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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months

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Just a Dog Walker

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x grad student!dog walker!fem!reader

Summary: As Tim's dog walker, and nothing more, you grow close to him and Kojo. After protecting Kojo from a dog fight, you learn how Tim really sees you.

Warnings: dog attack, dog bite (r), fluffy ending. (Kojo is totally fine!)

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

A/N: More Kojo, what the world really needs.

“Sergeant Bradford, come to my office for a minute?” Wade asks.

“No,” Tim answers quickly. “Uh, sorry. No, sir, I can’t.”

Crossing his arms, Wade inquires, “Why not?”

A low huff is audible in Tim’s office, but Wade knows it isn’t him.

“Is yo’ dog under that desk?”

“No.”

“Let me amend the question. Is Kojo under the desk?”

Kojo barks happily, trying to push past Tim to visit Wade. Wade shakes his head, dropping his arms.

“Why is he here?”

“I’m working a double and I couldn’t leave him at home. What if he had run out of water or needed to go out?” Tim answers.

“You know, here in sunny Los Angeles, there are more people than I can count who are certified dog sitters.”

“Kojo doesn’t like strangers.”

“Just Kojo? Look, Tim, I get it, the bond between a man and his dog. But, there has to be a boundary, a separation somewhere. I’ll call Luna, she’s got friends with dogs and trusted, bonded employees who watch their dogs. Walk ‘em daily, train ‘em, do everything while you’re at work.”

“I can take care of my dog by myself.”

“Not while you’re at work, Bradford. He can stay for now, Lord knows he’s a better boy than you, but by the end of the week I want to know you’ve got someone to care for him.”

Tim grumbles, pushing his hands under the desk to pet Kojo. “I’ll take you up on Luna’s friends then.”

“She’ll call later.”

“You already asked her?”

“’Course I did. We have work to do. And, so you know, we can see Kojo’s paws under the desk. But nice try.”

“I tried, buddy,” Tim tells Kojo, passing him a treat from the container hidden in his desk drawer.

✯✯✯✯✯

Grad school is expensive, but since you don’t have the degree level you are striving for, you need a different job to get you through. Pushing 30 and being a dog walker isn’t ideal, but it’s paying the bills. One of your neighbors helped you open a business with proper insurance and licensing to care for the dogs of Los Angeles.

Most of your clients live nearby, and you do your rounds twice daily, studying and attending classes between. One of your favorite clients has a friend named Luna, who you love. She gets you jobs, helps you out constantly, and is like a mother figure to you. You are forever grateful for her. So, when she calls, you rush to answer.

“Hey, Luna!” you answer. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you doing? Still working on your dissertation; making progress?”

“Slow but steady, yeah. What can I do for you?”

“This is actually something I can do for you. There’s a sergeant that works with Wade; he’s got a dog and needs someone trusted to take care of his dog while he’s at work. He’s been sneaking Kojo into the station and Wade had to ask him to stop.”

“Kojo? That’s an adorable name. But, yeah, I’d be happy to meet him.”

“Awesome! His name’s Tim. I will send him your number and have Wade force him to set something up.”

“Is Tim a little rough around the edges, typical cop type?”

“Not typical, no… Just- you’ll see when you meet him. He’s great, though, deep down.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Thanks, Luna.”

“See you Friday?”

“See you Friday.”

You sit back, writing the name ‘Tim’ on your dog-walking calendar. Another client would be great for your wallet, but it seems like this sergeant will take some convincing before he hires you. This is understandable, of course, because you wouldn’t let just anyone take care of your babies, and dogs are just four-legged babies.

“Please be as great as Luna said,” you whisper before returning your attention to the research before you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Yeah, I texted her. We’re meeting at an outdoor café tonight,” Tim says before Wade can ask. “But if I don’t like her or if Kojo doesn’t like her, I’m going to keep looking.”

“Got it,” Wade answers. “But you’ve got more double shifts in your future, so don’t take too long trying to find a ‘perfect’ dog walker.”

Tim nods, hoping he can find a way out of letting a stranger into his house to take care of his dog. He checked your name, and your business seems legitimate, but there’s no way of knowing. Luckily, he and Kojo are both excellent judges of character.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luna sent you a picture of Kojo, and you spot him immediately. The man sitting beside him, though, is breathtakingly handsome. You’re shocked that he doesn’t have female neighbors and friends lining up at his door, offering to take care of Kojo (and him).

“Hi, Mr. Bradford?” you ask.

Kojo looks up at you and pants, his tail slapping against Tim’s leg.

“Yes. Nice to meet you,” Tim replies, offering his hand.

Shaking his hand, you glance down at Kojo. When Tim releases his grip, you squat and extend your hand for Kojo to sniff. He flips your hand up with his snout, stepping closer to you.

“I’m sure Luna told you that I’m a cop,” Tim continues, drawing your attention away from Kojo.

You sit beside him, lowering a hand to pat Kojo’s head. “She did, sir.”

“Then you know that if anything were to happen to my house during or after your visit, I could very easily charge you with any number of crimes. And I won’t tell you what I would do if something happened to Kojo while under your care.”

You can’t tell if his threat is legitimate, so you nod in understanding.

“Yes, sir, I understand. Kojo’s safety, and your home, of course, are of the utmost importance and I will do everything I can to do right by both of you.”

Tim nods, watching Kojo for a moment. “You’re good with him. He’s not always so welcoming with strangers; scared one of my girlfriends away once. So, I’m going to give you a chance.”

“Amazing. Thank you, sir. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“What do we need to do to get started?”

“I can offer you a few days free, as a trial run. And if you still want to keep me on afterward, we can discuss payment, sir.”

“That’s unnecessary. I need someone to take care of Kojo and you seem to be the best fit.”

“Okay. Then I will email you a link to create a client account and my website has a portal to pay. Luna mentioned that you work overnight sometimes, so if you needed me to do later or earlier visits, I can do that too, sir.”

“Sounds good.”

Tim stands, wiping his hand on his jeans before offering his hand again.

“Nice to meet you and I look forward to your email.”

“You, too. And thank you.”

Petting Kojo once more, you smile before walking away. You didn’t expect him to be so attractive, so you have to remember that he clarified you’re his dogwalker, and he doesn’t even really want a dogwalker.

Determined to make him see the benefits of someone caring for Kojo, you add him to your schedule before he even pays you. Money is no longer a concern; you’re already in love with Kojo, and now, you need to focus on not falling for his owner, too.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What’d you think about her? I know you hired her, but what’d you think personally?” Luna asks, standing in Wade’s office.

Tim shrugs. “She’s very polite. Seems driven, hard-working, responsible.”

“Well, now that you’ve read her resumé, have anything else to add?”

Tim doesn’t answer, and Wade guesses, “She makes you nervous?”

“A little.”

“What?” Luna exclaims. “She’s the sweetest!”

“Not like that, Luna,” Wade interjects. “Someone wasn’t expecting a pretty dog walker.”

“Oh. Tim Bradford, I wasn’t sure you still had it in you.”

“She is taking care of Kojo. Yes, she is beautiful, but this won’t go any farther than a business agreement.”

“Care to bet on that?” Wade asks.

“No,” Tim answers before leaving and closing the door behind him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Kojo, Kojo,” you call, entering Tim’s house with the key he had made for you.

Kojo’s nails click on the flooring, rushing to greet you.

“Hey, buddy. You miss your dad? I bet you do.”

