ears, “Thank you my love, I don’t know what i’d do without you.” He peppers kisses all over your soft lips, admiration and love in his eyes.

he’s so happy that he has you to help him relax, and he definitely loves the idea of sucking your nipples in order to get that far, even if he denies he even asked to begin with.

Kenma

“no”

“please 🥺”

“no”

“kenmaaaa”

“i’m playing right now, plus what would we even gain from me doing that”

“taking a break and laying with your lovely girlfriend isn’t enough?”

he turns and looks at you

blinks

then turns back around

“BITCH-“

kenma sighs putting down his headphones and tying his hair back into its loose pony tail

your body sprawled out on the bed, “cmooonnn”

he huffed and collapsed ontop of you, smiling at your soft giggles

his hands rubbed up and down your sides, as you both talked about anything and everything,, it was 3am after all

“i heard that bokutos girlfriend let him suck her boob to go to sleep after his game”

“dead ass?? did it work??”

kenma shrugged

“should we try?”

kenmas face flushed, “i mean,,sure i guess..”

you unhooked your bra and motioned for him to get under your hoodie

“its so warmf” his muffled voice said and you let out a laugh, startling your cat 🥺

kenmas face rested between both boobs, sucking each nipple one at a time before sticking to the one he liked more

soft noises left kenmas mouth as he sucked on your nipples. you couldn’t help but moan a little, quietly of course. kenma got so lost in the feeling he didn’t even notice his breathing slow down.

he felt so calm, his stress from work gone, all he could focus on was your soft skin in his mouth.

your hands stroked his locks, scratching slightly at his scalp, making him sigh out of pleasure.

soon he drifted off to sleep, face nuzzling between the valley of your breasts. your head turned to look at the clock, “4:43am.”

“goodnight kenma..” you said as you dozed off.

the next morning, 1:36pm to be exact, kenma woke up. a little startled as his face was still under your shirt, a little bit of drool on your chest, whoops.

he remembered how he ended up like this and blushed, slipping his head from under your hood, just to see you on your phone watching a game theory fnaf video.

“good morning ken~” you say, leaning to kiss his forehead.

he didn’t respond, just laying back ontop of you, his face resting in the crook of your neck, but his eyes watching the video with you.

you turned up the phone so he could hear better, stroking his back with your free hand.

“i wonder if she’ll do it again after my charity stream tonight..” kenma thought to himself, regardless he thanks you for introducing him into his new sleeping method.

he also needs to thank bokuto for telling him about that as well.

i hope you guys liked this 🥺 it was so fun to write!! me and fern were talking about it when i was in her inbox and it spiraled from there 😼. @fern-writes-ig

have a good rest of your day everyone!!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #kenma #kenma kozume #kenma kozume x reader #kenma x reader #bokuto #bokuto kotoro #bokuto kotoro x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #kenma kozume headcanons #bokuto kotoro headcanons #akaashi keiji headcanons #kiddiewritez

[separatist-apologist]

Answering the "prompt"- Lucien "the most daring pilot in the galaxy" and Elain, " his sexy Naboo senator wife" for one person + me. I meant for this to be so smutty. In my head it was so pornagraphic. and you know what, if people like this, it can be multiple parts. I'll write how these two dingbats met.

Anyway, my Elucien SW AU is SFW and rated E for Eww where is the smut?

-

Swoop, duck, fire—Lucien’s thoughts were cut off by a too bright explosion and the warning trills of his nav droid.

You have an eighty percent chance of death, the machine beeped, irritation laced through each tone. Lucien only laughed, rejoining the fray with a relish. Swoop, duck, fire, he told himself, looping away from the spiraling tie fighter. What was supposed to be a routine patrol through the mid-rim had turned into a fire fight and Lucien couldn’t pretend he wasn’t exhilarated. This was what he lived for, the rush of adrenaline, the orange against an onyx sky, and the knowledge that when he left, he’d made the galaxy a little bit safer. Every day the remnants of the Empire were allowed to inch forward made them bolder. This moment and every one after it was a reminder of what they’d lost and what they still had left to lose. Lucien was all too happy to take it all.

He took down another tie with a loud woop of exuberance just as his nav panel lit up with an incoming call. He glanced down, stomach sinking.

Elain Archeron—incoming transmission.

He swore she must be force sensitive. It was like she could see everything he did, knew every promise he broke without needing to be there. He’d sworn this was merely a routine patrol and here he was, knocking out his fourth tie. Lucien ignored the call with no small amount of guilt, focusing on his quarry.

That last blast sent the remaining ties scurrying back for hyperspace, retreating further into the unknown reaches of the galaxy. Let them rot, he though with satisfaction. They deserved no less than a quiet passing, unmourned and unmissed. Lucien looked back to his nav deck, his droid beeping through his helmet.

Should I call Elain back?

“No, BD,” Lucien replied too quickly. Better to ask forgiveness that permission and better to ask when they were in front of each other. She was less likely to shout if he could kiss her as he begged.

Signaling to his squad it was time to head back, each flyer punched the coordinates to Coruscant’s hyperspace lane. With nothing to do, Lucien thought of what excuse he might offer Elain for today’s skirmish. He hadn’t gone looking for it, but Lucien never backed down from a fight. Elain wouldn’t be thrilled and when it came to his wife, the fearsome senator from Naboo, Lucien knew there was no winning the upcoming fight. His best bet was to grovel and hope she missed him so much she was willing to overlook his reckless flyboybehavior.

It took hours to return and by the time Lucien dropped from hyperspace, he was practically sweating. Beneath him, Coruscant was an innocent ball of light, a planet-wide city that drew only the most enterprising of people. Not just anyone could make it on Coruscant—the city swallowed starry-eyed new comers every day, an exacting price for the possibility of fortune and fame. He wasn’t surprise his wife had taken one step onto the planets carved out surface and forced it to bow—Elain was a force of nature in a gorgeous dress. That she’d ever looked his way at all, a no one from Yavin 4, the son of diplomat and a pilot who had made his way to Coruscant looking for a job. Tired of running spice, tired of the endless grind for credits when what he wanted was to make things better. His mother had fought with the resistance, had shot down star fighters, had put a helmet on his head before he’d ever taken his first step. He considered that his legacy and was proud to serve the galaxy no matter how reckless a reputation he'd made.

That the senator of Naboo, the sister to their elected Queen no less, had ever taken more than one look at him still stunned him. Elain had her pick of the galaxy and settled with a man covered in droid oil more often than not. If he’d been smart, he would have never dared anger her lest she get wise and leave him for someone that wouldn’t risk her wrath.

Lucien had never been accused of being smart.

He docked his ship in the naval yard, his clear cockpit rising overhead. The deafening sounds of the hangar nearly knocked him back to his seat. A lifetime of being right next to explosives had left Lucien a little deaf. Loud sounds tended to sound muffled and yet jarring all at once, activating that same adrenaline he felt during an air fight.

Avoiding the members of his squadron, who’d seen the incoming transmission, Lucien all but ran across the city, helmet tucked up beneath his arm. Elain lived in the heart of Republic City, the section of Coruscant dedicated to politics. His wife would be found on one of the upper most levels on 500 Republica, the nicest building in the city. It belonged to her family and before her, Lucien would never have dreamed of stepping foot in the gilded, golden lobby. A glass lift hurtled him upward, away from smog choked air towards the thinner atmosphere where fresh oxygen was pumped in for only those who could afford it.

Elain was waiting in a silky blue night dress, the pearl strung straps caressing the freckled skin of her shoulders. Golden brown curls cascaded about her shoulders, framing her soft, heart shaped face illuminated in the city’s always illuminated glow. When she saw him, she crossed her arms over her chest, pushing the rounded tops of her breasts upwards.

“You promised,” she murmured when the lift closed behind him, leaving him no where to retreat.

He held up his palms. “I couldn’t let them retreat.” It was an admission of guilt, one he couldn’t help but offer. All his excused flew out the window, utterly breathless of the sight of her standing in a pool of moonlight. “Forgive me,” he pleaded, walking to her until there were only inches between them.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Elain reminded him reproachfully. “And I will be left to mourn you.”

“I’m sure there will be a line around the block, starting at my casket. Men from all over the galaxy will come, hoping for a shot at—” “Don’t.”

Lucien shut his mouth, uneasy and mollified. “I’m sorry. Elain, I love you, but…”

“But you’ll always be a reckless flyboy?” she replied, one brow arched upwards. Lucien couldn’t resist the smile that spread over his face, rubbing his calloused hands over the smooth skin of her arm.

“I think you like that about me,” he teased, catching how hard she worked to suppress her smile. “Admit it, sweetheart.”

“I will never,” she replied with all the stubbornness he’d come to cherish. Lucien hauled her up into his arms, fight forgotten. Elain squealed, feet nearly catching him upside the jaw.

“I suppose I will have to torture it out of you,” he warned, walking her through the living room to the spacious bedroom they shared. Elain gasped for breath, her laughter infectious. By the time he tossed her atop the cream duvet, Lucien’s side’s hurt from walking and laughing, too.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Elain begged when Lucien lowered himself atop her. He settled between her legs, sliding the silky material of her night dress up her thigh.

“I need to tell you something,” Elain gasped, rising up on her elbows. “I know you’re frustrated by my requests you stay out of trouble, but I promise I’m asking for unselfish reasons.” “You can’t stand not having a gorgeous guy like myself around,” Lucien agreed, attempting to push her legs wider so he might lie fully between them. Elain reached for his face, stopping him.

“It’s more than that. Of course I need you. You’re my husband.I love you more than my own life, but Lucien, children also need a father and if you’re reckless, who will raise our son?”

Lucien’s brain emptied out, the only sound a soft ringing that never seemed to quite fade. “Son?”

“Or daughter,” Elain amended, eyes searching his own. “I wanted to be sure before I told you—”

“You’re pregnant?” he asked dumbly, warmth filling his chest. “I’m going to be a father?”

Her apprehension melted, replaced by relief. Had she been afraid of his reaction? Lucien sprung forward, yanking her into his arms before realizing he probably shouldn’t be so rough with her. “Elain, that’s wonderful news.”

“It means you’ll have to cut out your more reckless impulses,” Elain warned, her breath hot against his neck. “I have no intention of raising this child by myself.”

“I can ask for fewer patrols. I can train the new recruits,” he swore with only a tinge of disappointment. Elain caressed his face, sliding until the pair were laying in bed facing the other, her fingertips grazing against his cheek.

“You should still patrol,” he murmured, unaware of the relief her words filled him with. “Just not so often. If you must be reckless, at least remember what’s waiting for you at home.”

“My fearsome wife,” he agreed, kissing her softly. “What size helmet do you think a baby wears?”

She smiled then, thumb tracing his bottom lip. “Already planning the baby’s first mission?”

And it was a joke, of course, but he knew she’d bring the baby onto the senate floor with her. Elain would whisper in their little ear, telling them who could be trusted and who couldn’t and all the little tells she’d learned over the years to determine who lied for their own benefit and who truly cared about the galaxy. Their child would be better versed in political warfare than most adults and if they just so happened to be the greatest pilot the galaxy had ever seen on top of all that, well…

“We should get a little hover craft, so the baby can practice.”

Elain’s smile was so beautiful he was blinded momentarily. He cupped her face, unable to believe this was his life. That she was his life. “I love you so much, you know?”

She kissed him back, her lips heartbreakingly soft. “I know you do.”

He settled his knee between her legs, a new thought dawning on him. “You don’t think the baby can—” “Don’t be stupid, Lucien,” Elain replied with an eye roll.

“It was an honest question,” he insisted, sliding a hand over her still flat stomach. Elain nestled her head against his neck, her soft, vanilla scented curls invading his sense. He shifted, nose nuzzling her own.

“A baby.”

“A baby,” she agreed. “Start thinking about names. Goodnames, Lucien. Not ones your droid suggests.”

His outrage was manufactured. “You insult BB-8, who stayed behind so we could be alone tonight.” “I thought I had too much room at the end of this bed.”

He grinned, still cupping her face. Lips touching her own, he asked, “What did I do to get so lucky?”

“It’s a mystery, flyboy,” she replied, carding her fingers through his ponytailed hair. “Don’t mess it up.”

Lucien yanked the covers over their heads. “Wouldn’t dreamof it.”

#hey didnt i know you once??? #elucien #elucien drabble #elain x lucien #elucien star wars au #i have another where she's a sith user #and hes like a fumbling jedi like #and she tries to end his life at the end of a magenta light saber #and hes like: oh they thats my WIFE now #anyway #this is like #if poe dameron met padme #and they fell in love

[wille-zarr]

The Mandalorian: “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Ten ~ “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; canon-level violence; angst; brief discussion of hunger/starvation; themes of parent/child separation; discussion of pregnancy; flirty rough-housing; character death

word count: 15.3k

chapter summary: when a dreaded face from your past emerges, everything in your new life, including your relationship with the mandalorian, is put under threat.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: I’m really, really nervous for this one. 🙃Please read using the Ao3 link below if the length causes your app to crash! Also, MAJOR THANKS TO @sana-katarn​ WHO WAS A HUGE HELP.

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Ten: “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

If Grandpa was alive to see this mess, he’d roll over and die again.

No.

No-

He’d find Thall.

Kill him.

Then die again.

“Stars,” you groan, leaning both palms on either side of the sink. Lifting your head, you glare at the face staring back at you from the refresher mirror.

Your face… it feels like it’s all you recognize of yourself these days…

You grit your teeth as shame weighs your eyes low, down your bare body, down to the speckled floor beneath your toes. You wiggle them to ground yourself- to reign in the disgrace squeezing at your chest.

…Dank Ferrik.

You press your eyes against the voice pushing, pushing at your consciousness.

…

I told you so…

I know, Grandpa.

I told you Thall was sketchy.

I know! Maker! Do you have to rub it in, Gramps?

Just wanted to point it out. And don’t call me Gramps. Makes me feel ancient.

Kark off. You’re dead.

…

I love you, Grandpa.

….

Kriff.

No one warned you that the worst part of growing up would be the realization your family was blasted correct about a lot of blasted things.

Hissing through your teeth, you fling your hand through the current of water flowing from the faucet, the droplets glittering across the reflected crown of your head.

Oh, fine. Fine!

You twist away- hand snapping up your shirt from the floor.

You’re used to everything going wrong. What’s new?

Another day, another “you’ll maybe possibly probably die.” Only this time, everyone’s survival rests upon you.

Big karkin’ yay.

If you survive this, you’re writing a book.

“Thall, how about you just kiss my- erf!-” the collar of your shirt catches your nose- “kiss my butt!” You yank on the edge of the hem until your head pops free.

“Just kark off-” you mash on the control panel, and the door opens with a snap- “straight to- YIPES!”

You fling backwards.

“GET OUT!”

Face exploding with warmth, you press behind the door. “What the hell! Can’t you knock?! I’m in my underwear, for Maker’s sake!”

Your shrieks are met with silence… so you peer around the corner…

Your wide eyes are greeted by the back of your Mandalorian intruder, the ends of his cape still twirling around at his heels from his own startled spin.

“Din, get OUT!” you hiss, ducking back behind the frame. You pull on the ends of your shirt, fighting to cover the bare skin of your thighs.

A strained, modulated groan slips around the doorframe.

“….d…r -s unl-ked.”

“What!?” you squeak, head ducking around to gawk at him. “Stop garbling, Djarin! I can’t-”

“Your door was unlocked!”

His words are sharp, strained.

“Anyone c-could have come in while you were showering and- and-”

“-Go away!”

You pat around the refresher counter, fingers gripping the closest thing within reach, and you hurl it-

“Out!”

“I can’t- Ka’r’ika! Is-… fresher paper?”

You bend around the door, watching as his gloved hands pick at the ribbon of white paper trailing across his shoulder.

You can’t help but grin.

“You look like shit, Mando.”

“Damn it, girl,” he grumbles, so low you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear it. “Can- can I… Dank Ferrik. Can I turn around now?”

“Blast it- no! Go away! I’m in my underwear!”

“What are you wearing underwear for-”

“Why am I wearing underwear? Did you really just-”

“I- I didn’t mean-”

“Some of us sleep in our underwear, Din! Gosh! What- do you sleep in your armor or something?”

...

“Oh my Maker. You sleep in your armor.”

...

“…No.”

...

A smirk quirks at the corner of your mouth, and you’re grateful he cannot relax at its sight. Stars, you take too much pleasure in making him squirm…

“Y-you’re not staying in here alone-” his voice strains- “not with hunters-”

“I’m safe-”

“-get in the bed.”

…

You blink.

…

His hands rise to his waist.

“Get in the bed.”

“Hmf.” You purse your lips. “Yes, karkin’ sir.”

Sticking your tongue out for good measure, you spin on your heel to sweep your pants up from the floor.

“Gosh,” you grumble, sticking a leg in as you hop one-legged towards the bed. You glance down at the print on your underwear. “I hope you didn’t get a good look- urg!” You lose your balance, slumping across the mattress.

 “Wouldn’t want this to be the way you find out I’m a horse girl…”

“What?”

“What?”

…

…

“…nothing.”

You hook the last button of your pants. “I guess you’re free to spin around now.”

He hesitates- then turns at your words.

“Look at you,” you snort. “Creeping in that dark corner.” You slide both legs beneath the comforter, pulling it up to just beneath your chin. “I’ll never get any sleep if you lurk over there. I’ll wreck my bike tomorrow, and it’ll be all your fault.”

…

Heavy sigh.

The Mandalorian emerges from the shadow-shrouded corner, and he flicks his fingers out at his side.

“Better?”

“Hmf, fine.”

You crinkle your nose.

“You can stay, but don’t stare at me all night like some dang rakghoul-” you scooch forward, pulling the comforter up over your head like a scarf, only your face visible- “trying to scare me.”

-a puff of modulated air.

“You’re not afraid of anything.”

The Mandalorian lumbers forward, fingers hooked on his belt.

“And that’s what concerns me.”

He pauses right beside your head, visor angled down to stare into your eyes.

“Come now, Mando. You scared the shit out of me on Taek.” You dramatically flop out flat across the bed, letting the comforter crumble around your body. “Thought for sure you’d kill me for being annoying.”

…

“You were afraid of me?”

You let your weak smile speak for itself.

“Hmf.”

He re-hooks his fingers on his belt.

“Could have fooled me-” his voice is light, teasing- “you were a mouthy little thing.”

Mouthy.

Mouthy??

Oh, you can show him mouthy-

You part your lips to snot off at Din, but his hand extends, pats the crumpled comforter, ripping your response straight from your mouth. You watch, brow quirked, as he pulls, smooths out the comforter around you. His visor lifts-

Oh.

Oh Maker just cast you in the Pit of Carkoon-

He can be so kriffing thoughtful and it’s really hot and you want to die-

Lowering your eyes, you grunt, picking at a loose thread to distract from that familiar squeeze, that ache in your chest.

Stop-

Stop.

You can’t get mixed up with this man-

You’re… you’re not able to-

…Someone’s going to get hurt.

…

“I… I- uh- talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

…

He tilts his head at that.

“Fine!” You throw a hand up, swallowing quickly. “... And- and when I’m not.”

“Hmm.”

“Still-” you jab a finger towards him, eager to just talk, distract yourself from that familiar warmth blooming in your chest- “I’d rather have been killed by you in the desert than spend another day on Taek.”

With a groan reminiscent of a wounded Kath Hound, you roll over onto your stomach- away from the Mandalorian.

“Kriff, so many sand stingers!”

A second roll, this time pulling the comforter along with you.

“And you can’t even eat them!”

A third roll.

“And I would know.”

A fourth roll- you stop, satisfied with the level of burrito-wrapping you’ve achieved.

“I tried.”

The Mandalorian has the audacity to chuckle.

“My lips were swollen for two days-” you wiggle, freeing your arms from their burrito prison- “and you laugh?”

“Ah.”

A small, strangled cough slips through the modulator.

“Sorry.”

You try your best to look angry- but you can’t resist the cheeky grin.

“Well, anyhow,” you sigh, re-crumpling the comforter around your body like a nesting mother bird. “Thank the Maker you flashed that Beskar of yours around like a baited hook, reeling me in like a fish.”

“Hmf.”