As you slide Kojo’s harness over his front legs, he licks your face, and you laugh, scratching his chest before standing to connect his leash. Kojo has quickly become your favorite dog. You visit several throughout the day, but Kojo is the sweetest and the most handsome.

When you return to Tim’s side door, it’s standing open. You know that you closed and locked it, so you pull Kojo’s leash tight, stepping back as you prepare to run.

“It’s just me!” Tim yells from inside. “Sorry, my hands were full, and I couldn’t close the door.”

Sighing in relief, you lead Kojo inside, closing the door behind you and locking it instinctually.

“Honey, we’re home!” you call.

Tim freezes in the kitchen at your teasing, borderline flirtatious tone. You remove Kojo’s leash and harness and put it away, following him as he runs toward Tim.

“Why are you home so early?” you ask.

“I worked all night,” Tim answers. “Thought you’d feel my absence through our connection.”

You chuckle at Tim’s flirting. After the second meeting, it became much easier to talk to him. Interestingly enough, Tim started the flirtatious tendencies. You tend to stick to business-related topics, but sometimes it feels like you’re just two friends – maybe more – and you forget you’re just his dog walker.

“Everything go okay at work, sir? Kojo, for one, had a great day.”

Tim says your name, a sigh more than anything. “I told you a week ago to stop calling me sir.”

“Sorry, sir- Tim.”

Tim looks away suddenly, turning his attention to the bags he carried inside while you were walking Kojo.

“Did you even wonder where Kojo was?” you ask.

“No. I know his dog walker is punctual… and a control freak.”

“Planning my day doesn’t make me a control freak!”

“You have it planned to the minute.”

“To accommodate you,” you grumble.

“Yet you won’t let me take you on a date.”

“You won’t ask.”

You fall silent, and when you think you took it too far, Kojo barks and makes you both laugh. Talking to Tim is easy, but no matter how much you love Kojo or think you could be more, you must keep everything in perspective. Tim is older, a police sergeant and you are his college student dog walker.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hello?” you ask, answering your phone and rubbing your eyes as you look away from the computer screen.

“Hey,” Tim says. “I’m so sorry for the late notice but I’m going to be here overnight. Could you-“

“I’ll go over now.”

“Listen, it’s crazy out there right now. If you want to stay there, please do. I don’t want you out more than you have to be.”

“Tim, that’s not necessary.”

“Please. It’s not just for your safety; I’ll feel better knowing that you’re somewhere safe.”

“Okay,” you reply. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m insisting. Kojo is a cuddler, but that’s all you have to fear there.”

“Oh, you should have started with that. Kojo cuddles sound amazing.”

“Long day?”

“Not as long as yours. I’ll text you when I get there. Thank you, Tim.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“See you then.”

The drive to Tim’s house is short, but you hear several police sirens. Whatever they’re dealing with does seem (as Tim put it) crazy. Once you’re inside and the alarm is reset, you collapse on the couch and let Kojo cuddle up to you. You feel weirdly close to Tim, too, probably from being in his house. Falling asleep here is easy; you’re at peace, happy, and cuddled by a warm, loving dog.

✯✯✯✯✯

Waking up is not quite as peaceful. Tim is taking a picture, and when you grunt, he lowers the phone and smiles.

“That’s adorable,” he states.

“I’m quitting,” you murmur, throwing an arm over Kojo.

“You know, he didn’t even come see me when I got home? He’s a cheater, although I can’t blame him. It does look pretty comfortable.”

Ignoring him, you move closer to Kojo.

“Consider this my two hours’ notice.”

Tim chuckles, and the couch dips by your feet as he sits. When you sit up, he’s leaning back with his eyes closed.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your way so you can rest. Need me to come back later?”

“No, I’m here all day. If you want to stay, you can.”

“I have a paper to finish,” you lament. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” You’re gathering your things when Tim reiterates, “Seriously. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

“Drive safe.”

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s cloudy in Los Angeles, like a bad omen. You’re considering taking Tim’s offer of staying at his house to work. Kojo is the last dog you visit, and you look down at him as he sniffs the base of a streetlight.

“Mind if I stay with you for the rest of the day?” you ask him.

Kojo’s tail wags faster, but he’s still more interested in the light than you.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Kojo picks his head up, continuing toward the corner as you lead him down the sidewalk. You see something move up the road and command Kojo to stop. Unsure if it’s a dog or some other animal, you wait a moment before walking again.

With your attention on the unknown shadow before you, you fail to hear a dog running up behind you. Kojo turns suddenly, and you don’t register what’s happening as you push him out of the way.

Another dog, about Kojo’s size, with no leash or owner in sight, is on top of you. Kojo is barking, trying to help, but you yell at him to stay back.

“Kojo, sit!” you yell over the other dog’s growling.

Your yell turns to a cry of pain when the dog’s jaw clamps down on your arm, his claws digging into your side.

“Get off!” you yell, your adrenaline giving you the strength to push back.

Once you’re sitting up, you use your legs to free yourself from the dog’s grip. Kojo is behind you, unharmed, and you need to keep it that way. Flipping yourself on top of the dog, it releases your arm before moving its legs wildly, raking a paw across your face as it tries to move away.

“Go!” you yell harshly, moving enough to let it up.

Stomping your foot after it, you show the dog you’re in charge and wait in front of Kojo until it’s out of sight.

“Kojo, we have to go,” you say quickly, grabbing his leash and limping behind him as he leads you home.

Kojo focuses on getting you inside, and when you close the door and fall to the floor, he moves to your side. He whimpers, and you want to comfort him, but you are growing dizzy.

“You okay, boy?” you mumble.

You scream in pain when you raise your hand to check that Kojo is okay. After dropping your arm, your breathing grows shallow as tears stream down your face. Kojo whines again, and you want to reach for your phone, but your arms feel too heavy to move. Looking down, you suddenly realize the severity of what happened. Covered in blood and with no strength to call for help, you whisper an apology to Kojo and let your eyes drift close.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim sighs as he turns onto his street. He’s ready to see Kojo and, if he’s lucky, you. When Tim sees your car in the driveway, he smiles and rushes toward the door. That happiness quickly disappears when he notices the trail of blood leading up the driveway. Walking to the sidewalk, he sees that it leads nearly to the corner. Racing to the backdoor, which has a large blood smear below a clear handprint, Tim keeps a hand on his gun as he unlocks the door.

Kojo’s whimpering greets Tim, and when he looks down, he sees that Kojo has blood on him. Kojo looks over quickly, and Tim follows his movement. Whatever fear he felt when he saw the blood on Kojo is multiplied when he sees you.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Tim calls for an ambulance before kneeling beside you.

“Is Kojo okay?” you ask weakly.

“He’s okay,” Tim promises, leaning closer in a poor attempt to find the source of your blood. “What hurts?”

“What doesn’t? Did you check on Kojo? He seemed okay but I couldn’t make sure the blood was mine.”

Tim turns, running his hands all over Kojo. The blood is only on his fur, evidently not his.

“He’s fine,” Tim repeats, his voice breaking at the end. “You are not.”

“There was a dog free running and I- I didn’t see it. Kojo stayed behind me so I need him to be okay.”

Tears are running down your face again, mixing with the blood. Tim wants to wipe them away, but the clear claw mark over your cheek deters him.

“There’s an ambulance on the way, you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. Just stay awake.”

“Kojo- Kojo’s a good boy,” you mumble.

“He is. Can you please keep your eyes on me? The ambulance is almost here.”

You nod, and the last thing you remember is Tim’s apologetic look and a painful pressure on your side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim, are you coming with?” Bailey asks.

Tim is staring at the bloodstain on his floor and up his wall. “I’ll be there soon.”

“We’ll keep you updated. She’ll be okay.”

Tim nods and waits for the EMTs to exit the house before he begins cleaning. He scrubs until every trace of your blood is erased from inside and on the door. After animal control captured the dog, several officers went out to find the dog's owner. Nolan promised to come by and clean the driveway, so Tim concentrated his efforts inside.

“Alright, Kojo, our turn,” Tim calls, letting Kojo into the bathroom to remove the blood from his fur.

After Tim cleans Kojo and himself and throws away the blood-stained rags and cleaning supplies, he gathers his things to visit you in the hospital.

“I’ll be back with our girl,” Tim promises Kojo as he leaves.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m sorry.” You can’t stop the apology when Tim walks in.

“Stop apologizing. You kept that dog away from Kojo and I don’t- I can’t lose you. I walked in and you were covered in blood… I should have told you before that I care about you.”

“It’s my job to take care of Kojo,” you whisper.

Tim moves to the side of the bed, gently taking your hand. “You are not just a dog walker. I’ve been falling for you since the moment I laid eyes on you. The fact that you love Kojo solidified it for me.”

“I- I have feelings for you too,” you admit.

“They told me your pretty face won’t scar.”

“I barely even remember what happened.”

Tim sits beside your legs as he tells you, “Nolan and Celina arrested the dog’s owner. It wasn’t the first time he had done this.”

“Given a poor, unsuspecting college student thirty stitches while she’s just trying to spend the afternoon in her crush’s house? Oddly specific crime. What’s the code for that?”

Tim chuckles, gently squeezing your hand. “You can go home now. If you’re still up to spend some time in your crush’s house.”

“Tim-“

“Don’t tell me I don’t have to. I want to, need to.”

“I would love to spend time with you and Kojo. But I’m not sure I’m up for flirting today, handsome.”

“After the day you’ve had, just sit back and I’ll do all the flirting.”

“’Preciate that, sir.”

Tim laughs as he exits the room to complete your discharge paperwork. You smile behind him, hoping you’re not dreaming, and you finally told him how you feel.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Kojo,” Tim chides. “Give her some room.”

“You cleaned all the blood?”

Tim gently directs your eyes to him, leaning close to remind you, “You’re more than just a dog walker. Worth the time, the effort, the love, all of it.”

“Love?”

“Yeah. Kojo really loves you.”

You laugh, quickly remembering that you have several stitches on your side.

“Careful,” Tim requests.

“Are you certified to help someone sit still while stitches hold their side closed?” you ask.

“Depends on the patient. You? Absolutely.”

Tim helps you get comfortable on the couch before walking to the kitchen to gather some water and snacks. When he returns, Kojo is cuddled up to your uninjured side.

“Really? Again?” Tim asks.

“I love you,” you say, completely distracting Tim as he kneels before you. “But I also think I really want to quit this time.”

Tim laughs, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “That’s fine. I am looking for a girlfriend rather than a dog walker now anyway.”

“Care to see my resumé?”

“Memorized it last time.”

#tim bradford x reader #kojo bradford #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader #tw dog attack #tw dog bite #kojo bradford. cutie pie extraordinaire.

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star-wrote · 2 months

Note

Daryl and reader’s first summer together ? Mood board or headcanon or whatever you like babes 😏🫶 I picture they’ve been together for the fall and a very long harsh winter, and the summer comes around and readers energy just starts to burst in response to the warmth and sunlight, and how that might look for them as a couple 🌻💛😁

Summer Lovin’

ao3 link

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader | Pre-Prison Era/After Farm Fell

A/N: tysm for the request love !! i adored writing this <3 also i’ve found that i struggle with staying in tenses so this switches from past to present tense :/ whoops

Warnings: typical TWD violence, poor mental health, fluff, angst

Word Count: 750

not my character | images from pinterest

Winter in the apocalypse sucks.

The group had been on the road for months now, grieving the loss of the Greene Farm; the loss of safety. Which also means the group was going through the harsh winter without a whole lot of warmth. Abandoned shacks and small campfires can only do so much.

You had been cold for too long, and you were sure that Daryl had grown annoyed with you complaining about your frozen toes when you huddled up against him at night.

Worst of all was your mental health. Obviously there’s always an air of depression, (it is the end of the world) but your thoughts were getting dangerously close to “hey let’s jump off that bridge!”

You didn’t want to burden Daryl, but after his gentle prying, you reluctantly agreed to tell him your thoughts. He did his best to reassure you, and he held you a little tighter that night.

Finally, the group had found the prison, a place that could be a forever home after the walkers get cleared. The weather had warmed up too over the last few weeks, and it was finally starting to feel like summer.

It was a pretty calm day, most of the group decided to relax for a day outside before trying to get into the prison. You recall passing a pond not too far from the prison walls. Deciding it was warm enough for a swim, you grabbed a blanket and your knife.

“Where are ya goin’ with that?” Daryl stepped in front of you, nodding at the stuff in your hands.

“Swimming. Wanna come with? I need a bodyguard.” You suggest while smiling up at him.

He grunts out what you have come to know as “yes,” and grabs his crossbow. “Ya sure it’s warm enough?”

You shrug. “Don’t care, I’ve waited long enough.”

He must’ve read your mind because he leads you out past the walls and to the pond that you saw while traveling with the group. You both quickly survey the area for walkers, feeling relieved after there seem to be none.

You strip down to your underwear and toss a smirk over your shoulder to a blushing Daryl, then giggle and wade your way into the pond.

Taking a moment to pause, you admire the sun reflecting off the water. You felt so happy in the warmth of the sun that you could cry.

Daryl watches from a distance, smiling at the peace and happiness that seems to be radiating off of you. He knew you had a tough time on the road during the winter. He was worried about you, but now he’s just glad that you’re smiling.

You swim and float around the pond for about thirty minutes, and then decide that you want to lay on the grass to dry off in the sun. You sigh as the warm grass envelops you.

“Come join me?” You smiled up at Daryl who was sat on a rock.

“Thought I was yer bodyguard.” He said while walking over to you anyway. He found out a long time ago that he couldn’t handle denying you anything.

You giggle as he groans as he lays down next to you. You start to cuddle into him but he gently shoves you away.

“Yer soakin’ like a wet dog righ’ now, dry off first.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, but comply. While putting on your t-shirt, you spot a patch of wildflowers and gasp. You run over to them.

This makes Daryl sit up immediately and grab his knife, anxiety filling his veins. He then sees that you found flowers and relaxes.

Walking over to you, he scoffs. “Scared me half to death, girl.”

While you were smelling the flowers, Daryl crouched down and picked one. He gently moved your hair out of your face and tucked the flower behind your ear. You blush and kiss his cheek.

“I’m glad yer feelin’ better. Was worried ‘bout ya.” He looked away for a moment, then back into your eyes. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

You felt your heart flutter. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

You hugged him tight and stayed like that for a while. You started to hum a song and swayed in his arms.

Daryl scoffs and loosens up so you can sway his body for him. “Whatcha doin’ girl?”

“Dancing with you, duh.”