The Mandalorian leans forward, hands on his hips- his body casting a light shadow across your cheek.

“You would have found a way off without me.”

Rolling your eyes, you can only huff, “Yeah, blasted, right.”

You plunge your face, your grimace deep within your pillow.

“Blast it- I was so damn hungry; I was this close-” you lift up two fingers held closely together- “to resorting to cannibalism.” Your hand drops with a plop.

…

Truth be told… you have always wondered if Toydarian tastes like Nuna…

Heh.

…

-The bed jolts.

Your head shoots up.

You blink.

…

The Mandalorian-

-sitting beside you.

Close.

Very… close.

“Din?” Your hands fumble with the tangled comforter. “Wh-”

“I’m sorry.”

His tone is…

Angry.

He turns away from you, striking his fingers against his thigh armor in rapid succession.

Your eyelashes flutter, taken completely off-guard by his harsh admission.

“Uh…”

You sit up straight, eyes glued to the gleam of his helm.

“What exactly for?”

Oh, kark, what did he do?

Did you forget you should be mad about something?

“I should have taken you back to the Crest-” his shoulders shrug forward- “…the night we made our deal on Taek.”

The Mandalorian stops tapping- balls the comforter into his fist.

…

You blink.

…

“Maker, Din!”

Flopping back, you slap your hands across both eyes.

That’s it? Damn man is fretting over that?

With a dismissive flick of your hand, you can’t help but snicker. “Oh, come on, even if you had asked me to, I would have just written my obituary first- left it behind for the sand stingers.”

Grinning ear to ear, you, again, gather the comforter up over your head like a protective cocoon-

-just like the child does with his blanket, now that you think about it…

“I must say though, Mandalorian, you could have at least lugged off those two dead dudes you killed.” Crinkling your nose, you narrow your eyes at Din as he shifts, eases back against the wall, observing your movements with careful attention.

“Leaving me all alone with dead people-” you cluck your tongue- “very improper of you, Mr. Djarin.”

The Mandalorian tucks his head aside.

“You weren’t alone.”

“Yeah, no kidding!” The comforter slips forward, consuming your head entirely and entombing you in darkness. Pushing against the quilt, attempting to free yourself, you continue, “I- erf- had two decomposing-”

“-I stayed.”

Your hands drop.

…

“The entire night... on the roof.”

…

“Oh.”

Oh.

…

You sit in darkness.

…

The bed shifts, tilting you towards the movement-

The comforter is flung off your head, and your squint is met by your own face reflected in the Mandalorian’s visor.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

His words are tentative, but you hear their teasing edge.

Fine.

He wants to play.

You can handle “play.”

It’s easier than the truth.

…

“No, Mando.”

~Yes, Mando~

“I’m not.”

~I am~

“My terror for you was eradicated from my head the moment I was assaulted by the sight of your revolting bedroom quarters.”

~My terror is you’ll learn the truth about what I am~

“Your hair might be exceptionally soft and astoundingly fragrant, as your hair conditioner collection would imply-” you tap a finger atop his helmet- “but you’re messy, Din.”

~Seven Corellian hells, my life is messy oh my stars~

…

Silence.

…

“Hmm.”

His head jerks to the side.

“You’re welcome to clean it-” he shifts forward- “if it offends you.”

A smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth.

“I’d probably find something sentient growing in a dirty sock pile.”

The Mandalorian chuckles- a rumble… deep, low.

He leans forward-

-and you scuffle to the other side of the bed.

“S-Stars! Uh, well, enough about my fears. Um, tell me-” you let your feet dangle off the side of the bed opposite from him- “what scares a Mandalorian?”

Uhg.

You tried to force a light-hearted tone; pull on one of your phony masks- but…it seems the longer time goes on-

-the more it’s impossible to pretend with Din.

This… is bad.

Especially when you have as many damn secrets to keep as you do.

You can’t help but cringe.

Kriffin’ dune worm on a stick!

Cautiously, you sneak a quick glance over your shoulder, finding Din’s position on the bed unchanged. He stares down at his hands as if lost, buried within his own thoughts.

“I’m-”

He pauses.

…

“I’m afraid of making the wrong choices...”

…

“Not being strong enough to protect... who I care about.”

…

…

Your lips part.

Well.

…

A light-hearted question.

A serious answer.

You take a deep breath, letting it steady, refocus your spiraling, spinning mind.

“Din,” you mumble, throwing his name over your shoulder. “If… if this is about the baby...”

Stars, the baby.

…

Hell… you- you can’t have this conversation right now.

How do you-

Do you just-?

“The- the responsibility of a child-” you reach up; rub your browline with trembling fingers- “it’s the single most…”

You pause.

“Th-the single most-”

…

terrifying-

exhilarating-

rewarding-

punishing-

fulfilling-

painful-

you- you can’t breathe-

“Ka’r’ika?”

You jolt forward at your name.

“Ka’r’ika, are you-”

“Being a parent-” put on your mask put on your mask- “you feel so… big and so… small.”

Dank Ferrik…

“You’re too small to forge the galaxy you want for them, no matter how much you fight for it.”

Your hand slips beneath your shirt, clenching the pendent you wear close to your heart. “But you’re big, so big- you’re everything to them- their whole galaxy.”

Your eyes slide shut.

Her- her voice will come back to you if you just stay quiet and- and-

…

“Mama, what this for?”

Even your excruciating exhaustion can’t suppress your grin. “Your belly button?” With a grunt, you lift Valera up from the cot, placing her down atop your legs.

“Well, you little womp rat… uh…”

Stars, how do you explain this to a kid?

“It’s… uh… how you ate food when you were growing in my tummy.”

She shoots you an incredulous little eyebrow lift.

Oh great-

She’s already picking up your sass.

Serves you kriffin’ right.

Your fingers wrap around the pendant hanging from Valera’s neck.

“Watch the attitude, kid.”

You give the necklace a few short tugs, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Mama!”

“Ka’r’ika?”

Oh!

You jerk around-

-Din.

“Is something… wrong?”

 “Yeah- uh, yeah.” You cough- clear your throat. “I just, dang it-” you slap your thigh- “get emotional thinking about little kids, ya know? So darned cute, the little monsters.”

He’s… not convinced.

But he doesn’t push it.

That’s… all you need from him right now.

“Look, Din. I- I know you’ll make the decision you think is right for the kid…” You lower your voice- make it easier to hide the waver. “It’s- it’s all we can do.”

...

“But you don’t… approve of my choice.”

No.

You don’t.

“I stand by everything I said before... mostly.” Your eyes lower, glaring down at the comforter. “Just make sure you aren’t making the choice to send him to a Jedi out of fear... fear of not being good enough for him.”

…

You glance back up.

“Because you are.”

...

“Ka’r’ika…”

So soft.

He always says it so soft-

“Your opinion…”

His visor dips away, almost bashfully.

“It means a lot to me.”

You blink.

“Really? Mine?”

It certainly didn’t feel that way during your argument on the Crest…

Sliding his fingers across the leather of his belt, he makes a slight choking sound.

“I… regret the things I said to you before.”

…

“I- you were saying things I didn’t want to hear...”

He turns, stares over at you.

“You’re not selfish.... far from it.”

You hold his gaze.

That damn daze.

…

“Well...” you mumble. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you either. I- I let my personal bias cloud my head and heat my tongue...”

You break the gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

…

Silence.

…

Oh stars.

You shouldn’t do it.

…

You’re gunna do it.

“Well, Mando-” energy floods your voice- “I’m flattered you hunted me down and killed a Rancor just to apologize to me.” Crawling beneath the comforter, you don’t fight the smirk cracking across your face

“Truly, Din, it means the galaxy to me.”

You scooch over further, further until-

“W-what are you-”

“Shut up.” You shove a hand into his side. “I’m trying to sleep.”

You lean against his arm, your head drooping down…

…

…

“Din.”

…

…

“Din.”

…

“Oh my gosh, kriffin’ relax, Din!”

You pull away from him. “Stop tensing! It’s like trying to sleep next to a blasted boulder!”

“It is not.”

“Loosen up!”

“I am loose.”

Oh.

You know how to loosen him up.

You jump up to your knees, staring him down.

“Hand. Now.”

…

The Mandalorian gawks at you. Or, at least, you imagine he’d be gawking if it weren’t for the, ya know, helmet.

“Din Djarin.”

You shove your open palm at him.

“Let me hold your damn hand.”

One breath-

…

Two breaths-

…

Three breaths-

His hand, warm and- kark!- so damn large, slips into your own.

“If I die tomorrow-” you give his hand a tight squeeze- “I want you to remember me like this.”

He grunts.

“Domineering and demanding?”

“You know I can hear you.” Rolling your eyes, you sigh dramatically, “As I was saying, remember me like this.” You squeeze his hand a second time-

He returns the squeeze-

“Maybe I’d rather remember the time you fell into that mud-hole on Arvala-” his free hand reaches out- tugs on your ear lobe- “and I had to pull you out while the kids laughed at us.”

You whack away his hand. “Oh, come on, Din-”

“Or maybe I’d rather remember the time you sang to the Blurgs.”

“I was bullied into tha-”

“Or the time you fell asleep in my shirt- drooled all over it.”

“Kriff off! I did not.” You yank on his hand, drawing him forward. “How would you even know?” You lean into him, squishing your nose to his visor.

“You never-

do-

your-

karking-

laundry.”

…

Din just chuckles.

Oh oh Maker his chuckle is so sexy and damn it damn it-

…

You’ve… you’ve got it bad.

Crinkling your nose, you pull away, sinking down- down- down into the comforter. “Well, you’re being mean to me. I’m going to bed.”

A… thought occurs.

…

Oh, Banthabreath.

Life is short. Do it.

“Din?”

Your eyes twist, staring up into his visor from where you lay on the bed. He watches; does not break the gaze as you reach out- grab his hand again. With a sharp tug, his glove slips right off, revealing- stars- that hand, those fingers that have haunted your daydreams since they first brushed across your lips.

Warm.

Callused.

Scarred.

Oh Maker.

If you’re losing it over a blasted hand and voice- a kneecap reveal would have you deceased.

You sigh.

“Din, tell me- uh…”

Naked skin dusts across your jaw- “Uh… Din?” -traces your earlobe- “Do- do you really plan to, uh…” -trails down your neck- “…s-stay all night?”

-his fingers pause at your collarbone.

…

“Yes.”

He resumes stroking his fingers slowly, languidly across your collarbone.

“Humor an old man, Ka’r’ika.”

You blink at him.

Old?

Huh.

Now that he mentions it…

“How old are you?” you blurt.

He freezes.

…

Oh, you just killed the mood, didn’t you?

…

Dank Ferrik.

“I’m just curious.” You lift a brow, a slight smile upon your lips. “You do grunt and groan a lot.”

The Mandalorian makes a sharp noise- tears his hand away.

“Young enough to pull you out of mud holes.”

…

You narrow your eyes at him.

…

“…Late thirties.”

Ah.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, shoving against his shoulder. “Just trying to construct a mental image of how I think you might look.”

Din huffs- crosses his arms across his chest like a sullen child.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’ll ever see it!” You jump up to your knees. “I should at least be allowed to imagine.”

“I could never live up to your fanatical imagination, Ka’r’ika.”

“What, are ya ugly or something?”

“…No.”

“Are ya hot?”

“Hardly.”

“Oh my gosh don’t say that about yourself.”

“You’ve never seen my face,” he grumbles. “You don’t know what I’m working with here.”

“Shut up.”

“The helmet is an improvement.”

“It is pretty sexy,” you laugh.

…

Silence.

Oh kriffing hells-

Did you just say-

Oh stars-

…

You hope you die tomorrow.

Shaking your head, you snort. “Fine. Whatever.”

-just change the topic change the topic-

“Uh, so, uh, tell me-” you lean in closer to him- “what does Ka’r’ika really mean? You can’t lie to me anymore- I know it doesn’t mean brat.”

“You’re right.”

He, too, leans forward-

“It means pain in the ass.”

“DIN DJARIN!”

The comforter launches over your head, plunging you into darkness. You kick and roll and yell- the comforter and sheets tangling up around you- but you can’t get free-

-because the kriffing metal idiot is holding it down.

“Let me OUT!” you shriek, kicking upwards with your feet. “I’m going to KILL YOU!”

Weight lifts from the comforter.

You fling it off, and your flaming eyes immediately turn towards-

“So, you’re going to kill me?”

Damn that smug voice!

Your hand shoots out, a sharp smack landing against his unarmored thigh.

“Ouch!”

“Eat. Banthashi- OOF!”

You’re catapulted backwards- heaved across the bed. You roll, landing up on all fours.

“Why YOU-”

“Go to sleep.”

-smack-

“DJARIN!”

You grip your ass.

“Did- did you just spank…?”

…

Oh.

Oh, it’s on now-

You fling up, firing yourself at his chest, bursting into shrieks as he easily knocks you aside.

“HEY!”

But the Mandalorian goes for you this time.

His hands grasp your hips, shoves you back behind him. You pounce again- wrap your limbs around his back- you’re yanked forward with an oof. You retaliate, jabbing your hand towards his exposed side- he grabs, stops you- but then-

His arms have you pinned- trapping you against the bed with his weight.

“G-give u-up now, bounty hunter!” You wriggle; his grip only tightens. “I-I’ve- erf- got you, Mando!”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak…. just… stares down at you.

“Yeah.”

He dips his helmet to the side.

"You’ve got me.”

…

You both burst into giggles.

“Hell, M-Mando!” you say, gasping for air between your giggles. “I’m- stars!- crying!”

"Hm.”

A light -pat- smacks against your thigh.

“Go to sleep.”

Your grin stretches ear-to-ear. “Yes, sir.”

…

Oh Maker, you’re really done for.

You quiet your laughter, shimmying back beneath the comforter, keenly aware that you might regret every bit of this impulsive behavior in the morning…

But for now?

You roll up against the Mandalorian, curling up against his side. You tuck your face-

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

His hand drops to your shoulder- moves up- stops… a tickle against the back of your neck, his fingers tracing tiny circles…

“Ka’r’ika.”

"Mhm? What? Leave me alone.”

….

“It means… ‘Dear Star’.”

…

Oh-

Oh.

...

Oh shit.

“Sweet dreams… Ka’r’ika.”

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

“See you later, Babycakes.”

“Bye, Cara!”

“The hell-” you shoot Pablo an incredulous look- “Babycakes?”

“What?”

“Please don’t answer to that in public.”

“It’s too late,” Pablo sighs, turning your racing helmet over in his hands. “I’ve answered to it twice today.”

A small smirk tickles your lips.

“Then can I call you Sweetcheeks?”

“Oh, I think the hell not-”

“Fine,” you chuckle, taking a pinch of his cheek. “Sweetcheeks it is.”

“I hate you.”

A grin cracks your face. Hey now, if he can call you Sweetheart, you can call him Sweetcheeks.

It’s only fair.

With a heavy sigh, Pablo shoves the helmet back into your hands. “Well, guess it’s back up to Thall’s skybox for me. I- uh-” his hand shoots out, pats your shoulder- “…Don’t die.”

“Pablo, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You press a hand to his chest. “I knew you cared.”

“Yeah, well,” Pablo sighs, knocking your hand off his chest. “I’ll admit, my motivations are sullied… I might have credits down on you.”

“Oh karkin’ dunes.”

“Karkin’ dunes, what?” He throws out his hands. “That’s good! It means I believe in you!”

“Kark you.”

But your smile betrays your words.

Pablo laughs- flashes you a quick wink before turning away. “Now go- win me some credits, Sweetheart,” he yells over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to a casino and let you spend them!”

“Love you, too, Sweetcheeks!”

“Love you more!”

“You answered to it!”

“… Damn it!”

…

Heh.

Pablo really is just-

-“LINE UP WARNING.”

Oh stars-

-“REPEAT. LINE UP WARNING.”

Oh stars oh stars oh stars-

Groaning like a dying Bantha, you press a gloved hand to your browline.

Hell, that cocky, confident little shit you were as a teen?

…

Yeah, you’re not so confident right now.

“I know you’ll win-”

You spin around.

“-you always did.”

“Tesen,” you say, reaching out to accept his hug. “Dank Ferrik, man! I looked over my old speederbike this morning and- wow- you really did a fantastic job on her!”

Maker- the trouble you got into on that old bike… How are you even still alive? 

Tesen chuckles- a rumble beneath your cheek. “After you disappeared, others tried taking her out on runs. But only you could get her to do the things she’s capable of.”

He pulls back.

“I kept her for the memories.” 

A cheeky grin bursts across your face. “You know I’d trust no one else but you with her.”

His eyes brighten, and he opens his mouth to-

-“LINE. UP. WARNING.”

Groaning, you stare up into Tesen’s eyes.

“I’d wish you luck-” he winks- “-but I know you don’t need it.”

“Maybe not....” A coy smile turns up your lips. “But I could still do with my traditional good luck kiss. As my friend, would you mind… since Gavon isn’t here anymore to do me the honor?”

Tesen laughs- deep, hearty-

“Well, I am a good friend.”

He bends down- hesitates- hovering just above your face-

“Tesen, yo-”

Warm lips press to yours.

Oh hell yeah-

You wrap your arms around his waist.

Gosh, you’re pathetic. One friendly little kiss, and those cocky, confident teenage vibes are pulsing through your bloodstream.

Pretty sure you could wrestle a dewback…

“Aww! How sweet!”

Pulling away, you grit your teeth at Thall’s voice booming over the loudspeaker. Your eyes shoot up to the sky.

Stars, you could kill that man…

“Hello, hello everyone!”

Tesen tears away from you- meeting your eyes one final time before sweeping away-

-leaving you all alone.

Just you and your bike.

To win this dang race.

Or die.

At this point, if your friends didn’t need you to actually- you know- win, you’d accept either outcome.

“As we all know, one half of our kissing duo down there-”

“We’re just friends!”

“-is none other than our long-lost Blazing Womprat-”

The nickname snaps you into gear.

Oh yeah.

Time to play the part.

-“former champion of the Boska Springs Classic!”

Climbing up on your speederbike, you stand on the seat, throwing both hands in the air. You stare up into the cameras defiantly, as if you’d already won the kriffing race.

You wave your hands again, the crowd exploding into jests and cheers and shouts.

Dank Ferrik-

You swallow back the goofy grin itching to bloom across your face.

-don’t ruin your image.

You know you must play the part they expect to see on the circuit.

Blazing Womprat-

Brash.

Arrogant.

And batshit crazy.

Maker, how you missed this- this rush. Whether it be racing, singing, or otherwise, you love playing to the crowd…

And they’re eating it up.

“E CHU TA!”

Well…. almost everyone…

You sneer down at your fellow racers, observing their rather rude gestures.

“EAT MY BIKE EXHAUST-”

Your middle fingers jab at the sky.

“-YOU ABSOLUTE ROAD WORMS.”

The racers start towards you-

“How exciting! Back to your bikes… yes, thank you, yes, please don’t kill her… thank you!”

Snickering to yourself, you fall down into the seat, hooking your boots in position on the pedals.

“The race is simple enough- first out to the Castle Rock to run up their flag and back, wins!”

You slip your helmet on-

“I don’t care what path you take-”

You tug at your gloves, ensuring they’re snug between each finger-

“Nor do I care what you do during the race!”

You flip down the visor of your helmet, your entire head and face protected-

“It’s all part of the fun!”

You lean forward- gripping the steering-

“Now, various organic beings… start your engines!”

-and your speederbike roars to life, pulsating beneath your body like a caged racehorse ready to run.

…

Wait-

…

It… just hit you…

Din- he-

-he never showed up.

…

Why would he avoid you, especially before an event this serious? Sure, he was… strange, aloof this morning just before he left you. But to be honest, so were you.

Waking up tangled in each other’s arms tends to do that.

…

Hells… if- if your behavior last night… ruined your friendship with him…

Oh stars, you’ll never forgive yourself.

He… but he promised that he’d speak to you before the race…

…

He never showed.

He never-

“Ka’r’ika-”

You scream-

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What the kark, Mando!” You lean back, twisting your helmet around to stare up at the crowd. “Get out of my helmet! You’re ruining my focus.”

You grin.