He smiles and tucks his head into your hair. “Please never stop bein’ you, sunshine.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl x female reader #twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon headcanon #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl imagines #angst #fluff #request #daryl dixon request

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eyebagshawty · 5 months

Note

petit-etoile here requesting astarion x tav, maybe a touch inspired by the e.e. cummings quote "I will rise / After a thousand years / lipping / flowers / And set my teeth in the silver of the moon" !! can be ANY version of tav tho i like durge a ton :33

I Will Wade Out

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge!Reader

Warnings: mentions of trauma and past abuse, maybe a little bit of spice

A/N: You just happened to pick one of my favorite poets, I decided to get really poetic hhh also I heavily listened to Margaret by Lana Del Rey while writing this :,)

I will wade out

till my thighs are steeped in

burning flowers

I will take the sun in my mouth

and leap into the ripe air

Astarion tackled you to the ground in a bone crushing hug, the rays of the sun shining golden on you both. It made his red irises look like bright rubies, and his ring on his left hand glinted in the beams. The ring of the sun walker.

“Darling, I was sure I’d be cinders,” he chuckled through his tears of happiness. You kissed away each track running down his cheeks, your fingers fisted in the lilies that surrounded you both.

“So I take that as a yes?” You picked up his ring finger and kissed it, rubbing his knuckles simultaneously. Your eyes were glassy, boring into his with so much love it would have made your past self sick. Astarion nipped at the side of your neck, pressing his lips to the never quite healed bite marks that laid upon it.

“What else would it be, my sweet?” He rolled so that you were on top of him, bringing his hands to your hips and kissing your collarbones. “How could I ever say no,” he whispered. Your lips met, and he kneeded his fingers into your hips as he nibbled at your bottom lip for entrance. He drew a bit of blood, and you opened your mouth to which he instantly soothed the small cut with his tongue, drawling a low moan out of your throat.

He moved his hands to the globes of your ass, causing you to slowly grind against him. He let out a breathy whine. “Aeterna amantes,” you whispered into his mouth as he got to work on your trousers.

Alive

with closed eyes

to dash against darkness

in the sleeping curves of

my body

Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery

with chasteness of sea-girls

Will I complete the

mystery

of my flesh

As the sun sets and the sky turns to hues of navy blue and deep orange, you remember when Bhaal had punished you for rejecting him. In a sense, he had rejected you right back. As each of your bones cracked in different directions, Astarion had screamed your name. You remember when the light began fading from your eyes, the last thing you’d seen being Astarion’s destroyed and panicked expression above you.

“Please, please, please. Darling, wake up. This isn’t funny,” he’d whimpered as he held you close to his shaking chest. “We were supposed to be free. No no no, you cannot do this to me.” As his broken sobs echoed through the temple, Shadowheart placed her hand on his shoulder. He hissed and jerked his shoulder back as if she had burned him, clutching you closer to his chest.

“Astarion… they’re gone.” Her eyes were glassy along with the rest of the party, who stood in stunned silence around your crumpled frame.

“You don’t get to say that!” He bellowed. His eyes softened as he looked down to you. As he stroked your hair and weeped over you, not caring who saw, he heard the scuffle of bare feet coming towards him.

“Thou hast defied Bhaal, thy liege and father, and in doing so hast earned a place among champions and heroes,” Withers proclaimed. Astarion stumbled back as he thought he saw one of your eyelids twitch. “But, alas, thy courage was in opposition to the divine cosmology that bound thee to the Lord of Murder.”

Withers walked up next to your body, and although Astarion protectively moved towards you, Karlach pulled him back and shook her head. “Thou art now faithless — godless — and doomed to walk the Fugue Plane for eternity,” Withers continued. “I will not permit that, though all the powers of life and death dictate that it be so. So rise, Challenger of Gods, and prepare for battle once more. Death will not claim you whilst I endure.”

You’d scrambled to a sitting position, screaming and coughing up blood. Astarion rushed over to you and held you close as you’d cried into his chest. “Everything is okay, my love. I’m here. I’m here.”

“Darling, what’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?” Astarion reached over and brushed some hair out of your face. You both laid bare on a blanket in the grass looking up at the stars. You looked over to him and gave a soft smile.

“Just thinking about that moment. In the temple. You were so gentle with me.” He smiled as you spoke, his big round eyes glowing in adoration. “It’s almost odd. We’re both so free now.”

He kissed your temples, then your forehead. “Oh my little love. I’ve been scared most of my life — well, unlife rather. But the fear of losing you… it had me terrified,” he whispered. He interlaced your fingers together. “Now that nothing can hold us back, I want to experience everything. With you, my treasure. Shall we venture inside for some tea?”

You smiled and accepted his shirt around your shoulders as you gathered your things. “Tea sounds wonderful,” you beamed.

I will rise

After a thousand years

lipping

flowers

And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

The wish spell had worked. At first, Astarion was scared and a bit angry, but with reassurance from you and your closest companions he relented. You were immortalized — aeterna amantes in every sense of the word. You lied in the bed you shared with Astarion; the one you both made love in after your eventual wedding, the one you both cried in each others’ arms in, the one you both came home to every night for so long.

You lifted your hand towards the ceiling and examined it — your skin, your fingernails, the still pristine carmine jewel in your wedding ring. You were 1,587 years old. That is 1,559 years after you left behind your old self; the so called Bhaal-babe that conspired to end the world as everybody knew it. Since Astarion had been freed from Cazador’s rule and given the choice of anything he wanted. And he wanted you of all things.

You heard a loud gasp next to you, and Astarion flew to a sitting position, letting out heavy and panicked breaths. You placed a hand on his and looked over with concern. When his eyes met yours, he immediately calmed, letting out a string of soft and relieved curses. “Apologies, my dear. Nightmares got the best of me.”

You wrapped your arms around him and placed your head against his chest. “I’m here. Which ones this time?” He squeezed your hand and you squeezed back.

“Cazador… You… kidnapping,” he huffed out. He placed a kiss onto your furrowed brow. “Hells it just feels so long ago I wish it would go away.”

“You’re not alone, Star. I dream of Alfira every year or two… I miss her.” He rubbed circular motions into your back. He knew the guilt you would always feel for her, how she didn’t deserve it.

“I understand, my love.” You leaned up and chastely kissed him, pouring in that sweet sadness that comes with self reflection. He returned the gesture, fervently kissing back in a way that soothed your mind. “Now, how about some midnight tea,” he said, barely above a whisper, a smile ghosting across his face.

“That sounds nice,” you whispered back. You gathered a blanket around your bare shoulders and followed him to the kitchen, sitting down at the table as he placed the kettle on the stove. When the tea was done he brought you a mug, and you hissed when the liquid immediately burned at your lips. Astarion chuckled.

“Well my dear, it’s fresh off of a million hot flames, what do you expect?”

You flicked his shoulder. “Shut up,” you laughed back.

“Since this tea is going to take forever to cool, you’re free to feed from me tonight if you’d like,” you said as you shot him a coy smile.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should get you something to eat first for your head—“

“Come on, Astarion,” you cut him off jokingly. “I’ve been literally stabbed through the skull before. Some wooziness is nothing.”

He held his hands up and shrugged. “Well then, who am I to refuse?” He stood up from his place at the dining room table, and you tilted your head to the side to give him access. His fangs pierced through your skin, and in a way it soothed all thoughts from earlier that night. You smiled and placed your hand on his bicep, squeezing it when you were ready and he’d had his fill.

Aeterna amantes, you thought to yourself.

#astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #fanfic #astarion ancunin #bg3 #18+ content #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 smut #bg3 romance

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goosewriting · 1 year

Text

Wherever you go, I go - part 2

summary: reader’s adventures on the Mantis continue.

relationship: Cal Kestis x GN reader

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, pure fluff at the end

word count: 2.8k

A/N: this one’s a bit shorter ;;w;; i’m planning on doing a third chapter, where we will finally learn what reader did that got a bounty on their head

Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here) | Part 3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

After admitting your mutual feelings, watching Cal leave the Mantis to go around risking his life was even harder. You knew about the importance of the mission, but still, it tugged at your heart a little stronger every time.

You had managed to convince the redhead to let you tag along on Zeffo, around the abandoned village at least. When he went into the ice caves and beyond, he told you to stay on the ship.

So that’s where you spend most of your time, mainly helping out as the “medic”. That’s your assigned role by Cere, so to speak. But you also help out by assisting her in intercepting and decoding Imperial messages. She taught you how to do it and you caught on quickly. You also help Greez with ship repairs and maintenance here and there. Really you’re an all-rounder, and while the Mantis could get a little too crowded sometimes with four people on board, they seem happy to have you around. Or at least you like to think so.

Right now, you’re headed to Kashyyyk to look for someone named Tarfful. After jumping out of hyperspace, you’re met with a giant Imperial ship lurking over the planet. They seem to be preoccupied with something else though, as the Mantis sneaks right past it. Still you can’t help holding your breath until you’re out of range from it. As you get closer to the jungle-covered surface, you almost crash into an Imperial fighter in pursuit of a guerilla fighter. Greez scolds Cal for not checking the scanners, but he gets up, already heading for the door. He claims to have a plan: hijacking the Imperial walkers wading through the water towards the edge of the jungle, where you assume there’s a battle front.

Before you can even process what he’s about to do, Cal presses the button to open the main hatch, and the door opens with a hiss.

“Hey, do me a favour,” Cere says to him before he exits. “Stay alive down there?”

“I’ll add it to the plan,” Cal retorts with a grin and walks out onto the ramp.

“If you're gonna jump, you better do it now, kid.,” Greez calls from the cockpit.

“Hold on,” you say, approaching the open door, shielding your body from the strong winds with your arms. “You’re not seriously gonna just jump?!”

Cal shrugs his shoulders in response, shooting you a smirk and a wink before letting himself fall backwards from the ramp.

“Cal!” you call after him, but Cere pulls you back and closes the door before you get any ideas of following after him.

“Oh no you don’t,” she scolds you. “You stay on the ship.”

“I swear one of these days he’s gonna give me a heart attack,” you mutter as you go back to the cockpit, trying to spot him from the windows. But the ship is too high up, and there’s a veil of fog covering the water below, so you can’t really make out too much.

When you finally land, you exit the Mantis first and make your way to Cal with an accusing finger pointing at him. He raises his hands in defeat. You low-key want to smack him across the face, but you forgive him easily; it’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s that cute.

The rest of the crew joins you and Cal introduces everyone to Saw Gerrera. He and his fighters want to attack the refinery to free it from the Empire, where Wookiees are being held as slaves and prisoners. They quickly go over the plan and Saw leaves with his troops, telling Cal to join them when he’s ready.

You stay behind with Cere and Greez on the Mantis to intercept transmissions and offer support from here. Standing at the base of the ramp, Cal holds your hands, giving them one last squeeze.

“Be safe,” you plead, and you wish you didn’t sound so worried because you know he can feel it, but you can’t help it.

“I promise,” he responds with a smile, leaning in to place a quick kiss on your cheek, and then he takes off towards the refinery.

After a couple of steps Cal turns back around one last time and you wave to him. You can hear BD’s beeps, probably saying his goodbyes. Even after they’re gone from view, you stand there a little longer, already missing the redhead. You huff and shake your head. I have to be brave for him, you tell yourself. So you go back to the ship to help Cere with the transmissions.

It isn't until about 20 minutes later that you try to contact Cal the first time to ask how it’s going, but there’s no response. In fact, you can’t get through at all. It’s like someone cut off the connection. You keep trying to get through, to no avail.

Immediately you fear the worst, so you tell Cere.

“You think there’s an Inquisitor here?” you ask, fearful.

“Cal has fought them before, he’s strong,” Cere says, as she turns to Greez. He shifts in his seat.

“I mean, there’s a chance they caught up to him,” the captain starts, averting his eyes from both of you. “Cal did mention bounty hunters on Zeffo. Maybe…” He trails off for a moment. “Oh no.”

“They, who?” you question.

– – –

You’re pacing back and forth on the Mantis, trying to get the worry and stress out of your system. You almost threw one of the tools lying nearby at the Latero when he confessed that he had a big debt from his gambling days that he hadn’t paid off yet. Because of it, bounty hunters were after Cal, apparently.

Sitting down on the cot, you exhale deeply. You had to remove yourself from the cockpit as Greez set course to Ordo Eris, the stronghold of the Haxion Brood. You didn’t want to say or do something you’d regret later. The only thing you could do now was pray to any deity you could think of that Greez was right and you weren’t just ditching Cal on Kashyyyk. And also hope that if he had actually gotten kidnapped, that he was still in one piece. From the few things Greez told you about their leader, Sorc Tormo, he didn’t sound like a pleasant fellow. Then again, Cal has BD with him. They’re a great team, and Cal has only gotten stronger in such a short period of time. Surely, they’re fine.

You repeat that last thought in your mind like a mantra, until Cere finally announces you’re about to arrive. You quickly make your way to the cockpit and catch the Mantis jumping out of hyperspace, now flying towards a construction seemingly built into an asteroid. It actually looks kind of cool, and you’d take some more time appreciating the architecture if it wasn’t for Cal being in danger.

Greez flies the ship without hesitation towards a tower.

“Hold on to something!” he warns not long before the ship breaks through one of the big panels and into the building.

Cere is already at the door, calling out to Cal. When he finally steps through the hatch into the Mantis in one piece, you’re so relieved you could pass out right then and there. But a new wave of worry comes crashing down on you as you the state he’s in; he clearly took a beating, and who knows how long he’s been like this.

Greez makes quick work of getting the ship out of there. Meanwhile Cal tells everyone the bad news. It doesn’t escape you how he’s leaning onto the back of Cere’s seat for support. You also don’t miss the fact the only thing on his mind is the mission, and not his well-being, apparently. You lightly shake your head as you approach him.

“The Empire knows about the Holocron,” Cal informs everyone, then he turns to Cere with a slight grimace. “And I had a nice chat with the Second Sister, Trilla.”

You’re trying to have Cal lean onto you for support so you can take him to the back to patch him up, but you stop moving at his words. There’s an uncharacteristic venom laced in his voice.

“What did she tell you?” Cere asks, calculating.

“She told me you betrayed her to the Empire,” he spits. “Is it true?”

Cere hesitates for a moment, and you can feel your heart sink to your stomach.

“She was my apprentice before the purge,” she finally states, and it’s obvious she’s deflecting the question.

“You should have told me!” Cal retorts, and you can feel him shaking.

“We’re getting an encrypted message from Kashyyyk,” Greez interrupts the two.

Cal and Cere share one last sour look before Cal moves towards the holotable. The message is from Mari Kosan, one of Gerrera’s fighters. They found Tarfful and he wants to meet Cal. But the Empire overran their position at the refinery. Some of the fighters stayed back while Gerrera went off-world.

Back to Kashyyyk it is, then. Greez sets the course, and the ship’s engines roar as it enters hyperspace.