The Mandalorian kept his word… sort of.

“Sorry… just…”

You stare up at Thall’s skybox, the teasing gleam of Beskar vaguely visible through the glass.

“…stay safe.”

The static of the connection cuts.

…

You’re alone.

…

…

“READY…”

Your engine revs-

RED LIGHT-

Your bike pulsates-

YELLOW LIGHT-

Your grip tightens-

…

…

…

 Wait a minute…

…

GREEN LIGHT-

The speederbikes burst into the distance- gone, out of sight within a blink of an eye.

…

You stay still.

Unmoving.

Staring out at the distance.

“Uhhhh…. Go?”

You stare.

You feel it…

You… feel it…

You-

The wind lashes, nearly knocking you from your bike with a yelp. You hold on for dear life as the crowd screams, ducking down into their own seats to avoid the brutal pounding.

But more importantly-

The sky darkens in the distance-

A monstrous dust cloud swoops across the sand-

-straight for the scattered bikers blasting across the dunes.

And-

you grin.

High-pitched screams and crashing metal reverberate across the dunes.

…

…time to go.

You push forward-

-and blast off.

…

Avoiding the starving, all-consuming dust cloud, you swing to the right.

It’s a risky route.

But you’ve studied it.

You know what you’re doing…

…hopefully.

Movement catches your eye-

A miniature speederbike zooms up to your right- a creature no bigger than the baby just- screeches at you.

“What the fuck!”

A second bike smashes into your left.

“What the fuck!” you shriek, swinging to avoid another swipe.

You accelerate- push forward on the controls.

Get away get away-

Ah!

There- looming in the distance.

The cliffs.

Turning knobs with a snap, you hold your speed steady- maintaining your direction-

“OOF!”

The end of your speederbike slides to the right- the attacking biker heaves back- preparing to try again-

You blast forward-

-straight for the cliff walls.

You release a bark of laughter- the sound swallowed by the wind whooshing past.

Try following me now.

The cliff wall looms closer- closer- closer-

You drop to the right, hanging off the side of your bike as far as you can without falling off-

-shooting beneath the cliff walls and straight into a small cave that’s barely tall enough for even your bike to fit.

The handles of your bike scrape the rock formation looming mere inches above your head- you yelp at the sparks showering your body.

Well, thank the Maker this jumpsuit is fireproof…

Movement-

 Your head twists to the right-

That karkin’ little creature on his karkin’ little speederbike… grins at you- waves his hand as if to say “See? I fit, dumbass.”

You growl.

Oh, hell no.

…Approaching light.

You bust out of the cave, shooting straight up in your seat. You swing to the right- kick your foot out-

-the little creature flings into oblivion.

…

You’re alone again.

You push forward, gritting your teeth, and accelerate to full throttle.

You’re coming to an intersection in the path- this is where other racers might start to- ah! There!

Three bikes, crowding into one another, swerve around a column of boulders-

The lead speederbike trails straight for you.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

Not again-

You scream as your speederbike lurches- rolls into tight, spinning loops. The bike that smashed into you barrels past-

You grit your teeth.

Get back here, you little-

You ram the back of his bike, grinning as he flings forward over his handlebars- run over by his own bike.

And yours.

Oopsie.

Castle Rock is approaching- it should be directly to the left- on the opposite side of the cliff wall blocking your line of sight.

You cut the corner- the roar of the remaining speederbikes still howling in your ear.

You punch the booster controls on your bike- but…

You’re painfully aware of a new shake, a new tremor of the bike that wasn’t there before.

Oh dear…

Hope this doesn’t backfire- literally.

With a groan, you blast into the canyon between the cliffs- giving your bike all it’s got.

Your mind blanks-

Instinct.

…

You’re running on instinct.

You swerve to the left- right- sharp right-

The roar of the speederbikes fade into the distance, left completely in your dust.

Heh.

The Blazing Womprat lives up to her name.

Oh, heck, here we go-

-You need to take a sharp left up ahead or you’ll completely miss Castle Rock-

You lift your left boot from the pedal- slide it across your seat- throwing every bit of your weight into the turn.

Your grip starts to slip- gloves desperately hold on for dear life. With a pathetic groan, you straighten, lift-

-There, Castle Rock!

And not another bike in sight.

You hit the brakes, sputtering to a stop. The thunder of engines storm in the distance behind you- you leap from your seat-

And you run for dear life.

The flags- the flags! Up ahead! At the top!

With a grunt, you scurry, fumble your way up the boulders-

“Get out of my way!”

Your head shoots back- other bikers have arrived, parked at the base of Castle Rock.

Oh, you don’t think so…

“Oops!” You grunt, shoving hard at a loose rock with your boot. “Sorry!” you yelp as they leap out of the tumbling rock’s path, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Giggling beneath your breath, you scamper to the top, the flagpoles just within r-

-PING-

-PING-

You scream- a bullet ricochets off your helmet.

“Seven Corellian hells!” you screech, stumbling to the ground.

Tuskans!

Damn it!

You clamber to your feet, pushing forward with all your might.

Bullets shower the ground, the pings mixing with the yelps of your fellow racers. “Kark off!” you scream at a Weequay as he barrels past you-

then drops dead.

Well, he karked off, all right.

Nice shot, Tuskans.

Not slowing in the least bit, you snatch up your flag color, hooking it to the-

“OOPS… heehee!”

You gasp- a Rodian- he… he cut your flagline.

You snarl at his fleeing back.

…

Fine.

Sticking the flag between your teeth, you grip the pole with your hands and begin to climb. Dank Ferrik- what the hell even is this race?

Ignoring the pings flying around you and praying they miss, you reach the top and tie off your flag.

A bell rings.

Done.

You’re first.

You’re cleared to go.

With a pained sigh, you take advantage of your height to observe the sight down below.

Grinning at the scuffle, the fight breaking out between the racers all fumbling to avoid both bullets and one another’s sabotage…

…an idea occurs.

You reposition your weight, careful to not lose your grip and slip down the pole into the chaos below… One deep breath… and you leap the gap, clasping onto the second flagpole for dear life.

“Hey!”

You stare down at a furious Twi’lek.

“Get down!”

You grin.

“Okay!”

Biting your lip, you wrap the flagline one… two… three times around your glove, tugging to ensure a good grip.

Oh, this is the dumbest idea ever-

With a grunt, you release the pole and-

You swing forward- and back- forward- and back-

…screaming like a wild Lothcat in heat.

With each swing, you feel the pole shift beneath you, loosening from its shallow base.

“WHAT ARE YOU-”

“Yipe!”

With an audible snap, the pole breaks from its foundation- cascading to the ground…

…and taking every single flagpole to the right down with it.

With an oof, you hit the ground, hard. Peeling your head up with a groan, you turn-

…

“Get her!”

Time to go.

You jump- jump- jump- down the boulders, not bothering to check the height. You just gotta to get the kriff out of there.

You’re so close.

Flinging yourself across the seat, you blast into the horizon, straight in the direction of the starting line.

You’re so close-

Engines rev in the distance.

…

You’re so close.

Thumb hovering over your thrusters- a speederbike emerges in the distance-

…it’s time for a shortcut.

A cliff to your right, it’s a steep drop, but you think you can…

Gritting your teeth, you accelerate, pushing what power is left within your bike into- you scream, sailing straight over the edge of the cliff.

Your thumb punches the reverse boosters, keeping your bike from smashing into a thousand pieces on the ground below. Speederbike clattering and clanking from the stress, you hit level ground and-

You made it.

“Holy Hutt!” you groan, the words shaky in the air from the brutal reverberations of your engine.

You’re… you’re going to win.

You keep your path straight, flying over the sand dunes.

You’re going to win.

You’re going to-

You scream-

A force-

A burst of light-

You soar through the air-

You scream-

…

…

…

Darkness.

…

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

…

…

Ignoring the abrupt shock of the harsh Sularian winter air, you race from your home, running straight down the mountain path.

"Starlight?”

You don’t stop at your father’s voice. You run faster- swiping at the tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Starlight!”

A hand grabs at your shoulder.

“Let m-me go!” you yell between your sobs, shoving at his hand. “I-I’m going to l-live wi-with G-Grandpa!”

“Hey, little one-” he spins you around; pulls you into his chest- “deep breaths, hm?”

“I’m- I’m not… little!” You sniff, pushing away from him. “I’m ten and r-running away!”

"Can I come?”

…

You stare at him, the sobs easing from your body.

“Huh?” -sniff- sniff- “What?”

He plops down on the snow beside you- staring up at the stars dusting the sky.

“Running away doesn’t solve anything, Starlight-” he looks at you, flashes you a lop-sided smile- “you know that, right?”

You pout your lips.

“But Mama is so… so… unfair!” You stomp your foot and flop down beside him. “She’s so mean with me! She likes Kalara more!”

He doesn’t chastise your outburst.

He just… grunts- rests his rifle across his lap.

"Starlight.”

You keep your eyes turned to the ground, shame burning your cheeks.

"What happened?”

…

“I… I hit Kalara- but she said I was mean first! And Mama took her side!”

…

A heavy sigh.

He reaches down, grasps your pendant in his hand.

"Do you know why you wear this?”

You scrunch your nose at him. “Because I’m the ‘oldest’,” you mock.

He lets it drop back against your chest. “Watch the attitude, kid. You wear it because, as the oldest-” his tone, while gentle as always, eases into something more serious- “you set an example to your little brothers and sisters. They look up to you and want to be like you.”

“They do not!”

“Do too.” He pokes your stomach, and you can’t help but giggle. “This necklace is a reminder of your responsibility…” His mouth quirks into a smirk. “Of your influence.”

"I don’t want it!”

“Well, Starlight,” he chuckles. “I can’t help you being born first, but I promise, one day, you’ll appreciate your little brothers and sisters.” He hooks a finger on his belt. “And one day, you’ll give that same pendant to your first born, if you wish, just as generations of our family before you have.”

“Eww!”

“Eww!” he mocks back.

You blink down at the pendant, curiosity blooming in your chest…

"If this was yours before I was born and you gave it to me-” you look up at him- “does that mean you were the oldest?”

He stares into the distance, quiets…

…

“Yes.”

…

“Oh.”

…

"Did… did you apr-chi-ate them?”

"‘Appreciate’. And yes.” He looks down at you, that lop-sided smile slowly returning. “I did very much.”

"…Do you miss them?”

He glances away, stares up into the starry sky.

“Very much.”

You blink- a wash of fear- fear for your brothers and sisters hitting you like a blizzard breeze and- and-

“Don’t be sad, Starlight.” He taps your pendant; points to the sky. “They are with the stars… I’ll see them again.”

He stands, heaves his rifle against his shoulder, and motions you to follow.

“Come, let’s go inside. I think someone has a few apologizes to make?”

“But Mama is mad at me…” you groan.

“I promise,” he chuckles, taking your hand in his own. “No matter what you do…”

…

“…your mother and I will hold you in our hearts…”

…

“…for eternity…”

…

…

…

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

The Mandalorian’s licking your face what the HELL-

Your eyes blast open-

“W-what?”

Something wet swipes your eyes. “Yipes!” You squint, throwing your arm across your face. “What the blasted- oh.”

…

A… dog.

Massiff dog.

…

Not… Din.

…

Oh.

The dog tilts his head at you, his tongue drooping out the side of its mouth.

“In my defense, you kinda look like Din though,” you giggle, patting the dog’s hard exterior. “You goofy little thing…”

Sighing, you reach up to rub your face…

Wait.

Where- where’s your helmet’s visor…? Why’s it… busted out…?

…

…

“OH BLASTED STARS.”

You scramble to your feet- a mistake. You cry at the pain that shoots, throbs from head to toe. “Damn it, damn it!” you groan, hobbling forward as your memory floods you all at once.

The dog mistakes your agony for playtime, hopping up and down, up and down, dancing little wiggle-butt circles around you.

“Back, dog! Back!” Your eyes scan the sky-

…Oh no.

It’s… the sun’s setting.

It’s evening.

No, no!

“Kriffin’ hells!” you moan, fingers digging into your palms. “My bike! My bike? I got to- where?”

…

There.

In the distance.

You grit your teeth.

…

…Sandcrawler.

“Stupid JAWAS!”

You burst forward, growling through every last ache. “Get BACK here!” you shriek, launching your helmet at the still-very-much-far-away sandcrawler. “Little thieves! I ought to- OOF!”

The dog cuts in front of you, dashing alongside your right.

“Dang it!” you yelp. “If you’re coming too, then help, not hinder!”

The dog just howls- gleeful and blissfully unaware of everything but “run. fast run.”

“Oh, Maker help me,” you moan.

You’re close enough now that the Jawas have noticed you. Hanging out of their little windows and doors, they begin screeching at you.

“Kark off!” you scream back, nearly tripping over your own feet. “And give me my blasted bike, or I’ll- OUCH!”

Whatever they threw- it damn well hurt.

…You shoulda left your helmet on.

The dog picks up the object in its mouth and brings it straight to you.

“O-oh… st-stars!” you puff, increasing your speed. You throw the object at a Jawa hanging from an open window. “H-hey, dog, maybe you are useful, hmm?”

Your praise must have confused the dog. He yelps once, turns around, begins running butt-first.

“Oh hell.”

Close enough now, you reach up, grip a pipe on the side of the crawler.

“Open, now!” you demand, banging on the metal.

A slot opens- you slap at the Jawa- it screams- slams the slot shut.

A higher window opens- something’s launched- you scream- it screams- the window shuts.

You wish you could say playing whack-a-mole with Jawas was the strangest thing you’ve done today…

“Dank Ferrik,” you groan, eyeing the Massiff dog running circles below your feet.

You’re getting into this thing if it kills you, so help you-

“Dank FERRIK!”

The jolt of the sandcrawler sends you hurling towards the ground.

“Force…”

You slowly, gingerly lift your head…

Stopped.

The sandcrawler… stopped.

…

Why…

You look up- the Jawas have the slots and windows peaked open, glancing around towards the front of the crawler…

…

They slam them shut.

…

Uh oh…

“Dog, I… I think we might be in trouble- wait!”

But it’s too late- the Massiff dog is darting towards the front of the crawler.

…

Silence.

…

Oh, what the hell.

You’re not leaving without your dog.

Pressing against the sandcrawler, you ease, creep your way forward. Closer… closer… closer-

-until you’re just one head peek away from seeing what’s caught the Jawa’s attention…

…

 Do… do you peek?

Or run?

…

Oh Huttsludge.

Maybe the Jawas-

“I’ve been watching you, little one.”

OH STARS OH STARS STARS STARS.

…

WHAT DO YOU DO?

…

You squeeze your eyes closed.

Oh, what the Corellian crap use is there in hiding?

He’s knows you’re here!

So-

You peek around-

…

A man.

…

A terrifying man.

…

You duck your head back.

…

…

You’re dead.

…

“Hey!” you hiss up at a Jawa. “Whatever beef we had before, we’re on the same side now. Let me in!”

The door slams shut.

“Why you-”

“Hello there, Princess-”

You shriek.

“Stay away!” you yelp, pressing your back up against the sandcrawler. “Or I’ll- I’ll stick my Massiff on you!”

Right on cue, the Massiff bolts past your legs, flying straight for the strange man-

-and drops- wiggling around on his back, begging the scary man for attention.

…

Great.

The man huffs, bends down to pat the Massiff’s exposed belly.

“I see you’ve trained it well.”

…

“Thanks…?”

Wait, was that an insult?

…

“I mean you no harm, Princess.”

Amused.

He’s… amused.

The man glances up at you, throws his hood back.

My stars, you observe his gnarled appearance. What… what terrible thing happened to him?

You almost blurt the question… almost.

“Who are you? What’s your name?” you ask instead, rather empowered by the fact he hasn’t yet- you know- killed you.

“I’m just a simple man making my way through the galaxy-” his gaze intensifies- “like my father before me.”

…

“Got an easier to remember name?”

“I’d rather learn yours.”

…

Is he… flirting?

…

Oh my gosh he’s flirting. Okay, you know what? The grizzled look is actually really hot. Like hot, hot. And, wow, he’s a big guy and you like big guys oh my gosh he’s flirting-

With a lop-sided smirk, you call out your first name. “But you can keep calling me Princess.”

The man chuckles, pats the Massiff one last time, and stands.

“I was speaking to the dog.”

…

“Oh.”

Damn it.

…

You glance at the Massiff.

“…Noodles?”

“A solid name.”

“Thanks.”

…

Okay, what the actual hell is this conversation-

You shake your head, knowing you should be afraid, terrified... but in your defense, it’s rather hard to feel that way while bonding with your potential killer over a dog.

“So… uh, what the hell do you want?”

The man lumbers forward, hands folded behind his back, as if… contemplating something.

“Your Mandalorian friend-”

He pauses, his imposing frame casting a cool shadow across your face.

“-he has something that belongs to me.” The man turns his eyes, so kriffing intense, to stare you down.

“And you can take me to it.”

“Uhhh….” You blink, words escaping your brain. “What… is it?”

“My armor.”

…

“All I request… is my armor returned.”

Gulping, you shake your head, afraid to give him your honest answer. “I-I’ve not seen any armor, but-”

“You might want to consider my words carefully, little one.”

His words slice the air.

“You and the Mandalorian have a rather large bounty on your head.” The man bends down, crouches upon the sand. “According to this chip-” he lifts his hand; a small data chip gleams in the setting sun- “that I took off the corpse of the man… that blew you in the air.”

Your mouth plummets to the ground.

“W-what?!”

He just stares up at you, waiting patiently for you to process his words.

“Damn it,” you growl, sinking down to the ground in front of him.

“If- and that’s if- I knew where this armor might be located-” you look up at him, brows furrowing- “why should I trust that you won’t still try and claim that bounty on us?”

He doesn’t speak- just holds your gaze.

…

His fist holding the datachip rises in the air-

-and crushes the chip into a thousand microscopic shards.

“You and your friends need to leave before more return.”

You gape down at the shimmering shards.

Stars, note to self, do not piss this guy off…

“News of this race, and your presence, will spread to the wrong ears.”

“Uhh…” You turn to stare at the retreating figure of the man in black. “Hey! Wait!” You leap to your feet, rushing right after him. “See that’s the problem- my friends are kind of…. uh, trapped by Thall.”

The man makes a noise.

“I will assist you if-”

“-you regain your armor,” you finish, rolling your eyes.

The first hint of a smile dusts his lips.

“What is your answer, then, Princess?”

…It’s not like you have a choice.

Your friends… Din… are still under Thall’s snare. For all you know, now that you’re out of the way, Thall- kark!- might make Din fight again!

…

You can’t let that happen.

You throw both hands on your hips- purse your lips.

“We have a deal.”

The man nods sharply, accepting your answer before turning, prowling down the length of the sandcrawler.

“I have an insider feeding me information from within Thall’s complex.” His strides are heavy, yet quick. You struggle to keep pace. “She will contact me with the necessary information, but for right now-”

-a screech splits the air.

You gasp- twist-

The Massiff stumbles around from the back of the crawler-

-dragging a behind it a writhing Jawa.

…

The man in black grunts.

“We need your bike.”

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

You need to scream.

Of all ways for this day to go, you never dreamed it would be riding back to the Razor Crest sitting in a strange man’s lap.

Well, not in his lap… but might as well be.

You wanted to drive. After all, it is your bike, which was thankfully undamaged enough to still ride at lower speeds, but he didn’t exactly give you a choice… You press back against his chest, sneaking a sharp glance to the left and right, gulping at how blasted thick and strong his arms that have you caged in are…

Boba Fett.

At least you now have his name.

It’s the very least you should know, considering your current intimate positioning.

Boba’s hand releases the bike’s handle- grips your shoulder to steady your body as you turn-

Stars-

Stars this is so awkward and you want to fling yourself to the ground you don’t care how fast you’re going-

But if you did that, Noodles would have to go too, since he’s squatted on the seat in front of you, your arms wrapped tightly around his body to keep him from jumping off at high speeds. And no matter how much you’re willing to potentially threaten your own life, you draw the karkin’ line at endangering animals.

Noodles glances back at you, tongue flapping in the wind, as if to say thank you kind ma’am for the hug.