You quickly lead Cal away before he can say anything else to Cere. When you tell him that you couldn’t reach his commlink, he tells you that Trilla rerouted all communications. He tried contacting you as well, but couldn't.

When you get to the cot, you sit him down and get the first aid box. You take off his poncho and his vest to take a closer look at his injuries. He’s a bit scratched up but luckily he looked worse than it actually was.

After giving him a stim, cleaning up his wounds and discarding the used gauze, you take one last look at Cal before nodding and finally allowing yourself to properly breathe again. He visibly feels much better now.

“There, all done,” you say, cupping his cheek.

“Thanks, cupcake,” Cal responds, and you feel the heat violently erupt on your face.

“Where’d that come from?” you manage to ask, failing to hold back a flustered chuckle.

“To be honest, I have no idea,” he responds with a sheepish smile, a blush spreading on his cheeks as well. “If you don’t like it–”

“No no, I do,” you’re quick to interrupt him. “I could get used to it.”

After a moment, you turn around to put away the first aid box on the shelves on the opposite side.

“Oh, I remembered a new trick on Kashyyyk, by the way,” Cal says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Really?” you ask, turning around and leaning back on the wall. “I hope it’s better than the wall running.”

Cal extends his arms towards you, and you feel an invisible force pushing you off the wall and bringing you forward until you come to a halt standing between Cal’s legs, his hands gently holding onto your waist to help you keep your balance. He looks up at you with a stupid grin and raises his brows, as if to tell you “not bad, right?”.

“I guess it is better,” you laugh, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I wonder what other tricks you have up your sleeve…”

Suddenly his gaze shifts from mischievous to a little more serious, and his eyes momentarily flicker to your lips and back up. Involuntarily, your breath hitches, and you start leaning in, your hands travelling up his neck to hold his face. The butterflies in your stomach are out of control, and you swallow in an attempt to calm down and not mess this up, and–

Both you and Cal freeze as you hear your name being called from the cockpit.

You pull away, removing your hands from him rather stiffly. The look of disappointment on his face has your chest tightening in pain for a second.

“I better go,” you say sheepishly. “Make sure to get some rest, okay?”

“Right,” Cal sighs, waiting just for a moment longer in case you don’t go just yet, but you turn around and make your way to the front of the ship, hiding your face with your hands in embarrassment once you have your back to him. He leans down onto the cot with a quiet groan, placing his arm over his forehead.

The call came from Cere; she needs your help with some intercepted transmissions, so that’s what you work on for some time. Once you’re done, you start tinkering with Cal’s commlink, changing some parts and improving the wiring, so it wouldn’t be as easy to jam or reroute communications in the future.

It takes you a while to make those improvements, and once you’re finally done, you stand up with a yawn, stretching your arms over your head. It’s time for you to hit the bed as well.

As you get up from the round table, you notice that Greez isn’t in his captain’s seat. You were so focused on your work that you must have missed him walking by. Shrugging it off, you make your way to the back, looking forward to cuddling with Cal, as you’ve had to share a bed ever since you came onboard the Mantis. You hope it wouldn’t be weird after what happened earlier, though.

Just as you’re passing the threshold to the back of the ship, Greez walks past you. Cal is sitting on the cot and not sleeping, as he should be. You push him back down onto the bed, telling him to scoot over so you can fit as well.

“What did Greez want?” you ask as you get comfortable. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. He apologised, actually” Cal answers, lying down behind you and pulling you into his chest. “For the whole Haxion Brood thing.” He pauses for a moment, and you look over your shoulder. “He also said I should cut Cere some slack for the whole… Trilla situation.”

You lie back down, taking his hand in yours.

“I’m actually not sure what I’ll do once I find the Holocron,” Cal admits, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” you offer, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “For now, let’s focus on the mission at hand. A lot can happen until then.”

Cal doesn’t answer, but he hugs you a little tighter. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to doze off into some much needed sleep.

When you wake up, it’s because of Cere shaking your shoulder not so gently, telling you to get up. You respond with a groan, hiding your face in the pillow.

“Get up, we’re about to arrive,” Cere says with a warning tone that leaves no place for discussion. So you have no choice but get up.

Again on Kashyyyk, Cal gets ready to go meet this Tarfful guy. Or rather, Wookiee. After plans are made and equipment is checked, it’s time for him to go.

“Here, your new and improved commlink,” you announce to Cal, holding out the device.

Cal thanks you with a smile, taking it from your hands and pocketing it away. BD beeps, telling him it’s time to go. But he stands there looking at you for a second longer.

“Be careful, okay?” you plead in a quiet voice.

“I promise,” he assures you with his usual smile, but his eyes are searching yours for something else, and that’s all it takes for you to momentarily block out the rest of the world and do what you’ve been wanting to since probably the first day you ever laid eyes on the redhead.

“Wait, come here,” you say and your hands reach up to hold his poncho. “You have something on your face.”

You pull him down until his nose brushes against yours.

“Me,” you whisper, and capture his lips with yours. Cal makes an adorable sound of surprise, but is quick to kiss you back. By the way his hand snakes around your torso and comes to a sudden halt at the small of your back, you can tell it’s taking him a lot of effort to hold back right now. For some reason, that makes you feel even bolder, so before pulling back, you give his bottom lip a nibble.

Cal lets out a “phew” with a cocky smirk, running his hand through his hair, and it’s illegal how handsome he looks right now.

“Looks like I’m not the only one with tricks up my sleeves, huh?” he says and you laugh, now slightly embarrassed as you realise everyone on the landing platform just saw you.

“Off you go,” you tell Cal, giving him a playful push on his chest, and he leans in to quickly steal one last kiss, then takes off with a wink.

— — —

A/N 2: i couldn’t find any info on how the bounty hunter kidnapping scene ties into the story (to me it felt kinda random when playing), so it seems a lot of the surrounding parts were scrapped and all that was left was greez’ dialogue about gambling. but i wanted to use the scene, so i hope it made sense lol // screenshot is mine

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings

#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #star wars x reader

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penvisions · 8 months

Text

of beskar and kyber {chapter 7}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: The Mandalorian is in mental turmoil as you begin to revert back to behavior similar to when he first captured you. Infuriatingly polite, only speaking when spoken to, asking after everything should he disapprove of something, keeping the distance that had slowly become an afterthought between you both. All to ensure that when he turned you in, it wouldn't feel like you were losing anything. The tentative connection between you two already has its clutches in your very soul and makes you crave, but that could only be a bad thing, right?

Word Count: 8.1K

Warnings: sexual themes, slight voyeurism (no direct infringement of consent), physical touch, sexual thoughts, pining, mutual pining, mental gymnastics, canon typical violence, canon typical death (of minor characters), fighting, battle, raiders, walker tank attack, brief mention of past sexual abuse (not detailed), mutual pining, these two are so inept at communication

A/N: this chapter officially sets the tone for the rest of the fic! i'm so excited to share this one with y'all, some things are finally moving along and it's about time, no?

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

You held a trembling Child to your middle, shielding him with your cloak to make him feel as best as you could while the sounds and shouts of fighting were loud all around. The children around you clung and huddled around you were you sat on the ground with your back to the entrance of the home. Omera had opened it up to you and the children to hide in during the fight. Winta was leaning the entire front line of her body against your back, her arms around your neck and her face buried in your hair. You shushed them every so often, hoping to sooth them with the way you were keeping calm and collected.

They were afraid, they had never faced anything like this. It would be a defining moment in their lives, and you wished they took from this what they could to help them develop into strong, smart adults that always looked out for themselves and what was theirs.

All was calm for a moment, the retreating raiders disappearing into the darkness of the forest. The sounds of fighting ceased and shadows played along the walls of the home, cast from the small fires that had cropped up. You reached out with a mental tether, getting a reading of the energy around the village, eyes closed as you concentrated. The sound of something pinging in the back of your searching mind, faint. But it was there and it was large, the threat. And it was headed straight for the village, surely they were all at the crest of their abilities with the first wave of the attack. You were carefully standing, making sure not to jostle the children clustered around you as you whispered to them that everything was going to be okay, that you were going to make sure they were okay. You handed a trembling Child to Winta, offering her the most calm and comforting smile you could before you exited the home.

The Mandalorian and Cara shared a look and then a chuckle as they waded in the pond. The water was cool even through the flight suit and armor he was donning, but it was a welcome relief compared to the adrenaline that had spiked his temperature as he fought and led the villagers. Everything seemed to be okay, but then the mechanical sound of another walker was fast approaching, breaking trees in its wake as it neared the village. The rumble of its steps was loud, the firing of its guns even more so as another structure was taken out. Before either warrior could climb out of the pond or the villagers could reposition themselves for another wave of fighting, the walker was clearing the tree line.

A cloaked form was weaving through the structures clustered together, advancing while everyone was still recovering from the fighting and not reacting fast enough. You were running as fast as you could, having left the children in the care of some villagers that had rushed to check on them, the second things looked clear. The explosion and subsequent loud crash of the walker had urged you to leave your post, worried for everyone who had chosen to fight.

The guns atop the walker whirred as they tried to settle their aim on your swift form, picking you out as the threat since everyone was shocked into stillness. But your lightsaber was engaged, and you confidently shielded any hits from the large blaster with it, they pinged off of the humming blade before dissipating completely. The white of it overpowering the red, angry blasts aimed down at you. One hit was too fast for you, and you ducked out of the way effortlessly, twirling on your feet to send your cloak furling out with the motions.

Your expression was focused, brow furrowed, and lips closed in a determined line, shown in the passing light of the blaster shots and the movement of your own weapon. Visible to those that were watching on, too caught off guard to do much themselves. Or in the case of the Mandalorian, curious to see what you were capable of now that you had gained your health and strength back.

As the operator quickly grew tired of you, the walker lurched forward only to come to a creaking halt, the sound of metal grating on metal loud in the night and prompting nearly everyone to shield their ears.

Loud cursing could be heard from within the walker as it seemed frozen in place, mid-step with one leg raised while the other was still planted to the ground. You had planted your own feet not too far away from it, directly in front of it, and held out a single hand up in the air, palm wide and fingers spread as you harnessed the Force to help keep the machinery in its spot and from advancing any further. The villagers seemed to be in shock, not knowing what they were witnessing. Beside him Cara was equally as spelled as she was halfway out of the pond and focused on your form.

The Mandalorian felt a rush of pride at your actions garnering awed attention.

The walker was strong, but you were nearly healed and angry. Angry that these raiders were targeting this small village. You harnessed that energy flowing through you into keeping the walker still, the Force stronger than the machinery. It began to spark at the joints, the wiring overheating with the energy containing it. As it did so, the leg that was held up in the air jerked back down to the ground and you were rushing forward the second it did so.

Your blade hummed as you took out the legs, easily cutting through the metal with a high singing vibration. As it began to tumble backwards, you jumped up the legs and then the bottom of the cabin in long strides. You locked your knees to keep your balance and avoid getting thrown off it as it crashed to the ground. The glass of the windows was being broken and a figure emerged from within, they were about to crawl away and down the side of the fallen walker, but they froze as you raised your hand out toward them.

They beg and plead as they lay out on their back, but you’ve got them held with the power of the Force, your hand held up slightly as they lay sprawled atop the machine. It was almost a lazy motion as you flicked your wrist and they rolled. These kind people didn’t deserve the fear and terror that had been instilled into their peaceful way of life. And the figure in front of you was going to pay for playing a part in that. They lunged at you, breaking through the control you had let go of, and you took them out with a smooth motion of your saber. The hum of it paired with the raiders shout loud in the waning chaos.

The Mandalorian raised his visor to look over and sees the look of pure power on your face, the glow of the saber illuminating your focused features in the dark. He felt his chest warm at the way you seemed more alive than he had seen as of yet, at the sheer ease of you taking out the machine and then the fleeing operator. He felt guilt flash for the way you had been treated, how he had treated you when first meeting. You were strong, skilled, highly intelligent, but broken, he realized. By a world that saw the same things and wanted to squash that, to control it. He didn’t want to play a part in that any longer. He had to tell you that you were no longer going to be under his charge, but he had no idea how you were going to react to that. Surely you wouldn’t want to stay with him, travel with him, share the same space with the Child…with him.

“Jatne vod,” The Mandalorian watched as you approached him, the handle of your saber glinting in the sun as he stood just outside the entrance to the barn. “Some of the villagers are going to trade in town tomorrow and I would like to go.”

It was the most you’ve said to him in weeks. You hadn’t allowed him to help tend to your scrapes from the battle or your larger, your now healed one from Nevarro. You hadn’t sought him out in the days after the battle, opting to help the villages work on the ponds and fix the damage caused to their homes.

Keeping to yourself or small conversations with Cara that didn’t yield anything as deep as that first night there in the village. You would smile and joke with the villagers, hands deep in the ponds helping to keep them clean and harvesting what was ready from them. You had taken to wearing just your outfit, the beautiful cloak gifted to you neatly folded atop your cot in the barn. One of the head coverings, something akin to a cool weather beanie had been gifted to you to help shield your head from the sun, but it was obvious your skin had tinted even more so. Despite the hat protecting you from direct sunlight and heat, the blue and green fabric of it woven so beautifully, freckles had dotted the tops of your shoulders and the bridge of your nose in faint decoration. You had taken up braiding your hair in the mornings, to help keep it out of the way and easier to pull the hat on to work.

Often asleep by the time he returned to the barn after nightfall and his routine surveillance of the surrounding forest. Tending to the Child with the help of Omera, who you didn’t speak to unless spoken to. The Mandalorian got the sense that you were uncomfortable around the woman, but for what reasons he couldn’t decipher. He hadn’t been so forthcoming with information about himself since that first day, opting to let the woman speak as she wanted and was polite in return. She did seek him out often, with and without the company of her daughter but it was all polite despite the looks he would catch her aiming his way. Her looks didn’t elicit the same coiling of something in his stomach or flutter to his chest that yours did. Or had, you barely managed to raise your eyes to the cuirass over his chest these days.

Heat blooms up your neck and to your cheeks, your tongue numb as it feels heavy in your clenched mouth. Nervous energy pinging inside your body causing you feel like a visitor in your own body, as if you weren’t really in it but watching the interaction from above. The man’s harsh stare you could feel through the material of his helmet, beating into you through the visor aimed directly at your face. You couldn’t look at him, too many emotions fighting for purchase inside your body, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs as you wait for his response. You know that you’ve been being distant, pushing him away even though there wasn’t much to dispel in terms of interaction. You had simply cut off his efforts to help care for your injuries, eradicated the chances for him to observe you in close quarters, get a further read on you than he already did. Trying to preserve your sense of self before it was lost to the man in front of you and he would be the only lifeline to feeling like a person, to feeling things that were human yes, but wrong for you in this life.