…

…

The sky is pitch black, the air cool, biting, by the time you arrive at Peli’s hanger. Almighty stars, it feels like centuries since you last saw… there!

The Razor Crest!

You can’t believe you’re actually home!

You pause.

Home?...

…huh.

Stars, you can almost imagine… Din. Standing at the base of the ramp. Head angled at you as you run forward, holding the baby-

…the baby. Din. Cara. Pablo. Kark.

You… you need to hurry.

“Let me find someone before you go inside-” you yank off your gloves, toss them aside- “and your armor should be inside the ship… somewhere- I guess-”

A shrill squeak rips the rest of the words from your lips.

“Baby!” you gasp. You rush forward, crumpling to your knees. “Hey, little fella!” Your voice shoots ten octaves high as you squeeze, squish the little guy to your chest.

“Hey, hey-” you whisper, rubbing his head as his little squeaks intensify.

Crying.

He’s… crying-

“I know, I know.”

Kriffing hells.

“You’ve been alone too long.”

Damn it, damn it.

You’re going to cry. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

“But you’re not alone now, hmm?” You pull back, force a cheesy grin to stretch across your face. “See? I’m back. Did Peli take good care of you?”

“AHHHH!”

You press the baby close- spin-

“4PO!” Peli screeches, racing around the side of the Crest. “MASSIFF DOG! PROTECT US!”

The droid hobbles around- stops-

<sensing potential threat>

…

<commencing deactivation protocol>

…

“Oh, kriffing hells…”

You glance over at the hanger door, locating the deadly Noodles…

…all four legs in the air as Boba pats his belly.

He gives you a bare hint of a smile.

“Excellent.”

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

 “Handsome little mister,” you sing, grinning ear-to-ear. “Gotta look snazzy to go rescue Daddy, hmm?”

The baby just stares at you, clearly unimpressed with his new threads.

“Come now. I’m the fun parent,” you laugh, straightening his little suspenders. “Tell you what, if you don’t like it by tomorrow-” you sit down beside him- “I promise I won’t make you wear it again. We’ll try something else I bought you in town.”

The baby grabs a sock off the table- throws it to the ground with a scream.

“Okay.” You quirk a brow. “We hate socks today, that’s fine.” You lean forward, pressing a quick kiss against his head.

The baby’s grabby hands reach up, begging to be held. Without hesitation, you lift him up and place him down in your lap.

“That nice man should be finished dressing soon,” you absentmindedly mumble, twisting your eyes to watch Peli buzz around the back of the hanger. “And then we’re going to- oh.”

A little tug around your neck pulls your attention back down-

The baby- he’s tugging on the twine of your necklace.

“Ah,” you chuckle, pulling the pendant out from beneath your shirt.

“You want to look?”

He stares up at you, into your eyes.

…

…

-pressure-

…

you feel…warm pressure-

…

it dusts against…

…

It’s… it’s like…. something’s pressing against a- a membrane…

….

-pressure-

…

-a thick membrane in your mind and-

…

w-what- is-?

Body trembling, you press back-

the membrane slips and- and-

…

“Mother?”

You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

Who..? Wh-what just-?

Something dusts your hand, and you jolt in your seat- eyes shifting down…

…

“Was… was that you?” you whisper, eyes blasting wide open.

The baby only giggles.

…

…

Oh kriff.

…

You flop back in the chair, stare up at the sky.

“Is this a… force thing?”

You’re speaking to yourself more than anything…

“Holy kark,” you groan, slapping your hands across your eyes. “…These kinds of powers are beyond my pay grade….”

Dank Ferrik, you knew you should have paid closer attention to your mother’s lessons… She was as close to an expert on the force as any Jedi, you suppose... Was it your fault you would rather be with your dad, learning how to effectively hit your siblings with stick spears? Mama damn near bored you to death with her long lectures of “light side energy.”

…Whatever that means.

See? You should have paid attention, Dank Ferrik!

The baby tugs on your necklace again.

You blink.

-pressure-

This time, you let the membrane slip right away.

“You are Mother?”

You just… stare.

“Feel force.”

…

“I, uh…”

“Feel her.”

…

His… his question-

Are you a Mother?

…

Emotion scalds the back of your throat.

…

“Yes…”

He… he feels her.

“This… this belonged to my little girl.”

The necklace-

…He feels her.

“A-and mine. And my father’s.” Your voice softens, affection dusting each and every word. “Going back generations.”

Swallowing down the lump, the ache squeezing in your chest, you force a tight smile.

-the warmth brushes against your mind-

-you open up- let him back in-

…

“Grogu.”

…

You blink-

“Grogu?”

He bursts into little squeals.

“Is that your name, Bean Dip? Grogu?”

The little toothy grin he flashes you is the only confirmation you need. Matching his grin with one of your own, you laugh- pull him close.

“Can I still call you Bean Dip sometimes?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer- instead grabs at your necklace again, studying it intently.

You can only… smile at his interest…

You… remember Valera doing the very same thing… grabbing at it- sticking it in her mouth- drooling all over it-

…

Hell.

…

…

“Hey, hey, Grogu-” your voice wavers- you clear your throat- “You know… I’m- I’m always losing things.”

Deep breath.

“Would you mind… keeping this for me?”

You slip the necklace over his head, letting it fall loose. You reach out, pat it against his belly.

…yes.

For the time being…

…this is where it belongs.

Ignoring your welling ache, you force another tight smile.

“I think-” you give the necklace a few short tugs- “it completes your ‘let’s rescue daddy’ outfit perfectly.”

…He agrees.

“Holy Mudslug!” Peli’s yelp tears at your attention. “Look at ‘em!”

You glance up-

-and your stomach squeezes.

…

Oh.

Oh no.

…

Mandalorian.

…

“Fett!” you bark, setting the baby down. You leap to your feet, stomp to the bottom of the ramp.

“You mean to tell me that you’re a Mandalorian?” You stare up at Boba defiantly, feet set apart and hands thrown on your hips. “And you just… forgot to mention that?”

Dank Ferrik! When Boba said “armor,” you assumed it was, like, biking armor or something.

…

But Beskar?

…Well…now you understand why he wanted it back so badly…

Boba doesn’t react to your little outburst- just… crosses his wrists in front of him, staring down at you with that damn unreadable visor.

“Oh! Great! Another Mandalorian,” Peli grumbles, sweeping past you, a broom gripped in her hand. “You know, my hanger was the safest place on Tatooine-” she shakes her broom at Boba- “until you Mandalorians started showing up!”

“Peli! Come now-” you grasp her broom, forcing her to lower it- “how many have you even serviced? Mandalorians are practically extinct.”

“Counting yours and this green guy?”

You nod.

Peli glances up at the sky, counting on her fingers.

“Two.”

…

“But I want him out of here!” she squawks- shoving a hand in the air at him.

“You’ll have your wish soon, ma’am.”

Amusement laces Boba’s deep tone- thank the Maker.

“And I am beholding to your…kind hospitality.”

“Weeellll,” Peli blushes, eyes darting around at the ground. “I- I guess it’s fine if you stay- but not much longer!”

Peli shoots you a glare and snatches her broom back from your hands. She jabs her thumb at the ship. “Watch him; he’s a big -un.”

…

Sigh.

…

Twisting back around, you frown at Boba's darkened visor.

“I thought Mandalorians didn’t show their faces?”

-a sharp huff.

“Never said I was one.”

You blink.

“Then… the armor…?”

“Mandalorians are complicated, Princess.”

…What the hecking Hutt does that mean? Is he or isn’t he one?

…oh.

…forget it.

Crossing your arms, you shift your weight to one leg.

“Well, what now?”

“My contact has informed me that your friends are to be taken to a location out in the desert- unsure why.” Boba hulks down the ramp, patting your shoulder as he passes by.

“Stars!” you groan, pulling your hat down low.

This… can’t be good.

Din…

Just… hold on, Din.

“I have the coordinates.” Loading his belt with charges, Boba steals a quick glance at you- noting your expression. “Don’t worry, little one,” he chuckles. “We’ll have your babysitter back in one piece shortly.”

“I can assure you,” you huff, a small smile teasing at the corner of your mouth. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Undoubtably.”

You release a pained sigh, flick your hat back out of your face.

“Well then, I guess it’s time to-” movement draws your attention; you turn just in time to watch Grogu slide the remaining pile of socks to the ground- “…go.”

“Hey, if you’re leaving-” Peli stalks forward, cleaning her hands with a rag. “I guess that means I won’t see the rest of you again, huh?”

You give Peli a wry smile.

Peli sighs, slaps the side of your arm.

“Do me a favor then.”

She scurries away, muttering under her breath.

…

“Uhhh… Peli?”

She turns back around the corner, arm motioning at something hidden behind a stack of crates.

“Come on- don’t be shy.”

…

Oh, hell no-

“I’ve decided to make the ultimate sacrifice-” Peli pushes 4PO forward- “and gift 4PO here as a parting gift-”

“No.”

-“to Pablo.”

“Oh.”

…

Peli leans into you- covers her mouth with a hand.

“I think the two of them really bonded.”

…

“Peli-” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting into laughter- “I would be more than happy to present to Pablo 4PO on your behalf.”

“Oh ho! Fantastic!” Peli cackles, clapping her hands together. “Droid, get on up that ramp!”

4PO shakes- falls prostrate on the ground.

…

…

You’re beginning to relate a little too much to this droid.

…

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

“I’ll tie you up, Princess.”

“No!” You rush after Boba, pulling your blaster from its holster. “I’m going too! You can’t-”

“You want to help?” snaps Fett’s contact, a helmeted woman named Fennec. “Then stay out of our way.”

You sneer. “How about I-”

“Princess-”

Boba turns on his heel, grips your shoulder.

“Stay with the ship.” His tone is hard, biting. “And stay in this cave.”

…

“Do I make myself clear?”

…

Your mouth opens… closes.

Please…

Please just let me come.

But Boba is not the kind of man to relent to a pair of pleading eyes- he reaches out, nudges your chin with his knuckles.

“Keep your commlink on-” his voice is… softer, but nowhere near sympathetic- “and keep it close.”

And then just like that-

They’re gone, blasting away across the sand dunes.

Leaving you all alone in eerie…

Silence.

…

Corellian hells.

You crumple to the ground, your face buried in your hands. You inhale sharply, squeezing your eyes tightly closed in a poor attempt to keep from absolutely losing it.

…

A fight to the death.

A fight to the death-

What if-

What if they don’t get there in time? What if someone’s already dead? Stars! Pablo is all bark and no bite- he’ll be the first to croak! And- and Cara- and Din, kark… damn it, damn it, damn. IT-

“ARG!” You leap to your feet, snarling up at the rising twin suns, as if they were somehow to blame for your mess.

Stay behind?

…

You blink.

Stay behind, your ass.

With one final glare, you spin around- marching back inside the mouth of the cave. You rush past Boba’s own starship- making a direct path towards the Razor Crest.

“Grogu!” you yelp, racing inside the belly of the Crest. “I’ve got to go, baby. Stay in this ship-” you fling open the Mandalorian’s storage unit packed with weapons- “and do absolutely nothing.”

Chewing on your lower lip, you let your eyes graze across Din’s pride and joys-

What the hell do some of these even do?

Which should you-

…

Oh.

You… you’ve seen that one before.

…

Your hand hesitates, then snatches the rifle from the rack.

“4PO-” you bark, loading your pockets with ammo. “Keep the ship on lockdown. You can manage that, hm?”

<lockdown protocol prevents killers from boarding.>

“That’s kind of the point of a lockdown,” you grumble, slamming the storage doors shut.

<excellent. your request is acceptable.>

You spin around on your heel, looking for-

“Grogu.”

There he is- sound asleep, little face buried against the Massiff’s belly-

-and your pendant clenched tightly in his hand.

…

Stay.

You should… stay for him.

If- if something happens to Din, he will need you.

…

He needs… he needs-

-hold on.

…

…Rumbling?

The ground outside the ramp is… rumbling- pebbles and loosened dirt sprinkling down from the cave’s ceiling.

Something’s flying overhead.

This… can’t be good-

With a miserable groan, you start forward, pausing just before the exit.

You glance back-

“We’ll all be back soon, Grogu, I promise.” You stare at the sleeping child’s form. He doesn’t so much as even stir at your words.

“And I mean all of us.”

…

“I promise.”

…

And with one final breath, you run down the ramp- the baby left behind, cocooned within the belly of his home.

Dashing forward, you emerge from the mouth of the cave just in time to catch fleeting sight… of…

…

-a hitch, a catch in your breath.

…

…

Damn it.

…

…

Th-the symbol on that ship-

You… you only caught a brief glimpse, but…

…

Shit.

…

Nok.

Kriffing Nok is here?

You- you have to leave Tatooine.

-kriffing now.

…

If- if you take your speederbike, leave immediately, y-you could take a shuttle and…

…

…

Leave?

…But-

But if you leave again…

Heart squeezing- shredded into a thousand fraying strands, you glance back at the mouth of the cave.

…

…

Running away doesn’t solve anything, Starlight.

…

…

Kark it.

…

You’re done running.

This time, you fight.

…

You’re not leaving Tatooine without your boys.

…

…

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

-BOOM-

You slam on your speederbike’s breaks, the bike groaning against the force. You waste no time in shutting it off, launching from the seat before it’s even fully stopped.

-BLAST-

Dank ferrik dank ferrik dank ferrik-

-BLAST-

-BLAST-

Growling through your teeth, you push forward, rifle held in a death grip against your side.

“Gunna try and kill my Mandalorian?” you snarl. “And my friends? Oh, I think the hell not, Thall. Eat blaster dust!”

You skid to a stop- boots sliding within inches of an…. uh, extraordinarily high descent.

Dropping to your knees, you peer over the edge of the cliff, peer at the canyon floor far, far down below.

What’s going on?

Where-?

You gasp, pressing a hand to your mouth.

Holy Kowakian monkey lizard!

Your eyes widen, watching as flamethrowers and blaster bolts and bodies fly and fling and throw-

Those who aren’t sprawled out on the ground karkin’ dead are certainly about to be karkin’ dead. The crowds- the pleasure barges- Thall- are long gone, no doubt fled when extra firepower arrived in the form of a pissed-off Boba Fett and co.

In fact, to you, it looks like they’ve just about wiped the canyon clean.

Holy Huttslug! You purse your lips. They didn’t leave anyone for you, darn it.

Ah well.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you lay out flat on your stomach. You knock your hat back, positioning the scope of the rifle against your eye.

“Din!” you laugh, watching as he stabs a Weequay in the chest. “Get ‘em, baby! Oh my gosh GET HIM! Hell YEAH!”

Reaching down into your pockets, you retrieve the extra ammo- loading the rifle with-

“Ayyeeaaaaa!”

You gasp, and you peer back through the scopes, zooming in to watch as your friends… whoop and cheer.

Oh, they did it! They actually blasted did it!

A grin cracks across your face, your anxiety pushed to the back of your mind for the time being. Because for now?  

THEY BLASTED DID IT!

Giggling, you pull up your knees, prepared to leap up and-

…Wait a minute- who is that? He’s not-

-you freeze.

…

Oh.

…

Oh no.

Hissing through your teeth, you drop to your belly, press the scopes against your eye. There- Nok- approaching the group. He stops- stands several yards away from your friends.

…

Nok… what the hell is he doing here? That slimy Huttscum! Shavit! Just… shavit! What does that- that spiteful man want?

…

“Crink it!” You smash your fist against the ground. “Blast!”

This is bad. Really, really bad.

…

They’re- they’re all talking together. His hands are up now- What- what are they saying?

Kark

Kark!

What- what do you- oh kriff oh kriff-

You pull your twitching eye away from the scope- glance down at your belt.

…an idea.

“Fett,” you mumble into the communicator. “No questions- turn on your comm.”

You watch Boba through the scopes- he does not scan his surroundings, does not try and look around for you. He just… reaches up, taps his helmet.

-static- “-not here ..r you.”

Nok’s voice is faint, hard to make out. You curse, turning up the comm’s volume as loudly as it will allow.

“What do you want?”

You jump at Din’s voice, cutting in loud and clear through your comm channel. Biting your lip, you are frozen with panic and fear and oh blast what should you do Nok will ruin everything what do you do-?

…

Kriff!

You press, squeeze your eyes closed-

You… you can’t go back.

Your lower lip trembles.

…You can’t go back!

…

“Don’t shoot the messenger. I don’t particularly want to be here either, but I wasn’t exactly given a choice,” Nok answers Din. “I’m here to present to you an offer.”

No- no you trust nothing coming from Nok- nothing!

“ …What kind of offer?”

Oh stars. With a sharp inhale of air, you raise, hover your scopes just above their heads, watching, listening-

“There’s a woman you’ve been traveling with. If you hand her over into my care-” Nok sighs, leans to one side as if bored- “you will be compensated generously in return for your cooperation.”

Oh-

Oh stars- NO!

You’re not going back to Nar Shaddaa. You can’t-

Nok- he needs to shut up-

Shut up before he ruins everything!

“Request- denied.”  The Mandalorian’s tone is… hell- he might kill this man himself. “How much-” he steps forward- “how much to call off the hunters you have on her?”

Nok just chuckles.

“You mean my patron? My patron is not the one who called the hunters on her … Believe me, I’d enjoy nothing more than watch her hunted down, personally. But my patron is… concerned for her. Wishes to shield her. And, alas, I am at his beck and call.”

“Your patron?” you snarl, tightening the grip on your rifle. You hover it just above Nok’s head. “Your patron can eat Banthashit, Nok, and you along with him. I’m not. going. back. Especially not with you.”

“What makes you think that I’d agree to this?” The Mandalorian’s tone is… dangerously calm.

“You can keep running, but she will be tracked down eventually,” Nok chuckles, clearly amused by all this- this mess you’re in- the kriffing creep. “This isn’t going away, Mandalorian.”

Hell-

You’re so… tempted to shoot him before he talks, blabs and ruins everything! Din- kark!- your past, it would ruin everything. He’d… he’d be disgusted and… and-

“This isn’t your problem, Mandalorian,” Nok sighs.

“…Her problems-” the Mandalorian’s hand inches towards his blaster- “are my problems.”

You blink.

…Stars.

“You really don’t have any idea what this involves, do you?” Nok laughs- brighter than you ever thought him capable of. How comforting to know your predicament brings him so much blasted joy. Maker knows the man is miserable otherwise.

Nok takes a step forward.

“You may know who she is, but it’s clear you don’t know what she is.”

Shut up shut up shut up.

Nok’s going to ruin everything. Din will- he will… damn it. You’re going to burst-

“My patron had hoped we could do this the clean, easy way. Avoid future bloodshed.”

…

The Mandalorian takes a slow, deliberate step forward.

“That’s where you were mistaken.”

He draws his blaster-

“Because not only would I die for her-” he points the weapon at Nok- “I’d kill.”

You pull away from your scope, mouth gaping open.

You- you never realized…

…

But… of course that’s how he feels.

“So, you go back to your patron-” the Mandalorian reholsters his weapon, his tone cool, even- “and you tell him that.”

Nok shakes his head, sighs. “Well, only if you promise to tell her I look forward to seeing her again very soon… in the latest fashion of prison restraints.”

The Mandalorian storms forward- drawing his weapon- Nok draws his-

They freeze- stare at each other.

“Oh great, she really has you under her thumb, doesn’t she?” Nok snorts, waving his weapon to the side. “You should reconsider. She’s selfish, you know. She’ll throw you aside as soon as she no longer needs you. Never cared about anything or anyone except herself and that little brat of hers.”

He chuckles- leans forward-

“Let’s just say it was hilarious irony …

…what happened to the little girl.”

…

…

Hilarious irony…

…

Hilarious irony-

…

Hilarious-

Red flashes- flashes in your eyes-

…

…

You- you’re-

…

…Hilarious irony.

…

…

The dam holding back your terror and grief and fury…

Erupts-

…

See you in hell, bastard.

…

You pull the trigger.

…

And you don’t miss.

Shouting- shouting from down below-

Damn it- they… they can’t find you here! You need to go!

With a sharp inhale of breath, you aim your rifle sights at a safe, yet convincing, distance from your friends, and-

-BLAST-

-BLAST-

-BLAST-

“Take cover!”

And at Cara’s muffled cry, you stumble up to your feet… and run.

Oh Maker, how are you- yipes! Jetpack- you hear a jetpack! Go-

GO!

Pressing a hand to your mouth, you choke back the sob, the howl threatening to tear from your lips. Flinging yourself across the speederbike, you ignore the warning tremors of the damaged bike, blasting across the dunes and away from the scene of your crime.

…

But you’re not finished yet.

You have to find Nok’s ship.

Wipe the computers.

Dump it out in the desert to rot.

…

But… but before it’s wiped… there’s something you must take from the starship’s computers…

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

<tier 1 security clearance code request>

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-begin download on all encrypted data filed under: valera dayne

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-have i not suffered enough today?

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

“WHERE have you BEEN?”

You lift your dry, burning eyes, spying Pablo- baby on his hip and Massiff at his heels- rushing down the ramp of the Crest.

“We’ve been searching hours for you!” He pulls you into a one-armed hug. The Massiff- Noodles, you suppose- not one to be left out of the fun, wiggle-butt dances around you for 3.5 seconds until he’s distracted by a moth.

“Stars,” you groan, every achy muscle and bruise throbbing at Pablo’s touch. You open your mouth to say something, but a sharp squeak steals those words from your lips.

You glance down.

“Little fella.” Flashing a tired smile, you reach out, taking the babbling child from Pablo’s hip. “See? I told you we’d be back!” 

He stares up at you- giggles, and your tired smiles warms. The kid didn’t need the force to communicate with you this time. You know- can feel- what he’s feeling…

He’s… he’s really, really glad you’re back.

“Well, looks like you’re all in one piece, Bean Dip.” You quirk a brow, reaching out to stroke Grogu’s ear. “A miracle, if you’ve been in Pablo’s care all day…”

“The hell, Sweetheart?” Pablo throws his hands on his hips. “Is that the thanks I get? I’ve done nothing today but wipe up drool, chase after the kid, clean up after him- oh, and that thing?”

He glares at Noodles- busy running laps around Fett’s starship and howling at dust particles.

“It shit on the floor.”

Heh.

Good dog.

“Look Pablo, we can fuss about that later,” you sigh, legs trembling with exhaustion. You pull the baby closer, his presence a… comfort… A comfort you need right now as things are about to get…uh, complicated.

“You said… everyone’s out searching for me?”

“All day practically.” Pablo crosses his arms. “Mando was hell-bent on finding you before sundown… which is just about now, coincidentally.”

You swallow back the lump in your throat.

“I… I see.”

…

“What- what happened-” you bite your lip- “after my bike… kaboomed?”

Pablo huffs, flashes you a look. “The cameras following your bike cut immediately. And Thall refused to let us go rescue you and said he’d send his own men instead… which, uh, the Mandalorian did not take well… to put it mildly.”

You grit your teeth.

Thall- you scumbag.

“Mando annihilated half his security team, and-” Pablo shrugs- “according to that Fett guy, you know the rest of the story. With their help, we demolished Thall’s men- we didn’t die- and now you’re back! Overall, a successful trip to Tatooine, I suppose…”

…

Dank Ferrik…

That… look he just gave you. He’s… holding back about Nok, about the- the things he said. Maker! You- keep it together.

Keep it together for the-

“Ka’r’ika?”

You whirl-

“Din, I-”

-you’re swept up.

His arms clutch, grab at your body like you might disappear, float away, if he dared let go.

“Ner Ka’r’ika.”

His voice is hoarse… strained.

You bury your grimace against his chest.

Stars stars stars! What- does he suspect? What does he think of you after- after Nok’s… rantings?

You-

You can’t do this-

You can’t do this!

You lift your free hand, and shove at his chest. Din jolts, tears back, and the comfort of his hold slips away, leaving your body abandoned and starving for warmth.

You’ve startled him. He’s giving you that little head-tilt, the one he uses when he can’t quite figure you the kriff out.

“Din.” You force a light-hearted tone, adjusting the baby against your hip. “Uh, hi.”

…

He pauses, then dips his helmet forward- scanning your grungy appearance up and down. Keeping his left hand stiff against his side- he reaches up with the other, presses the gloved hand against your cheek.

“Look at me.”

You swallow- staring at anything but his visor.

He tentatively, carefully turns your face- inspecting the flowering bruises.

“Are you okay?”

…

“Nothing’s broken.” You swallow again. “I’ll live.”

“Kid’s built of tough stuff.”

Your eyes widen, shoot to the right-

Boba.

Kark- he knows- he knows you were at the canyon. He… he answered your comm. Of course he knows! Did he tell?

“She launched a hundred feet into the air and was up and fighting Jawas within the hour.”

You flash him a faint smile. “I landed on my hard head.” You grip Din’s hand still pressed to your cheek, drawing it away.

“Good to see you in one piece, Blazing Womprat,” Cara chuckles, unstrapping a rifle from her side. “Which is truly astounding after some of those insane stunts you pulled.” She steps forward, stops beside Pablo. “Pablo almost passed out from cheering too hard.”

“That was nothing.” You can’t resist the self-satisfied smirk that flicks up at the corner of your mouth. “You should see me-”

“-on a swoopbike.”

You stare at Din.

“Where have you been?”

Kriff, you knew the question would come eventually. You… hope your story checks out- that Boba doesn’t ruin things.

You place the baby down, letting him toddle across the ground towards Pablo.

“I decided to go a bit outside the cave, check around, you know?” Shaky breath. “One of Thall’s transports spotted me- recognized me… So, I, uh, took the bike out, far, far away from the Crest, as fast as I could in its damaged state, hoping to keep it… hidden.” Trembling hands in pockets. “Worked great until I got turned around. Took me a while to find my way back.”

…do they believe you?

Your eyes sweep across their faces- their shoulders relaxing...

They believe you.

…

But… then there’s Boba, and possibly Fennec. You- you need to talk to them.

“Well,” Pablo sighs. “What a way to spend the day… So, what now?”

“We’ve talked it over-”

You turn to Din.

“For tonight, we stay in this cave. Lay low. Analyze the situation tomorrow.”

Heavy sigh.

You… can’t argue with that. Laying low- resting… For one night, you need it. You need it desperately.

“Sounds like bedtime,” Pablo sighs, already blazing a path for the Crest. You watch, blinking, as the rest follow suit, each leaving for their respective ships.

“Pablo,” you call out, voice traced with exhaustion. “Take Noodles inside.”

“The hell?”

“My dog.”

“…No way! That thing is not sleeping in-”

“Noodles!” Cara calls, laughing as the dog highspeed races up the ramp.

“Your dog?”

You turn at Din’s rasp-

Stars… you want to cry at the stiffness, the rigidity in his body… You know you caused it, but…

“It’s going to eat bad people for me on Keolith.”

…

He just grunts at that.

Stars…

Pulling your hat low across your brows, you sigh, “Go on to bed, Mando. I- I think I’m going to spend some time on… Fett’s ship…”

You need space.

…

You need space to think.

…

“And maybe… maybe stay the night.”

The Mandalorian’s arms drop.

…

…

…

“……Okay.”

…

And just like that, he’s scooped the child up into his arms- trudging away towards the Razor Crest, cape fluttering at his heels.

…

Damn it.

You stare at the Crest.

…

That… came out wrong.

…

…

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

“Princess,” Boba smirks, lifting a glass as you walk through the door.

You discovered Boba and Fennec where you expected- sitting in the cockpit of his ship… as if they knew you were coming.

“No thanks.” You throw your hands on your hips. “We need to talk.”

Something flies at your head- you catch it.

Opening the palm of your hand, you gawk down at-

“Next time,” Boba chuckles, “don’t leave your commlink at the scene of a hit job.”

…

“Oh.”

You swallow.

“Oops?”

“Nice shot.” Fennec smirks. “And here I thought you were inexperienced.”

…

You are inexperienced…

“Lucky first-time assassination, is all.” A pang knocks against your chest cavity. “Beginner’s luck?”

Oh stars, stop trying to be cute. Now’s not the time- you’re having a mental crisis for Maker’s sake-

“Thank you for not saying anything,” you mumble, eyes flicking between Boba and Fennec. “It… would have put me in an awkward position.”

…

You bite your lower lip…

Just blurt it out.

“Boba,” you sigh, “why are you helping me?”

…

Arms pressed against his thighs, Boba leans forward.

“Just fulfilling my end of the deal.”

Something… flicks in his eyes- the first time you’ve seen his mask… falter.

…oh.

…

He��s lying.

“Go, Princess-” a dust of a smile shadows his face- “you’re with the wrong Mandalorian tonight.”

…He’s right.

And with a deep grimace, you head for the door-

“I would have shot him too-”

You glance back at Boba.

“-if that helps you.”

You flash him a small smile.

…

It does…

…

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

“Where’s… uh, Mando?” you ask, head popping up into the Crest’s cockpit from the ladder below.

Pablo shrugs, focused intently on his card game with Cara.

“In his room.” Cara smashes a card on the dash- Pablo erupts into groans.

"Pay up, Babycakes…”

With a roll of your eyes, you begin descending the ladder. When your feet touch the floor, you freeze- overwhelmed, paralyzed with… anxiety?

Damn it… it’s… just Mando…

Just… do it!

Pursing your lips, you march past a prostrate 4PO with a snoring Noodles- all four feet in the air- resting beside him. And with one final march forward, you find yourself right at the Mandalorian’s door…

…

“…Mando?”

knock- knock-

“Uh, can I… come in?”

…

…

“It’s unlocked.”

Chewing on your lower lip, the door snaps open beneath your touch.

…

“Din?” you call out hesitantly, sticking your head inside.

“Thought you were with Fett.”

Your eyes turn in the direction of the refresher.

…

“His… ship smelled weird.”

The refresher door snaps open, and Din steps out-

“BLAST!” you yelp, stumbling backwards. “What the hell! Where’s your armor!?”

Dank Ferrik! It’s- it’s like looking at the man naked! Should you, you don’t know, spin away!?

Din just… tilts his helmet at you- rests his hands at the waist of his flight suit.

“I don’t sleep in my armor.”

…oh.

You lean back against the closed door, listening as Din shuffles around the room.

Kriff! What do you say? … Why isn’t he saying anything? Oh gosh oh gosh-

“Where’s the baby?” you blurt, beginning to turn towards him. “Is he- OH-”

ARM REVEAL.

…

OH SHIT.

SHIT.

KRIFFING GUNS-FOR-DAYS.

“I put him down in the bunk.”

“Huh?” you puff, snapping your eyes away from his… his big-ass GUNS- oh kriff.

“The child-” Din steps over a pile of junk to open a drawer- “he was... fussy.” He pauses… hooks his thumbs on his suspenders. “I thought… maybe he’d sleep better near your scent.”

Oh-

Oh stop just throw you into the pits of Carkoon will you.

Shoulders slumping forward, you groan inwardly- using every bit of your determination to not bolt right out the door.

Oh kriff, you hate this- this awkwardness. Just… ask him something! And for the love of all things good and holy- DON’T STARE AT HIS ARMS.

“What are you, uh, doing?”

“Going to bed.”

“Oh.”

…

You blink.

…

“Okay, goodnight-”

Flinging around, you reach for the door, but a hand, a grip on your wrist pulls you back.

“What are you doing?” you snap, stumbling at the motion.

“You need a real bed.”

“So do you.”

“I know.”

Oh.

Oh.

…

Well then.

…

Hell yeah.

…

You let him lead you, guide you around a pile of clothing- like a shepherd leading his flock through a minefield… only instead of a minefield it’s Din’s rancid room.

…But that’s an argument for another day.

Pausing at the foot of his bed- his visor trails down your legs…

"Sit.”

Damn it if you won’t obey. Stars, you’re pathetic.

“Din, what are you-”

He drops to his knees- bare fingers fumbling with the laces of your dust-caked boots. You watch- fighting to keep your expression neutral as the ridiculous man begins to remove your shoes for you.

…You also have to fight to not stare at his exposed arms and blasted-broad shoulders, but you’re much less successful at that part…

“Best be careful, Din Djarin.” A small smirk begins to grow. “I could get really used to this kind of treatment.”

“Who was he?”

You blink.

“…Huh?”

“That-” Din’s fingers pause- “that man.”

 Your mouth pops open at his… vehemency.

“Boba?” You quirk a brow down at him.

Blast- what does Din… what does Din think?

He remains… silent, removing your second boot without a word.

“That man you kissed,” he puffs.

You blink… oooooohhh….

Leaning to your side, you pick at a loose thread on the bed. “He’s a… friend.”

“Looked like more than a friend,” the grumble slips beneath his helm. He stands, flicks a hand at you.

“Get out of those clothes.”

Thank the Maker- a topic change!

With a heavy sigh, you march yourself over to his drawers. You didn’t have to ask- you’re well beyond the asking stage.

“Mando?” you toss over your shoulder. “Um…What’s your favorite color?”

…

“Red.”

…

You can do red.

Snatching a scarlet flannel from the drawer, you slam it shut- sweeping into the refresher to change. As you remove your grimy clothes, you stare in the mirror at the scars- the marks on your forearm.

“You know, Mando,” you shout through the closed door, forcing your eyes away from the baggage of your past. “Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if the world hadn’t imploded under your feet as a kid? I know I do.”

Talking comes easier when you can’t see him….

…

Footsteps… shuffling… drawers opening and closing-

“Working my father’s trade…” Silence. “He was… a carpenter.”

Your fingers pause mid-buttoning. “Sounds… peaceful.” Unlike bounty hunting, goes unsaid.

“I think-” you reach for a towel- “that I’d have left Sularia, for sure. As much as I loved it…”

As much as you miss it…

“…There wasn’t much to do in the mountains except get married, have kids, chase kids, heard animals, shovel snow, fucking yodel… you get the picture.”

The door snaps open, and you press the side of your face against the doorframe. “I’ve always craved excitement, much to my parent’s displeasure…”

There he is- Din- sitting on the side of the bed… watching you.

He tilts his head forward- leans against his thighs. “I’d say you found yourself that excitement,” he snorts.

Understatement of the year.

Aches mixing with your exhaustion, you release a pained groan as you ease next to him on the bed. Body sinking in on itself, you brush, lean against his side.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

“Will you leave us again?”

His voice is but a whisper.

 “If I left-” you lift your chin, flashing him a small smile- “I’d have to buy my own flannels.”

Silence.

…

He reaches out, tugs on your flannel sleeve.

“Can’t have that.”

…

“Go to sleep.”

A weary smile dusts your lips.

Yes, sir.

…

Scrambling up to the head of the bed, you shove your legs beneath the blankets and flop over to face the wall. Burying deep beneath them, you squeeze your eyes shut.

Blankets lift-

Weight on the mattress-

Heavy sigh-

Blankets pull and drop.

…

Oh kriff, he’s right behind you… Guess that’s how sharing a bed works…

…

Oh kark it.

You blink at the wall.

…

Time to make things weird.

“Roll over!” you shout, flinging up out of the bed. Din jolts back- startled by your outburst.

“W-what-?” He pulls the blankets up to his neck.

“MOVE!”

You yank on his arm- forcing him to roll over.

You can’t help but giggle as he obliges.

See? You don’t have to spend all night worrying about accidently touching him if you’re already touching him.

Life hack.

Now that Din’s properly flopped over and facing you in the bed, you crawl back under the blankets. You tug on his exposed arm- snaking it across your middle. You wiggle backwards until your back is pressed, squashed against his chest.

…

…

“Din?”

…

…

“Yeah?”

…

…

…

“This okay?”

…

…

…

His hand creeps up your hip, splays across your stomach.

…

“Yeah.”

…

…

…

“Then loosen up.”

…

…

“I am loose.”

…

…

“Goodnight, Din.”

…

…

“Goodnight, Ka’r’ika.”

…………

………

……

…

…

Guns-for-days holy shit-

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

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the reblog)

a/n: Oooooh boy. With a chapter this long, there’s a LOT I could say! I am reaaaaallly nervous for this one hsjdhdhd. Feel free to ask me anything in the comments so I can address specific topics! For now, I’ll just say things such as Din’s reaction to Boba taking his helmet off, Fennec still be alive, etc. will be addressed next chapter. 

Chapter ten really came so easily yet so hard at the same time. I put a LOT of time and love into this fic... So, if you, too, find any sort of enjoyment from it, I’d love to hear about it! I have made so many kind friends through this story. I love hearing from you!

And heh, things be heating up in this chapter, hm??? 👀 Any thoughts/theories??

Anyway... I’m sure I’ll think of things later I’ll wish I’d said... but for now... I hope you enjoyed!!!

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #willezarr #in fields of white #wille writes #ifow #chapter 10 #i'll tie you up princess

[smallestchances]

The Fourth Horseman (Thor x Reader)

synopsis:  thor has done everything in his power to be seen as an actual powerhouse and threat to the mobs of new york, but the council of the horsemen are in the way. knowing they could lose everything they’ve built, mor goes to the people she knows can make things happen, and strikes a deal with the apocalypse wives.

word count: 4.9k

a/n: Welcome to the first installment of the Apocalypse wives!! Buckle up for a ride and send in asks when you’re ready for more :)

warnings: cursing, slight smut, mentions of abuse & murder

MASTERLIST /// WIVES!MASTERLIST

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

 You were a lot of things to a lot of people. Some people knew you as a determined spitfire who was fierce, protective, and not afraid to get her hands dirty for the people she loved. They knew you were an amazing friend.

Others knew you were an even worse enemy.

They knew you as an unforgiving bitch who painted her nails with the blood of those who wronged her. You were an unbothered, spoiled witch who wouldn't know humility if it was beneath your red-bottomed heel.

Thor knew that you were all of those things on a good day.

You sat with him now, in the middle of SHIELD. It served as the hottest and the most dangerous club in the state, and therefore your meeting place. Thor's hand is fit snugly around your waist, the sheer panel of your body suit allowing you to feel a semblance of his touch.

He's happy at the moment--genuinely happy and it's something you haven't seen in a long time. You can only look at him fondly, the low light of the club highlighting his jaw and the laugh lines that appear. His eyes twinkle as he talks with Loki, their relationship finally repaired after the trickster was fatally wounded trying to save your husband’s life.

Though you're still skeptical of the mischief maker, you have yet  to remember the last time you saw Thor this happy. Knowing this is the only reason you've allowed Loki to build his way back into your lives, you let him know that you have a dagger with his name on it should his loyalties change again.

As they talk, your eyes can’t help but linger to the exclusive third floor of the club — the circular balconies that complement the hollow interior of the building. The people up there sneer at those below, and you feel your jaw tick. Escorts, wannabes, and the closest inner circles of the underground world are found up there, and you knew that's where Thor belonged.

Three years. Three years, you and Thor had to fight and claw your way to get anywhere in the mafia world, and still you weren't at the top. Thor has already gained throes of power, influence, and support. 

You just had to take him further. 

"He won't be a problem."

Thor's words snap you back to the brothers' conversation, realizing the tone has taken a turn.

"You've only experienced Odin's grace," Loki replies. "He knows how to keep the appearance of kindness. Don't forget that I know his wrath more than anyone else.”

Thor swallows heavily at the reminder of his father's sins. "Loki—“

"No need for pity brother,” Loki interrupts, a genuine smile creeping on his face. "Despite my past, I've finally found a way to win against certain demons. I've gained you, a home, a psychotic sister-in-law—”

You wink at him.

"I'm in a better place than before," Loki concludes. "However, Father sees you taking me in as a personal slight. That, coupled with your growing success—“

"We've become his targets,” Thor finishes.

Those simple words cause the bass of the club music to become white noise. Blinking rapidly, you sit up quickly, leaning forward into Thor's space. "Your father now has you both on a hit list?” The disgust can’t help but drip from your voice. Loki only nods. Your eyes fall to the floor, tracing the patterned tiles as you process the information. "What does Frigga know about this?”

Thor makes a noise at the back of his throat. "Mother was the one who warned us."

You nod, chewing on your lip. "So we take him down first.”

Both men clear their throat sharply, Loki looking around cautiously. “Odin is the oldest living patriarch of the New York’s...companies. He has the support of the Horsemen— taking him down will not be simple."

"Nor should we announce it so blatantly my love," Thor shifts, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, and his arms never leaving your sides.

"Your coward of a father wants to assassinate his sons because of the power they've gained,” is all you can grit out. “Something has to be done—”

“If we move too quickly, then we risk losing everything,” Loki interrupts. “Odin will declare us as enemies, and per his requests, he'll have the arsenal of Conquest, the men of Famine, and the tactics of Pestilence at his fingertips. Right now, we don't stand a chance.”

You bite the inside of your cheek harder, going through what you know of the Horsemen and their capabilities. You yourself have had little interaction with the infamous mobster, once before you married Thor and once to get Loki out of his clutches of abuse. He’s well known for being the first Horseman to retire instead of die, but his seat of War hasn’t been empty for long.

Frigga, his wife, was the one you knew well and respected. You knew her as a woman who did the best in every circumstance she found herself in, and fell in love with a man who changed too much before she realized what happened. Frigga had one of the largest hearts you knew, and you were certain she was the only reason the Asgardians were still standing as a viable threat.

"Without the council, we can defeat him," Thor mumbles.

Loki answers with a sarcastic laugh, downing the last shot on the table. "Turning the Council on a veteran member is impossible; especially since we don't have an insight into their ranks.” He gestures to the third floor of SHIELD. "We either lay low and build an army...or surrender while we still can."

You scoff at the two suggestions, rolling your eyes only to balk at the fact that Thor has yet to answer. "You can't seriously be considering this,"  you spit at him. At the answering silence, you slide off his lap to the far end of the couch. If we build an army, we’ll be  forced to outsource outside of New York— and that means making the horseman an even bigger enemy for after the war. Don't even get me started on what these potential ‘allies’ will want.”

"And surrendering is not an option,” is all Thor mumbles, his jaw ticking as he rubs his palms together nervously. "Do we strike a deal?”

You stand abruptly, avoiding Thor’s sorrowful stare as you barely announce that  you’re going to grab more drinks. You don’t want to hear another word of their conversation, but their words echo through your head as you descend the stairs to the first floor. Pushing past bodies, your mind barely registers that you pick up the pace when the bar is within eye-distance.

After ordering your drink of choice, you scrub a hand over your face in an attempt to clear all the thoughts in your head. You have half a mind to try to take out Odin yourself and with your bare hands, but you know everything Loki said was right.

Thor was so close to the finish line. He’d tried so hard to establish his reign separate from his father’s, trying to do better for the people and the misfits that found their way to him. Odin had started to spit on the values of being a Horseman, even towards the end of his reign. He allowed his community to fall and even hung Frigga out to deal with his coming consequences, and Thor got tired of it when it got too close to the people he loved.

Just thinking about the night everything came to a head, and how far you all have come, your eyes unconsciously float to the third floor.

There.

There, you find a glimpse of the very men Thor & Loki spoke about. Tony Stark, Conquest; Steve Rogers, Famine; & Bucky Barnes, Pestilence.To the left of them, you find another group that everyone else in the club seems to have looked over.

Stunning under the multicolored lights, their skin tones are radiant as their tailor made attire fit their body types marvelously. They seem to be keeping to themselves, talking to each other in low tones, while holding themselves differently than the escorts around them.

The Wives.

You take a thoughtful sip of your drink as a glimpse of a thought passes through your brain...and you lie in wait to prove your theory. You don’t have to wait long as a commotion brings your attention back to the Horsemen, and you find Conquest and Pestilence unusually close to each other, tempers flaring.

Pestilence gets shoved back by Famine, and just as things comes to a head, faster than lightning, the Wives are there. Sekhmet Stark’s arms have wrapped around Conquest, Hecate Barnes has the attention of Pestilence solely on her, and Kali Rogers has found Famine’s lips on hers.

And that’s the moment that you knew the solution to your problem--well Thor’s problem. You’re almost vibrating in joy as you down the rest of your drink before going back up to the stairs.

Its surprisingly easy to get up to the third floor--just until you make it to the glass doors that separate the landing from the exclusive section.

Straight ahead, on a raised dias, you see that the Wives have returned to their place, with Sekhmet in the center, Kali to her left, and Cate to her right.

Taking a deep breath, you hold your head high and push the glass doors aside--just to be stopped by a bouncer.

“No walk-ins. Exclusive VIP only.”

You simply raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Exclusive Personnel only,” he repeats.

You flash him a wicked smile and tilt your head to the side, trying to give him as much of a condescending look as you can muster. Satisfaction fills you as the bouncer deflates just slightly. You try your luck as you step forward again, but stopped again. 

“Who are you,” he asks, but the waver in his voice gives him away.

You see your window, and cross your arms while pursing your lips. “I’m going to pretend you didn't ask that and let you go this time around.”

He doesn’t move. “I cant let you in.”

“Really? Fine,” you shrug. “Explain to the Wives why you’re keeping them waiting.”

When the bouncer looks back at the women you mentioned, you know he’s exactly where you want him. “I’m going to have to loop back to you--”

You snap your name impatiently, and he mumbles it back with a nod before walking away. You wait with baited breath, knowing that with this stunt you could either end up with a bullet in your skull or the world at your feet.

Your throat tightens when you catch Sekhmet’s gaze.

When the bouncer makes his way back to you, he looks pale and motions with his head for you to follow him. “I’m so sorry (Y/N),” he says. “Right this way.”

You don’t allow yourself to breathe, even as you walk the short path to where you want to be. You feel curious eyes on you, but you don’t shy away from either of them, and instead hold your head higher as if you’re meant to be there--because you were.

Sekhmet stands when you both reach the Wives, a sharp, gleeful smile on her face as she opens her arms up in expectation. “Darling! Hello, so nice to see you again!” 

The pleasantries continue with all the wives until you’ve sat in the middle of them,  and you know it’s the most dangerous place to be.

When the bouncer walks away, the smiles drop. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Is what Sekhmet demands, her eyes focused solely on you. 

You don’t put down your guard, but you cooly reach for one of the full glasses of drinks on the table before all of you. You take your time taking a sip. “I’m someone who knows who you all are,” you say when you’re ready. 

Hecate simply hums in unamusement. “Are we supposed to be impressed?”

“As if the wives of the most powerful men in new york are a secret,” Kali giggles.

You don’t let their words phase you. You hum back in response. “See I know that you’re the very people who keep New York from burning to the ground.”

A surprised silence follow your statement, before Sekhmet picks up the next words quickly and carefully. “I don’t think I know what you mean,” she smiles. 

You roll your eyes. “Mind you, this is coming from someone who understands just what you hold within your palms.”

The next silence stands longer. Hecate leans in, her hands gripping the couch beneath, her eyes intense as they pour into you. “How do you know you’re right?”

You let a small smile slip, and take another sip before gesturing down to where you can see your husband and Loki still speaking intensely. “Thor. I love him to death,  I really do, and there’s not a heart out there that I wouldn’t rip out for him. He has power, a lot of it, and he's starting to develop quite a hold on New York.”

Kali nods. “Thor Odinson. I’ve heard of him.” She tilts her head to the side, looking out into space. “That New Jersey border deal was ingenious, I’m disappointed a Horseman didn’t execute it.”

Her words get grunts of agreement, and pride swells in your chest, 

“You & I both know that Thor didn’t have a hand in that deal until he showed up the day he needed to,” you giggled, and they stare at you openly. 

“Well shit,” Sekhmet laughs out loud, picking up her own glass.

Before you know it, you’re toasting with the most powerful women in New York, laughing with them and even exchanging high fives.

“I told  y’all a man couldn’t pull that off!” Sekhmet cackles. 

Hecate nods. “It was too good to be true.” 

“We didn’t know he had a wife,” Kali winks. 

Smiling with them, the anxiety in your chest lessens. 

“So what do you need?”

Sekhmet’s words bring back the somber mood, and you laugh nervously.  “What do you mean?

Kali speaks up seamlessly. “Thor is the eldest son of Odin. Odin, the retired horseman of War, who controls the upper parts of New York as the Asgardians. If Thor’s wife has enough pussy to show up uninvited to confront us, you can’t expect us to believe you don't want anything.”

Looking at them all, you decide to lay all your cards out on the table. “Odin is going after Thor.”

No one replies, so you continue.

“Loki & Thor have made amends and their father now sees them as a threat to his empire. He’s going to call on the Horsemen to wage War…” you trail off, cursing internally as they exchange looks. “But by the look on your faces I’m guessing he already has.”

Kali only nods.  “He approached them with a meeting this morning. The old dick had the audacity to pull rank and get me thrown out of the room when I spoke against him.” She takes a deep gulp of her drink, her jaw clenching at the memory.

The hope that allowed you to strut your way into the third floor comes back tenfold. “So you aren’t on his side?”  

“Fuck no,`” Hecate snorts.  “I’ve unfortunately seen every side of that man when he and Brock were on the council together and…” she trails off, her eyes distant. “New York has never seen a darker time. How Frigga stays with him, I’ll never understand.” 

“Even with all the power as she has, he won’t let her leave,” you mumble. The conversation comes at a standstill, but a tense once that allows all of you to look in upon your own relationships--and just how bad it could get. Clearing your throat, you go in. “Don’t support him.”

No one answers you, but you see curiosity glint within the eyes of the Wives.

“Talk to the Horsemen,” you continue, sliding to the edge of your seat. “I know you have more sway than I ever could if I talked to them. Don’t allow them to back Odin, let him hang to dry and I’ll take care of the rest with Thor & Loki.”

Kali is the one who answers you. “Unfortunately, they’re not allowed to just sit this one out. If The Horsemen stand aside when something as big as this happens we’ll look like we’re going soft.”

 “And I swear to you,” you promise lowly. “That any retaliation you face will be borne by Thor & I. On the blood of my heart, I will do anything for you if you step back for this and let us take him down.”

Your heart has crawled into your throat, pulsing so strongly you don’t know if you can breathe. They haven’t said no outright, and you could practically taste the possibilities, taste exactly what you & your husband can achieve--

“On your heart?” Hecate repeats.

You nod sternly. “On my heart.”

Hecate and Kali merely look at Sekhmet. She gives you a thoughtful look, and blinks slowly, tipping her head down slightly. “Seems we have a lot to talk about. Will you give us some space?”

The last question is directed at you, and you can’t help but nod vehemently and stand up. “Of course,” you breathe, walking away.

You bite your lip hard enough to force yourself not to look back.

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

Sekhi’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she leans back heavily onto the bathroom mirror. Gripping the edge of the counter tightly, a strangled moan rips out of her throat as her husband’s lips wrapped around her clit, sucking at just the right pressure.  Wetness drips down the junction of her thighs, and still Tony takes it all in stride, moaning vulgarly at her sounds. He lets up only slightly to grab Sekhi’s hand to shove it into his hair, and it gives her enough space to remember that she had another objective when she got him alone.

“We--” She moans when his lips reattach and tug his face away from her core. He lets her breath, only to lap at her cum on her inner thighs. “We have to drop Odin,” She finally breathes out.

He only sighs, pausing to give her a quick peck on the skin he was worshipping. “That is not the name I want on your lips right now.” 

“We cant—Tony!--we can’t endorse him for his war.”

With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly gets up and places both his hands on either side of his wife. He leans in and she automatically reciprocates, lips meeting to exchange tastes. When they finally pull away, Tony speaks. “Since you won’t let it go...why the sudden interest in Odin, and betraying him.”

His words unconsciously allow a memory to flash behind Sekhi’s eyes, and she shakes it away just as quickly as it’s come. “You don't…” She tries to find the words before restarting. “I know he welcomed you into the Horsemen and helped you build your empire...but that man who sat in as War is not the same man today. He’s  an ass, too much of a risk, volatile—”

Tony shrugs. “People say the same about me.”

“Tony, you can’t imagine the things he’s done,” is all she snaps back.  “Since he’s retired he’s—”

Her lips run dry as the memory scratches again. Warm palms cup her chin and bring her gaze to meet warm brown eyes flooded with concern. “He’s what? Baby, has he done something?”

Even though his words are soft, you hear the threat behind it. The underlying danger that follows Conquest. Sekhi reaches up and holds his hands in hers, kissing his palm softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me—”

“Tony.”

After a moment he backs down and nods solemnly. He drops his hands back to their previous position on the counter. “Okay. Say we don’t back him. You know we have to choose a side in this or we’ll look vulnerable.”

“So choose Thor’s.”

Tony stills in thought before stepping closer to his wife. “I’m listening.”

——-

“If we back Thor, Odin doesn’t stand a chance.”

Steve turns over Kali’s words in his head, rubbing her calf that’s been thrown over his lap. He ignores the bustle of the club around him, the quiet corner they’ve found the perfect setting for their conversation.

“He’d be decimated without too much of a fight,” he mumbles.

“Exactly.” Kali leans closer into him, lacing his fingers with hers at her ankles. “We support Thor, and gain his loyalty now...I’ve heard things. Things stirring in the air about him and how powerful he’s becoming. We show that he’s not a threat, that he's on our side—”

“And he immediately isn’t a threat any more. He becomes an ally.”

“Bingo,” Kali smiles brightly. “And, he’s just reconciled with Loki, meaning he’s got one of the biggest minds in the game on his team.”

Steve nods, turning his head to look her in the eyes. “So what you’re saying is we take him into one of our sectors.”

Kali shakes her head. “I’m saying more than that my love.”

——-

Bucky downs his shot before scrubbing a rough hand down his face. “You’re suggesting he becomes a Horseman.”

Hecate nods. 

Bucky can only sigh while pointing his eyes to heaven. “Doll—”

His wife only groans, wrapping her arms around his waist so that he can’t help but absorb him into her. “You’ve never said no to me before, don’t you dare start now.”

Bucky laughs nervously. “I’m not. But think about it, if we turn against Odin, we’re deliberately breaking the laws that say he’s under our constant protection after he’s left the table. If we break them now, there’s no turning back.”

“You won’t be breaking it! You’ll be bending it.” Hecate shines an innocent smile at him, trying to press her nose into his as their foreheads lie together. “The title is merely passing down onto his son--as it should have, had Odin kept his actions honourable. Thor’ll have the loyalty of  Asgard, Frigga, and the men he has now. No one will fault you.”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

 “Bucky!”

He groans. “I get it doll, I do. I’m as fond of that man as you are, but we’d have to have hard evidence that he’s broken our bylaws before we do. And even if we did, swearing in a new horseman is not a decision only I get to make…” Bucky trails off, sighing with a short laugh. “By the look on your face I’m guessing the girls are already on it.”

“Maybe.” Hecate gives her husband a quick peck on his lips, once, twice, until he melts into her. “Just tell me you’re on my side. You’re with me, aren’t you Buck?”

“Yea doll...I’m with you.”

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

When the bouncer comes down to meet you on the second floor, it takes everything in you to prevent yourself from smiling. You just know. 

As he escorts the three of you onto the third floor of SHIELD, you feel the men beside you tense even as you relax. When the bouncer called you by name, Thor’s eyes haven’t left you. 

“My love,” his deep timber resonates deep within you, caution in his voice. “What’ve you done.”

You meet his gaze levelly. “What needed to be done.”

Your husband doesn’t answer you before staring straight ahead again, the hallways you all turn becoming less and less populated until you find yourself within black marble halls.

“You work quickly,” Loki chuckles lowly in your ear.

“Enough to keep the title of psychotic sister in law?”

He smirks at you. “Seems so.”

The bouncer stops abruptly in front of a heavily bolted door, and after typing in a code it swings open. You lead the way in, but then hang back to grasp onto Thor’s forearm. He allows you to, but he’s tense and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t respond immediately to your touch.

But the way he angles himself between you and the most powerful mobsters in the room, with the way his fingers flex towards his gun--you know he’s not directly angry at you. 

Sekhmet, Kali and Hecate sit on the opposite side of the room, in a similar set up to the one you infiltrated merely half an hour before. Their faces are nonchalant, but when Sekhemet winks at you, no words can describe the relief and the pure joy that passes through you.

Tony, Steve, & Bucky stand between you and the Wives, and you know you all will fit perfectly.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Tony says cordially, gesturing towards the couches in front of them. Bucky goes off to the side to pour a drink, and Thor’s eyes trail him carefully. “How do you feel about hypotheticals?” 

Loki takes it upon himself to sit first, and you follow, tugging your husband along. Only when you’re both sitting does he reply. 

“I find them fun to indulge in…” He trails off, grasping the glass that Bucky hands him, not even bothering to take a sip before he sets it down.

“Then indulge with us.” Bucky smiles, and within a blink of an eye everyone has guns pulled out on you. 

The tension in the room is palpable, and Thor stands defensively in front of both you and Loki. The latter presses a small knife into your hand, before standing beside his brother. 

“Let’s say you come in here,” Steve smiles, shrugging casually, his grip on his weapon firm. “As an invited guest of the Horsemen. You have the audacity to not drink the wonderful poison Pestilence has poured for you, so things have to get a little messier than intended.”

Tony is the one who continues. “We’re feeling creative, so we shoot you in the kneecaps, to make you helpless. We shoot your wife between the eyes to make it quick. Your brother, however, we make it slow. “ Thor’s whole body clenches tightly. “We get all the information out of him, about your home base, your arsenal, your men--”

“And then we kill him,” Bucky takes it up. “We let you go. You’re no threat, your empire belongs to us, and the most important people in your life are dead.”

“What would you do about it?” Steve finishes.

Thor stays quiet for a really long time. No one takes their eyes off of him, and he takes his time to look Tony, Steve, and Bucky straight in the eye. You wait with baited breath on just exactly he might do, ready to  fight your way out if needed--if he wanted you to.

It’s when he presses his chest directly against the barrel of Tony’s gun that your breath hitches, and you scoot slightly towards him. 

“I’d leave, and thank you for sparing my life,” Thor answers. “A year down the road, I’d have enough physical therapy to start walking again, with a cane most likely. I’d make it a nice one, lightweight but made of vibranium to give it leverage, with the names of who I lost engraved on the stem. Two years down the road, I have all of your whereabouts, your routines, your dealings, your accounts, all under the sole of my shoe.

“Year three, I let you know I’m co ming. But I make it slow. I take out the men around you, so you know I’m on my way, and when I finally get to you?” Thor steps closer, but Tony keeps his gun steady. “I incapacitate you with the head of my cane, just in the right spots of your kneecaps to make it irreversible. I shoot your girls in between the eyes to make it quick, and I kill Rhodey, Sam & Natasha slowly. For them to give me information I already know. When I’m done with them, I kill you all myself, but make sure to watch the life leave your eyes as your blood pools around my feet. The last bullet I’ll leave for myself.”

The standstill is unbearable. Thor’s confessions hang heavily within the air, and it doesn’t dissipate when Tony puts his gun away, the others following suit. 

“Gosh, you’re morbid,” he chuckles. “And three years? Seems a little tedious.”

Everyone goes back to casual stances around the room, but Thor stays clenched in the same spot. Loki looks at him warily, and you notice the way the others see that he hasn’t calmed down.

You get up from your spot on the couch, dragging your hand across the back of his waist leisurely. That simply action causes him to deflate, and he watches you walk over to the Wives, who have a drink ready for you. 

“Personally, I think their smartest plan was getting rid of me,” you declare, and laughs that resonate through the room.

“Getting rid of you? I was the one that they kept around for information,” Loki challenges.

“Mmm, maybe. But obviously they killed the biggest threat first.”

Thor looks at you fondly as everyone laughs again, watching you toast with Sekhmet, Kali & Hecate. 

“As pleasant as this exchange has been,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Is there a reason you brought me here besides to threaten my wife and my brother?”

Kali nudges you on the shoulder, and you take the sign to walk up to him slowly. He presses you into him immediately, and watches as Tony approaches him with a glass of gin. 

When Thor gives it a side glance, he merely rolls his eyes and takes a sip before handing it over. Your husband takes it gladly, but just before he’s about to take a sip, Tony’s words stop him. 

“How do you feel about becoming a Horseman?”

 -----------------

Tags: @angelmashelle​ @fuckinglittlekitten​ @youngdreamer3214​ @rose-bliss​ @amethyst09​ 

Join my taglist by commenting your tag on which fics you’d like to be tagged in!

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[sleephyjhs]

Sleeping Lions (Taehyung One-Shot)

pairing: dad!taehyung x pregnant!reader

genre: fluff ofc!! + family au (?)

summary: a quiet morning in the kim household was very much unheard of. a puppy, three small children and another on the way was constant cause for mayhem. when better to cause a raucous than an early sunday morning?

wc: 1.53K

song rec: stay here - gaho

note: i think this is my favourite thing i’ve ever written here, please enjoy!! <3

m.list | requested

The eventual gush of tepid sunlight through a thin gap between the curtains was the worst part of every sunday morning. Striking across your aching eyelids, the light disrupted your peaceful slumber and forced you to acknowledge the impending sunrise. You took a brief moment to wriggle around in the imprint you’d moulded into the mattress; the arrangement of pregnancy support pillows sometimes gave you more aches than they eradicated.

On lazy sundays such as these, sitting up straight away was more effort than what it was worth. Taking the few minutes that were left before your shared bed would be surely invaded to embrace the chilliness of the sheets were essential. Beside you laid your husband Taehyung who, visibly, seemed much less accustomed to the early morning than you. Bound on your back by the angled pillows and the growing bump you carried, you instead rolled your head over to face him. Cheeks puffy from a good night’s rest, Taehyung scrubbed the sleepy residue from his squinting eyes.

“Morning sleepyhead...” you groaned, harnessing his attention. His hearty pout widened into a toothy smile at the sight of you. Since you were unable to, Tae curled onto his side and reached a hand out to your bump. Smoothing down the crinkled fabric of your cami, he took a few moments to greet his unborn baby before registering you were there also. With his thumb, he stroked the curve where the most kicking activity seemed to be. Sure enough, the direct caressing alerted your baby it was morning time.

Following her first few kicks of the day, Taehyung returned his extended smile back to your face, “She’s getting stronger every week, you know.”

“Oh I know.” Out of all your children, this one definitely packed the strongest punch. Despite your bump being designed to protect her, her main goal was seemingly to escape, “One day she might just kick a whole right through.”

Taehyung chuckled at your prediction, adoring your sly smile that accompanied it. He took a small breath, evaluating which gentle statements were acceptable for so early in the morning, “At least we’d get to meet her a lot sooner.”

For an unborn child, she sure was already loved; beyond adored. Not a single baby of his wasn’t. All of the children you shared seemed to latch onto him differently to you. Being outnumbered by 3 kids to one adult, one might have thought Taehyung would struggle to divide his attention equally between them. Yet somehow, he always managed to make each one release their giggles. With a fourth on the way, it was beginning to look like you’d have to join in on some of their playtimes. Of course, there’d be no need to ask you twice.

“It’s not even two months to wait now! She’ll be here before we know it, Tae.” He chuckled at your sudden burst of enthusiasm. Usually such expression was reserved for later in the day yet for some reason, you couldn’t quite hold back.

Before any more reminders could be dished to one another, the still silence of your bedroom was ripples by a tuning bark. Taehyung turned back to look over the edge of the bed in disapproval of the columbus introduction, “Are you wanting to come up, Tannie? You feeling left out?”

A slight tilt of the head confirmed his suspicions. Without missing a beat, Taehyung offered his hand as a step up onto the mattress and soon enough, you were greeted with a daily lick to the cheek. Ruffling his flattened fur, you soon had Yeontan looking more like the majestic puppy he really was. The couple of you watched attentively as Yeontan approached the bump protruding from the mattress. Having a pet that reacted so gently to the welcoming of your children was more than a relief to you both, but neither of you ever failed to completely melt at the change of character he expressed when interacting with the smaller humans.

Seemingly uninterested in his surroundings, Yeontan stalker back up to the head of the mattress and snuggled between a small gap in the pillows (a spot generally reserved exclusively for him), “Still tired Tannie? I feel you.” Taehyung groaned groggily, making the final adjustments to waking up.

“Lazy day?” You asked. Taehyung opened one eye and furrowed the opposite eyebrow. It couldn’t have been more obvious that that was the plan anyway, “Lazy day it is!”

A few more blinks to really adjust to the light and you were ready to sit up a bit, “Can you just help me a second?” Before you could finish, Taehyung was already propped up on the bed, ready to roll onto his knees should the extra support be needed. Basic actions such as sitting up and climbing the stairs were becoming increasingly difficult with every passing day. Assuming that all the changes would be second nature by the fourth pregnancy was a regrettable mistake.

Huffing slightly as you scooted back into the pillow chair you’d recrafted for yourself, comfort was now yours, “Everything good?” Tae assured before realigning himself to match your new height.

Snapping the attention away from each other, the plain panel door to your shared bedroom sweeped open, revealing your second born, Jaehee, sucking his thumb, “What’s wrong little man?” Taehyung asked, leaning forward in order to comfort him, “You never suck your thumb.”

You pouted as Jaehee looked to you for assurance; something wasn’t right. Taehyung was observant. Thumb-sucking was a habit none of your children had really developed. However, it had its benefits at times; it was the perfect indicator of their mood, which was clear to both of you mattered more than most things, “You’re okay in here.”

Soft easings was how to approach your son. Nervous habits had become daily procedures with him and he rarely reacted well to direct approaches before. Taehyung patted the creased duvet, formally inviting Jaehee into your bedroom. Without any hesitation, he shuffled across the ivory carpets towards the foot of the bed. For the sake of your children, you’d previously purchased a small stepping stool for them to be able to climb in with you.

“Come here bub,” Taehyung cooed, wavering his hands to direct him over. Wobbling, Jaehee clambered over your outstretched legs and rushed into his dad’s arms where he collapsed into a cuddle, “wanna tell us what’s going on?”

“I missed you.” He muffled, head buried in Tae’s chest. Your heart could’ve melted right there and them. From the day you became parents, it had been your only goal to raise them with love and affection; seeing that your children had inherited the same love you showered them with was nothing short of a relief.

“We missed you too bud!” You replied, reaching out to tickle his side. His rowdy giggles curled him further into Tae’s chest, earning a bonus hair ruffle.

Just as the ripples of laughter began to settle down, the bedroom door edged open, instigated by a tiny hand, to reveal your two girls holding hands. Minju, the firstborn, clutched onto Somin, the most recent addition to the household. As the oldest child, it wasn’t uncommon for Minju to guide her siblings to where they needed to be. Perhaps the echoing giggles of their brother had guided them towards the main bedroom.

Suddenly, Somin yanked her hand from the grip of her sister and began to waddle towards the bed, “Tannie!”

Increasing in her speed, you couldn’t help but become worried. She still wasn’t the most stable on her two legs, and the last thing you needed was to search for the first aid box you’d slipped away somewhere, “Careful darling...” You warned, already holding out the arm to support her for when she climbed onto the bed.

Following behind, Minju shuffled across the carpet, clearly still not accustomed to the morning light. As Somin fussed over Yeontan, who remained curled between the pillows, Taehyung looked over to Minju, who was unusually quiet, “Everything okay?”

Minju nodded slowly, “Just sleepy!” Thankfully, the cheer in her high-pitched voice hadn’t dimmed overnight, “Mummy...”

“Yes~?” You smiles as she too clambered up the stepping stool at the foot of the bed. She crawled up the side of your legs and crouched at your hips. Her wavy baby hairs plastered against her cheeks; the best sign of a good night’s sleep.

“Is baby sister awake yet?” Minju asked innocently, gently holding her cheek against the curve of your bump. She was, by far, the most excited of your children, particularly after learning she’d have another sister. Being the most capable of understanding what was happening meant Minju frequently offered to help where you were less able. Taehyung had taught her to help make beds and organise shoes on the rack, and strangely enough she rather enjoyed it.

Flashing a quick smile to Taehyung, who watched his eldest daughter with softened eyes, “Well, if you feel around here,” you began, leading her hand slightly upwards, “she might give you a small kick to say hello!”

Along with Taehyung, you chuckled as her eyes illuminated. In all fairness, you too became just as excited whenever your precious cargo decided to say good morning.

^ congratulations! your request is my most favourite post i’ve ever written 🥺 thank you for this!!

#bts #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bangtan #taehyung fluff #bts reactions #taehyung imagine #taehyung boyfriend #bts imagines #bts one shot #bts drabble #request #bts headcanon #bts mtl #taehyung x y/n #taehyung one shot #taehyung au #taehyung icons

[1kook]

subdued

— good boy joon on his bday x fem reader

summary; He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way. tags; birthday boy joon, solo rapper joon, college student reader (unspecified year/age lol), this entire fic is based off THIS joon everyone look and never forget him warnings; kissing, blowjobs, grinding, unprotected, birthday sex, sub!joon word count; 5k

notes; hoooo boy, if you think my other fics were self-indulgent, this one is straight from my 3 am thoughts... anyway. i actually have the same birthday as joon so this fantasy plays off very different in daydream universe no. 794 lol but i understand not everyone is as lucky as us sept 12 babies so i adjusted it 😌

The stoplight down the street from his building takes the longest. He had warned you of its faulty mechanics the very first time you visited. It lingered on red a beat too long, wasted precious seconds you could be spending with him. It’s been the sole challenger to your patience this past year. Every time you wanted to visit him, it was this same stoplight that held you up— made the sugar in his coffee cup settle, the food in its container go cold. It absolutely dampened your mood.

Today, it’s from the back of an Uber that you watch the red glow of the light, gaze fading in and out of focus. It’s raining, the rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the wind shield hypnotizing you. There’s a styrofoam box of takeout beside you falling into the same fate as all its predecessors, tucked inside a plastic bag. It’s his favorite today, the black bean noodles down the street from your university paired with a sickeningly sweet fizzy drink. (There’s a cheap bottle of wine too, but he was never one for getting shitfaced so it had a slim chance of consumption.)

The longer the light stalls, the more nervous you become. One glance at your phone tells you it’s nearing eleven forty-nine, your last message to him just a few minutes before. It was a slew of sad faces as you apologized for the fifth time that night. Another minute ticks by and you’re suddenly hit with the overwhelming fear that you won’t make it on time.

It was Namjoon’s birthday.

At least it would be for the next ten minutes.

You hadn’t seen him all day, your usual Saturday morning brunch postponed by your conflicting schedules. You had a huge group project coming up, and the other students in your group all had lives of their own, jobs, sports, dates, that made their schedules hard to work around. Namjoon, too, was busy gearing up for the release of his mixtape, a collection of songs he had worked hard on for the better half of the year.

He had been planning for this since you first met, around this time the previous year. It was all he ever spoke about these days, which was both endearing and worrisome. Regardless of how you felt about his avid dedication towards his mixtape, you would continue to support him through it all.

You were supposed to drop by after your last class, but one thing led to another and suddenly you were babysitting your neighbor’s kids as she ran off to the hospital. You had felt bad for her, something about a relative in an accident, and had said yes without thinking through what exactly that meant. Two overexcited children and a kitchen lined in cake batter, is what it meant. Your neighbor had returned a little before eleven, and by then you were really cutting it close.

The order you placed had been ready when you got to the little restaurant, and, deciding to forgo bus stop waiting times, the Uber came quickly enough. Because things can never go your way, there was a small accident on one of the major streets that set you back, leading to your driver taking an abrupt detour that you doubt was helpful, and now you were here.

You bite down on your lower lip for probably the umpteenth time, flipping your phone around to check the time. 11:52.

The light changes a second later, your chauffeur for the evening slowly easing his foot off the break and sending the two of you one step closer to your boyfriend. The movement doesn’t ease your nerves in the slightest, foot tapping wildly against the carpeted flooring of the backseat as you think of that creaky elevator. Will it be on your side today? Or will it force you to run four flights of stairs up to his floor?

You won’t know until you get there, absentmindedly tipping the poor soul who bore witness to the rolling waves of tension that had swamped your body tonight. You can only hope it’s an appropriate bill, taking off toward the front doors of his building. The water on the sidewalk splashes beneath your frantic footsteps, tickling your bare ankles. The black boots you wore that day did nothing to save you, a small gust of cold air trying to sweep up beneath the thin material of your dress, luckily to no avail.

The front area is as empty as it usually is, though you doubt the late hour would change that. Knuckle jammed harshly against the flickering elevator button, you wait impatiently for it to descend. His small label takes up the entirety of the fourth floor, studios squeezed beside meeting rooms and offices. It was by no means a monster record label, but it had gained enough fame from the quality soloists it produced over the years; Namjoon was quickly becoming one of those. The carriage is on the fifth floor, right above his, the digital panel beside you says. It passes his floor, passes the fourth, and then… nothing.

You curse every deity in the universe as you watch it freeze on the second floor. You had been so close, you groan, kicking the tip of your shoe against the metal doors. It does nothing to fix the broken elevator, and with one heavy sigh, you turn to the flight of stairs. It was 11:54 now.

The stairway is silent, off-grey concrete walls mocking you as the time continues to tick down. Holding the plastic bag to your chest, you start up the stairs in a hurry. The rustling of the bag grows annoying quickly, your thighs aching half way up. The platforms between floors provide nearly no reprieve before you ascend the next level of stairs, heaving for air as you turn onto the final platform before his floor. Your hair sticks uncomfortably to the back of your neck.

You can’t fling the door open fast enough, heart hammering between your rib cage. The hallway is filled with blissful air conditioning, nothing like the stuffy air of the staircase. You relish in it for a second before taking down the winding halls, torpedoing straight into the room your boyfriend’s in.

“Happy birthday,” you gasp, only hoping you made it in on time. Your sudden appearance has him whirling around in surprise, dark eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at his surprise intruder. The digital clock above one of his speakers blinks back at you. 11:59.

The surprise wears off soon enough. Namjoon melts back into his puffy chair, easy going smile taking over his features as he regards your ruffled appearance. “Jesus, what’ve you been up to?” he teases playfully, standing up to relieve you of the bag in your hand, still warm against your chest.

He brushes a kiss against your forehead, placing the plastic bag somewhere off behind him before enveloping you in your arms. “Thank you, baby,” he hums, strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Almost immediately the tension in your body melts away, oozes out of your skin as you bury yourself against his chest. It feels good to be there, the faint cologne from that morning clinging to his white zip-up.

“Sorry I’m so late,” you murmur. Feeling comforted enough, you pull away from your hiding spot against his chest. The arms hanging loosely around your waist don’t let you get too far, low-lidded eyes staring down at you over the straight angle of his nose. “So much happened today— I’m sorry.”

Namjoon waves your apologies off as he guides you towards his computer chair. He plops down first, pulling you over to sit on his thigh. The clock ticks by, and suddenly his birthday is over. The scent of the noodles fills his dark studio, and you become acutely aware of the soft melody drifting from his speakers. Nothing too developed yet, just a simple piano with a bass drum kicking in.

“Another year, another grey hair,” he sighs, leaning back against his seat. You laugh at his dramatics, running a finger through the head full of silver hairs he’s rocking this time around.

“I fail to see the issue,” you muse, shifting about until you can loop your arms around his neck, pulling his face close enough to yours to kiss. He lets you, opening his mouth when your tongue prods against his plush, doll lips. He tastes of that energy drink you know is bad for him, the one that keeps him up way past his nonexistent bedtime. You should scold him for it, but there’s something about the way he molds his mouth against yours that makes it difficult to pull away and do so. You kiss him for a few minutes, lips casually molding against each other.

The enticing scent of the food you brought over has you pulling away with a soft smack of your lips, lazily grinning down at him. “You should eat,” you encourage, attempting to move out of his grip. If anything, the hands on the small of your back stiffen, keeping you comfortably pressed against him.

“Don’t want to,” he whines, half-lidded eyes gazing at you with that tender look. He leans back in, nudges his nose against yours until you’re moving to accommodate him again. His lips catch yours a second time, a soft sigh released on his end. His body feels like a furnace, swaddled up in that nice white tracksuit, some fancy brand he’s an ambassador for. There’s something about him that’s different today, cherry lips catching you in a daze. He seems totally aware of the pull he has over you, moving his mouth against yours like he knows he’s won you over and was now ready to dedicate the rest of the night to you.

You weren’t having any of that, at least not tonight.

Knitting your hands in his hair, you tug. You tug and tug until he’s releasing you with a whine, swollen red lips shiny from your lip gloss. It’s certainly a look on him, and as he pants beneath you, you’re left wondering why he’s chosen to be an elusive rapper when his doll-like face could easily blend into the idol world.

Another mystery you’ll never solve.

“Missed you today,” he admits bashfully, lips pulling into a shy smile he tries to hide from you. You reward his confession with a soft peck against his cheek, hands cupping his soft cheeks between your palms. Despite how easily you’d been forgiven before, there’s a tinge of a whine curling around his next words. “Who blows someone off on their birthday?” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.

You chuckle, tracing your thumbs over his skin. They just barely brush against the corners of his mouth, the soft flesh begging to be touched. “Who spends their birthday cooped up in a tiny room?” you reply teasingly, leaning in to kiss the mole beneath his plump lips.

Namjoon inhales softly, head lolling backwards as you kiss down his chin, over his pulse point. “Was inspired,” he weakly defends, the grip around your waist growing tight. “There was a pretty girl in my dreams last night.”

“Oh?” You hum, slithering off his lap. The floor mat he has beneath his rolling chair to protect his hardwood floors is cold. There’s ridges on it that press uncomfortably into your knees. But all that is forgotten when you roll your hands over his shoulders, kiss his neck tenderly, and he groans. “How pretty?”

Your back is straining from being awkwardly stretched over him in a desperate attempt to kiss the entire column of his neck. He doesn’t make it easier, hips wiggling before you as you nip against the side of his neck. “Joon?” you coo, sliding your hands down his chest. The muscles jump beneath his zip-up, one shuddering exhale escaping him.

“R-Real fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles, hands circling your shoulders. He wants to pull you close like he always does, but you can tell he’s equally as conflicted by the need to push you down onto his cock.

The front zip of his sweater gives with one tug, the clicks of the teeth coming apart following your hand down. He’s wearing a plain white shirt underneath, the beginnings of sweat clinging to the flimsy material. You place your hands around his waist, let the fabric catch over your knuckles as you glide them upwards. The sinewy muscle quivers under your touch, Namjoon’s breath catching in your throat.

When you reach his pecs, he barely contains the whimper in his throat, hands releasing you in favor of clutching at the armrest. “Please,” he huffs, the white zip-up halting you from pushing any further. “Off.”

“Of course,” you purr, pushing it over his deltoids. He doesn’t shake the sweater off completely, the sleeves catching over each other in his haste to feel you closer against his body. The t-shirt remains tugged up to his chest, held up by your wandering hands. “Relax for me, okay?” you croon, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. The plush skin bounces back, redder than ever. He nods shakily, chest rising and falling.

You place a kiss directly on his sternum, his heart fluttering wildly just a few inches away. You feel it beneath your palm, the way it beats wildly out of rhythm for you. The music loops back around, the same melodious tune mixing with his airy sounds. You trail your mouth lower, letting it mold against the faint ridges over his abdomen.

He’s been putting on muscle these last few months. It’s a sight you only get to appreciate in moments like these. Namjoon wasn’t a flashy performer; he was too shy to wear revealing outfits, not that they particularly fit his onstage aesthetic anyway. He liked it simple and dark, wanting his words to capture people more than his looks.

It was a humble approach, really, because you don’t doubt for a second someone with looks of his caliber couldn’t pull fans with that alone. But as you said before, Namjoon didn’t like that sort of thing, and you suppose that’s why he’s declined invitations to join rookie boy groups time and again. He had worked hard to make himself known on his own, frequenting various hip hop scenes until he picked up steam. By the time you’d met him, he had his own contract, with this same company you’re currently in.

Now he was freshly twenty-six, on the cusp of releasing his first full mixtape, completely of his own creativity. His first mini-album had done extraordinarily well, but there had been a lot of outside partners and producers that pushed it along. This mixtape was one hundred percent him, a fact you couldn’t be more proud of.

What better way to treat him than to shower him in attention like this?

You press a soft kiss to his belly button, glancing up just in time to see those plush lips pull into a smile, pearly white teeth appearing in between, eyes fluttered shut. The waistband of his matching bottoms stretches easily enough, giving you a brief view of the dark underwear he’s got underneath. You let it snap back into place, relishing in the tiny gasp he gives. “You’re acting extra sweet for me today, aren’t you?” you smirk, running a palm over the bulge beneath his pants. His knuckles tighten dangerously against his armrests.

“I’m the same,” he chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you give his outline a teasing squeeze. “Just… lower please.”

His statement is followed with one hand on the back of your head, tentatively urging you closer to his stiff member just an inch. He’s so polite and shy tonight, cheeks tinted a nice rosy color as he looks away from your lewd expression practically salivating over the prize hidden beneath his clothes. His bottoms come down around his thighs, throbbing cock bouncing up to tap his stomach.

“Oooh,” you say appreciatively, taking him in your hand. Namjoon flinches, a groan catching in his throat as you trail your fingers over his cock. They end at the tip, swollen and red; you can’t help yourself as you duck down, kissing the tip softly. Namjoon full on shivers, hips bucking against your touch.

“Please, just... touch,” he begs, wiggling around underneath you.

You nod, pulling away to plant your hands against his hips. “Have to sit still for me, big boy,” you remind him, pushing down until his bottom glues itself firmly to the leather padding of his chair again. He does so with a huff. Clouded eyes meet yours, so beautifully framed by the blood that rushes to his face.

Despite calming him just moments before, the first kiss against his tip makes him squirm and buck like a wild stallion, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. Eventually he calms down, labored breath fanning across his chest as he watches you lower your mouth down around his cock. It twitches in your hand, one perfect pearl of cum oozing from the tip. It’s barely rolled down past his head when you strike, the tip of your tongue scooping it up quickly.

A little on the salty side, but it still makes you shudder. Above you, Namjoon isn't faring that well either. He groans, hands clenched over the armrest as he tries his best to be good for you. “More,” he says hoarsely, silver hair dangling over his eyes. It creates a curtain between you two, his beautiful expression hidden from your view.

You ease his cock down your mouth. It feels just as good as you remembered. Your knees ache from being on the ground, but you wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world right now. An inaudible moan resonates from above you, his back going stiff the further down you swallow him. You could practically feel yourself drooling, excess saliva making his entrance into your mouth so much easier. You get about two thirds down before it becomes difficult, lips pulled taut around his swollen member. The tip is reaching dangerous territory now, nudging against the soft spot in the back of your throat.

You could gag, but that would only startle him away, make him worry about you. You don’t want that, not when he’s melting into his seat with every inch you swallow. So you push the discomfort away, focus on feeling the entirety of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whines, shaking his silvery locks away from his eyes when he leans forward to look at you. You take extra care to bat your lashes up at him; he obviously likes the sight, his lower lip catching between his teeth for the umpteenth time that night.

When you finally surpass that initial discomfort, his cock wonderfully resting in your mouth and throat, everything becomes so much better. The drag against your lips feels almost heavenly, never mind the fact it would certainly leave the skin around there soft and tender tomorrow. It’s something you’re willing to overlook, running the flat length of your tongue against the underside of his cock to distract him.

You make one hand busy, reaching down to cup his balls. The skin is soft, but tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to bust right now. The other situates itself loosely against his hip, thumb drawing slow circles against the skin. He’s grown hotter since you’ve gotten here, like your own personal furnace.

He’s a good boy, through and through.

It had admittedly taken a while to tame his wildness; there had been a time where he would push your head down his cock the second your lips touched his mouth. Now, he fared pretty well against his own carnal instincts, blunt nails digging into the armrests in order to stop himself. Thanks to this, you’re able to pick up a comfortable pace against his cock, bobbing up and down between his thighs.

“M-More,” he pants, muscles trembling from the exertion it takes for him to hold himself back. “Please,” he throws in.

You appease him, letting go of his balls to grip the base of his cock. He hisses at the touch, hips unconsciously jumping. You hold him tight, squeezing his cock between your palm until his thighs are quivering too. The descent down his cock is easier too, no longer trying to swallow him up whole every time.

It only calms him for so long before that same plea is falling from his lips again. This time, you pull off completely, lazily jerking him off as you rest an elbow on his thigh, chin falling into your open palm as you analyze his figure. “Always need more,” you sigh, the slippery sound of your hand mingling with his little moans.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, head falling forward until his chin touches his chest. “Would like to fuck now,” he seethes, his t-shirt growing damp at the collar from all the sweating he’s been doing.

“Is that so?” You smile. As you say this, you loosen your grip, letting your hand fall away much to his dismay. “Your clothes, Joon,” you explain, using his thighs as leverage to push yourself to your feet again. There’s creases on the skin over your knees, skin and joints tender from the position. That gets pushed to the back burner as you watch Namjoon finally fight his way out of his clothing, hands stuck in the sleeves of his zip-up.

“Off, off,” he huffs, eventually tugging it off all inside out. The shirt is next, neck hole stretched huge as he peels it away from his body.

You muffle a giggle behind your palm, placing a hand on his bare shoulder when he’s done. He’s looking at you with those same, desperate eyes, stealing your heart without even realizing. “Adorable,” you tease only to watch the blood crawl over his ears and down his neck. You throw a leg over him, his thigh pressing against yours. Before you can mount him you’re tugging off the thin jacket you’d worn that day, pawing it off until only the thin barrier of your dress is between the two of you.

With both knees pressed to either side of him, you finally show him what he wants to see. The sundress you’d worn that day makes everything so accessible. The flimsy material stretches over your ass, sits pretty around your waist to reveal your sheer panties. The sight makes Namjoon groan, eyes downcast as he fights to see your pussy. You return his gaze with a hand against his jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart,” you murmur, looping your hands around his head, finding their place on the nape of his neck first. Your fingers instinctively run through his locks, drawing an airy gasp from him.

“Yes,” he breathes, lower lip brushing against yours from such close proximity. You smile down at him, easing your core down on him. His cock pressed against your clothed panties, leaving a wet trail against the exterior side of them.

He fits snugly between your folds, hesitant hands resting at your hips like he wants to grind you down but knows better than to attempt such a bold move. You reward his behavior with a faint kiss against his cheek. “Good boy, Joonie,” you praise, barely containing your own gasp as you wiggle over his cock. “Being so nice for me today,” you sigh, grinding down against him.

Namjoon shivers, cock throbbing against your soiled panties. “Always good for you,” he groans, a trail of sweat running down from his hairline.

Another kiss is pressed against his face, this time against his cheekbone as you begin grinding back and forth. “That’s right,” you confirm, hugging him tight to your chest, until his face is practically buried between your breasts. “Even on your birthday,” you sigh, stretching a hand behind you to tug your panties to the side. The first glide of his cock against your folds has him bucking against you, a choked gasp escaping both your lips.

“I-Yes,” he cries, hands wrapped tight around you.

You bite down a whimper, his length running over every inch of your folds. It makes your toes curl when he stimulates your clit. Your attention had been solely on making him feel good tonight, that the barest amounts of pleasure to your own body was enough to make you shake. “Tell me,” you pant, moving back to grab him by the shoulders as you run against his length. “What you would do if you weren’t my good boy.”

Namjoon cries at your sudden pace, head lolling back as he fights every instinct in his body telling him to just fuck right into your inviting heat. “Can’t,” he sobs, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joon,” you growl, snapping your hips forward roughly. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head with another whimper, thigh muscles jolting beneath you. It makes you shift forward, clit running hard along his cock. “No, you’ll—“ he wheezes, fingers digging deep into your sides now. “You’ll… think I’m bad. Dirty.”

You lean forward, shove your tongue into his mouth with no warning. He moans, letting you push his tongue around until yours is halfway down his throat, licking and slurping every inch of him you can reach. You yank his head back by the hair, catching those watery eyes. “Tell me all your dirty thoughts,” you croon, lips trailing down his jaw. “Tell me them and maybe we’ll make them come true.”

Namjoon moans. “You,” he hesitates. While he does that, you reach down to align his cock with your hole, throbbing to be filled. His tip brushes along the tightened lips surrounding your entrance, reducing him to a stuttering mess. “You tell me I’m dirty,” he cries, “dirty and messy, and-and you make me beg for forgiveness just to cum, s-sometimes you don’t like it and make me d-do it again,” he babbles. “I-if you’re feeling mean y-you just edge me. Until I cry.”

You sink down on his cock, your shared arousal making the glide slippery and so wet. It’s almost too easy how he fits inside of you, your back arching as the head of his cock runs deliciously against your walls. The sensation of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock has him gasping for air.

“Until you cry?” You repeat through clenched teeth. “Like you are now?”

Namjoon trembles, hips and thighs twitching every few minutes. He nods his head, but he’s become overwhelmed by his thoughts and your touches, so the movement ends up looking more dazed. There’s a couple tears that escaped and painted pretty trails down his cheeks, one catching on the corner of that pout of his. The rest pool in the corner of his eyes, glassy just like his sweat-soaked skin.

“Happy birthday,” you mumble, brushing his hair away from his face to press a kiss against his forehead. Namjoon groans. “Fuck me, baby,” you purr, wrapping your hands around his neck again. “You deserve it.”

Namjoon lets out a loud cry at your permission, hands tightening around your hips. He wastes no time, bucking into you like a wild animal that’s desperate to cum. You don’t blame him; he’d been close to cumming down your throat, and recounting his demeaning fantasies while stuffed deep inside you certainly didn’t help.

You let him jostle you to and fro, dick slipping in and out of your pussy with an unreal amount of force. He was grunting all kinds of sounds against your shoulder, biting down on the skin like it would calm him. It doesn’t, and you already know there will be a big bruise to attend to tomorrow.

With every thrust, the head of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot in your pussy, back arching at the angle he pushes in at. It makes every hair on your body stand, the animalistic sounds he’s releasing reaching deep into your core.

It’s a brief reminder of what this man was truly capable of, buff arms and thick thighs lifting you around like you’re nothing. He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way.

Well, you liked it that way too, especially if it meant having this big strong man so pliant under your touch.

“Fuck,” you moan, holding the back of his head closer to where he’s seemingly set on bruising your entire shoulder. “Just like that.”

Your walls clench around his length, squeezing him so tight that it becomes difficult for him to move. A wail catches in his throat, his body beginning to burn out from the initial burst of energy he’d received when you gave him the go ahead. “I-I,” he pants, weakly and unevenly bucking into you. You know he’s close from the cute wavering of his speech, his usual eloquent speaking style reduced to a stuttering mess. You take pity on him, gearing your muscles up again to see him to completion.

It doesn’t take long. A few slow rolls of your hips later and he’s spasming beneath you, your name rolling off his tongue in a series of soft whimpers. He continues groaning even afterwards, hands falling limply to his sides as you finish yourself off.

The thing about this big strong body was that it burned out extremely fast, his head rolling back to give you a clear view of his fucked out features. He was tired, absolutely drained from your little moment, and such was exhibited on his lax frame. Your orgasm rolls around right after, stomach clenching. Despite the shock of pleasure that swallows you up, you can’t help the endeared smile that takes over your features at the sight beneath you as you cum.

“So proud of you,” you murmur afterwards, cupping his face in your hands to deliver a brigade of kisses against his skin. He groans in faux annoyance, letting you turn him this way and that as you shower him in affection. “My baby did so well today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, though the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “What’s there to eat?”

You snort, pushing yourself off of him. You wiggle your panties and dress back into place, tossing him his discarded shirt as you make toward the noodles. They’ve probably gone cold by now, neglected in favor of fucking like two bunnies in heat. Still, you give them a poke. Just as you’d predicted, they’re way too cold to be edible, a fact which greatly saddens Namjoon.

You weren’t having any of that, especially not on his birthday (it was 12:49 now, but technically, it’s still his birthday until he goes to sleep), which is why you make him pack everything up right away. “I’ll heat them up at my place,” you assure him, patting his bum as he whines at the sudden relocation. He’s tugging his zip-up on, the collar tugged all the way up for him to hide the lower half of his face behind.

It doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss over where you know his mouth is.

“Come on,” you grin, waiting for him to lock up his studio. He falls into step beside you, grudgingly throwing a hand around your shoulders. You beam up at him, leaning onto your toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make you cry at my place,” you promise, relishing in the dark flush that floods the apples of his cheeks.

Copyright © July 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #rm smut #bts smut #kim namjoon fic #mine

[javajunkieao3]

Being Alive: Beth/Benny Fanfic

It’s six months after Russia and nearly that long since her last drink.  All those months ago, sitting across Borgov with her face tilted up to the paneled ceiling, she learned that she didn't need alcohol to quiet her mind.  The chess board still appeared, the pieces moving with a grace that Beth still hadn’t witnessed elsewhere.  But, it didn't mean she didn’t want the drink, and Beth had bore witness to a casual alcoholic for enough years to understand that both the need and want weren’t pre-requisites to addiction.  Because while she didn’t need a drink, she also knew that once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop.

She’s at the US Open Chess Championship in Chicago and she keeps walking past the bar, her pacing taking her steps closer to the wooden counter with each pass.  It was all because of damn Gorsky.  He was new.  An up and comer out of Bloomington, Indiana and he almost beat her.  She faced off against the giants in Russia, and yet somehow, this Midwest nobody threw her.  Dimly, somewhere between her fourth and fifth pass in front of the bar, she reminds herself that she had once been that nobody, but she quickly dismisses the thought.

At her sixth pass, she almost gives in, her mouth already anticipating the heady combination of the gin and vermouth tempered by a refined pearl onion (Mrs. Wheatley had been right about that part), but then a young girl recognizes her and asks for her autograph.  The girl holds out an old copy of Life magazine with Beth’s face on the cover.  The magazine was about two years old, and Beth thinks about how this girl must have seen the Open was taking place in the city and made a special trip just for her to sign the magazine.  Her face burns with shame as she recalls the one to three Gibsons she had been on her way to consume, and she makes a point to strike up a conversation with the young girl, trying to replace her guilt with a good deed.

When she's finished, she heads back up to her room, but she can already picture the room service menu and she can feel her finger moving the heavy dial of the rotary phone, and so she makes a detour, ending up at his room.  She doesn't know if he’ll be there, but he answers after one knock.  He’s shirtless, his striped pajama pants slung low on his hips, but it’s nothing she hasn't seen before.

“Hi Benny.”

“Beth Harmon, to what do I owe this honor?”

The tone of his voice reminds her of the distance between them.  While he helped her in Russia, she was well aware there was still damage between them to be repaired, but all the calls she meant to make didn’t happen, and then her phone didn’t ring, either.  She hasn’t seen him since before Russia.

“Can I come in?”

“If you’re here to take more of my money with speed chess, you’ll be disappointed.”

Attempting levity, she says, “Does that mean you got better, or we’re not playing?”

He smiles slightly and steps back to let her in.  Behind her, he flips open a suitcase and she turns around just as he’s pulling a worn grey t-shirt over his head.  “So, what are you doing here?”

She doesn’t answer, suddenly feeling foolish for going to him at all, and he says, “It’s Gorsky, isn’t it?”

“I still beat him,” she returns sharply.

“Yeah, well, you almost didn’t.”

She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood and sits on the edge of the bed.  

“Do you want something to drink?”  Benny asks, and while she knows he doesn't mean alcohol, she says, “I want a Gibson.  I might as well, right?  You warned me that if I kept drinking like I was, I’d end up washed up by my twenties.  But, it looks like that may be happening, anyway.”

“Beth, you’re not washed up.”

“I didn’t see the move, Benny.”  

She had gone through various phases while analyzing the game previously.  Anger.  Blame.  But now, she is just tired.  She considers excusing herself to go back to her room, but if she were being honest with herself, she doesn’t trust herself alone.

“Sometimes you don’t, but then you’ll see it the next game.  Just because you’re good doesn’t mean you’re infallible.”

"I shouldn’t be this thrown by it.  I beat Luchenko, Borgov.  I beat you.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he returns drily.

She rubs at her eyes irritably and when she opens them again, he’s walked toward her and he sits on the bed next to her.  There is still a sizable distance between them, but she takes comfort in the way the mattress dips.  It makes her feel less alone.

“You are not washed up,” Benny says for the second time that night.  “But, you’re going to have games you lose.  It doesn’t make you any less of a player.”  Beth scoffs at that and he continues with, “Did beating Borgov make you think any less of him?”  

“No,” she admits.  She looks over at him, “And it didn’t make me think any less of you.  Although, you could improve your endgame.”

Benny smiles slightly.  “I’m going to choose to ignore that last part.”

Beth looks down at her shoes.  “I came here because I wanted a drink.”

Benny is quiet for a moment.  “Do you still want one?”

“Yes,” she answers immediately.  “But it’ll pass.”  She looks over at him, her nerves pulled tight, and asks, “Can I-”

“Yes,” he says.  “You can stay here.  As long as you need.”

They order room service - burgers with extra pickles for him and cheese for her - and she tells him she’ll be going back to her room soon, but that doesn't happen.  Instead, they play a few games of chess and then she stretches out on the bed, ignoring his offer for her to change into one of his oversized shirts to sleep in, and he settles in the bed next to her.  He shuts off the light, and she turns onto her back.  The darkness emboldens her to say what she had never been brave enough to tell him in the light.

“I didn't choose drinking over you.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, and when he does his voice is gravelly.  “It sure seemed like you did.”

“I chose being numb.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?”

“No,” she says honestly.  “But, it’s the truth.”  Staring up at the blank ceiling she says, “When my mother killed herself, she told me to close my eyes.  I think, in  some way, I’ve been trying to do that ever since.”

She hears the rustle of his hair against the pillow as he turns his head to look at her.  “Shit, Beth-”

“But, I don’t want to be numb anymore.  I don’t want to close my eyes.”  She turns her face toward him.  In the pitch darkness of the room, she can just make out the outline of his face, but his eyes gleam bright.  

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she says.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t go with you to Russia.”

“You were still there when I needed you,” Beth returns, recalling the immense sense of relief when she heard his voice on the phone.  

“I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to beat the Russians.”

His voice is light and teasing, like it used to be, and she doesn’t know what to say next, but then he reaches forward and smooths her hair away from her face.  Without hesitation, she reaches up and grabs his hand, keeping it pressed against her cheek.  She doesn’t know if she leans in first, or him, but they meet in the middle, the kiss gentle and unhurried.  Her body yearns for more, but then he pulls away, pressing a kiss on her forehead as he says, “We should get some sleep.  We both have games at seven tomorrow.”

She knows that he’s right, because he’s an addiction in his own way, and if they started something she knew they would get little sleep. She turns on her side, her mind wonderfully blank as he blanketed her body with his.  She falls asleep within minutes.

The next morning, the twins catch Beth leaving Benny’s room to change for the day, and one of them does a low whistle while Beth jauntily responds with her middle finger.  She changes into one of her favorite dresses, a checkered number with a high neckline that dipped to a lower “v” in the back, and she proceeds to win all of her games, even achieving a new personal record for time.  Benny does the same, and then it’s just the two of them, facing off at the top table.  There’s a break before and he presses her against a wall in a back hallway, his mouth against hers.

“If you’re trying to distract me, it won’t work,” she says, fingers caught up in his hair.

“Don’t worry, I know better than that.”

Fifteen minutes later, they are seated opposite each other, attention finely tuned to the action on the board.  Benny has improved since Beth last played him, but then again, so has she.  Both of them nearly run out their clocks, but in the end, it is Benny who extends his hand across the board.  She knows how much he hates to lose, but there is not a trace of ill will on his face when she shakes his hand.  Instead, there is admiration, respect, and something else that she is hesitant to name.

Afterwards, they go directly to her room, and they don’t even make it to fully undressed before she takes him in, breathing a sigh of relief against his neck.  When they are finished, his fingers languidly run along her side and he says, “You should come to New York.”

“I can’t,” she says, looking up at him.  “I’m coaching at one of the high schools and they have a major tournament next week” 

“Okay,” he says.  “Then what if I come to Kentucky?”

While this isn’t exactly a surprise, it still thrills her to hear him say it.  “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Okay,” she says, trying to keep an impending wide grin at bay.  She runs her hand along his chest and Innocently says, “I think I have an air mattress in the closet.” 

#the queen's gambit #fanfiction #Benny Watts #Beth Harmon #Beth Harmon x Benny Watts