The realization dawned on you that you hadn’t actually asked him to go and perhaps that had annoyed him, despite his previous words to you all those weeks ago. A twitch hurt the nerves in your hands as you tried to resist the urge to clench them in front of you, keeping them motionless at your sides. It took far too much effort to clear your throat to speak again, properly, “May I go, jatne vod?”

A heavy exhalation sounded from him, and you weren’t sure what to make of it, but you knew that you had messed up somehow. The crinkling of his own hands, protected by leather gloves gave that away, made it an obvious display. Mind and body supplied the memory of when he had thrown a strike at you, that first day on his ship once it had been repaired and taken to space. The phantom pain of the cut that had appeared on your cheek and the thump of your body on the floor of the hold space slammed into you and worried you it would be repeated as his hands clenched before you now. His words could only go so far, you mused, the rising panic of having set him off washed away when his hands went up to burrow in his pockets. The helmet nodded and you bowed in response before disappearing for the day.

The sun was just beginning to set when the Mandalorian made an early return to the cabin. He was approaching the structure when through the slightly open window he caught a glimpse of the sun casting an alluring shadow. You must’ve been in front of a mirror provided by the villagers, as your entire silhouette was displayed on the canvas hanging up as a makeshift door over the entrance. The Mandalorian could see it through the opening in the window, the way your body turned this way and that before you stood still and began to slowly run your hands up and down the hourglass curve of your body. You had put on some more healthy weight, the meals provided for the village helping you to heal and get back from the brink of starvation.

You seemed to be contemplating that as your hands lightly caressed what looked like your bare skin, hands delicately tracing things along your body he couldn’t see and would never get the chance to. Your loose hair was moving in the slight breeze winding its way through the clearing the village was in, sending a wave of the scented shampoo you must’ve gotten in the town at some point since that night of fighting. You turned just a little and it allowed for the shadow of your chest to come into view along the canvas, your hands hesitantly coming up to press them to your chest, as if you were uncomfortable with them being unclothed.

He heard the heavy sigh you heaved as you did so, your hands falling from your frame and frantically reached for a shirt to tug over your body, hiding it from view. Your shapely silhouette turned into an amorphous one as the shirt was large over your frame, but that didn’t deter the Mandalorian’s attention as you picked up the collar of the shirt and brought it up to your nose and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent that must’ve lingered in the fabric.

With a rush of heat washing over his face and a stirring in his lower abdomen, he realized that the shirt must’ve been his as you let out a weary sigh before turning to lay atop your cot.

You were feeling…more like yourself. Or more like the version of yourself that you recalled from before returning home, traveling all those years under the cover of stealth, and fueled by the desire to return to a place you thought would welcome you in the aftermath of the attach on the temple and the purge of all others like you. The village here had been a good call, the planet, the acceptance of the job to help eradicate the threat to these sweet people. It had all been a good call. You were tired though, a different kind of tired than from healing or fighting or running. You were tired in the sense that your body was sore from a day’s worth of work, farming and harvesting to help the villagers further.

You were standing in front of a mirror provided to you in the barn. Omera thinking you would appreciate one, it was small, but it was casting sun glares around the cabin from the setting rays that had snuck their way into the space that had become something akin to home the past few weeks. Your body was feeling more like your own and you had taken up looking at yourself in the mirror, trying to recognize consciously that you were not just a headspace floating through the muck of drugs and abuse that you had endured one and off for all those years. For nearly your whole adult life.

The healthy weight you had put on signified that you were taking care of yourself, that food was plenty, you were okay, you were healed, you were safe.

And along with that came the sensations of things you had long forgotten.

Feeling the warmth of the day on your skin, the sense of appreciation for a space to return to at the end of the day, the satisfaction of a day spent being productive. Caring for the Child, meditating with the Child, feeding him, and playing with him brought you a sense of joy you thought would never grace your life again and you smiled as you thought about the small being. Watching the way your lips tilted upwards, showing the dimples you had when you did so.

Thoughts of the Child also brought up thoughts of the Mandalorian…

You had been having dreams again, though some of them were…more salacious than you’d care to admit even to yourself. You’d wake in the middle of the night with a throbbing between your legs, heat sparking low in your abdomen, the need to feel touch on your skin that wasn’t your own. It was both exhilarating and devasting. The trauma you had with that kind of stuff chases away by the phantom feeling of comforting hands time and time again. The hands in your dreams were large and warm, bronze skin a sight that would always make your unconscious mind reel and lose itself to the thoughts of what they could do, how they would feel. Your mind tried to supply those thoughts after sensations deep in the night, under the cover of darkness. To eradicate them, you had taken to practicing meditation again, something that had once been a daily routine at the temple and even long after to help you focus on survival and staying hidden from anyone who posed a threat. Even in the early days of the return to your home planet…

Practicing with the lightsaber had quickly won over meditation most nights. Harnessing that errant energy into something rather than laying in bed awake and letting it consume you in the worst way, your mind running circles around things you’d rather not give life to. You tried to stay close to the cluster of homes, but you would often delve into the trees and back to that clearing if it was close enough to the morning hours that you found yourself awake. You felt most like yourself with the saber in your hands, engaged or not. The Mandalorian had just aimed his visor at you when you tried to return it after the battle. No words were spoken but he had refused to take the offered weapon back, so you had taken to carrying it with you as you had always done in the times you were on your own…and free.

Fingers tracing lightly over the curves of your sides as you contemplated the way of life you were currently leading, the barn warm and comfortable on the inside while the sun washed over it from the outside. Your fingers were feather light across your skin, you had just bathed, washing away the day of helping harvest once again. Today had been wrapped up with the task of loading as much krill into burlap sacks before placing them inside time worn barrels for transport to the town tomorrow for trade.

Cloying heat flared in your middle, flashing hot and making you a little dizzy. The faint sensation of a hand much larger than your own pressed to your skin washed over your memory and you turned in the mirror, bringing your hands up to grasp as the weight of your chest. You simply felt the soft skin of your breasts, body bare in the privacy of the barn as you readied for an early night. Pressing them flush to your body, the give of plush give of them felt…good, though you were hesitant to give into the feeling much more than this. The thought of doing anything else to help relieve yourself of the thoughts and sensations your body had been seeking in the safety of dreams was too embarrassing and shameful for you to follow through on.

You remove your hands as if burned by your own skin, betrayal flaring as fingers reached over to the cot where clean clothes had been laid out and tugged a shirt on roughly. It was large, long sleeved, comfortable, his. And you hid yourself in the blankets to avoid having to face the man whose touch you were craving.

Things felt different when your small group returned from the town the following day. Something had happened.

You pushed yourself from the moving speeder the second it broke through the protection of the trees and into the clearing of the village. The ponds weren’t being tended to, the villagers were all gathered around the barn, helping to move cases and trunks that had been stored within to the porch. The Mandalorian’s armor caught the sunlight and you were walking straight to him, ignoring everyone who was milling about.

The Child was in his arms, bundled in the blanket and trembling. The other children that had previously been milling about were nowhere to be seen.

“We’re leaving at nightfall, we’ve been tracked here.” The man’s voice spoke as you neared him, answering the question you were sure was displayed in the furrow of your brow. You held your hands out in a silent request and he handed the Child over to you. A soft cooing falling from your lips as you cradled him and gazed into the eyes that were peering up at you with so much conflicting emotion. He was scared but he was comforted by being surrounded by the two people he knew and trusted the best.

You just nodded, keeping your own thoughts on the matter to yourself. Going along with what the Mandalorian deemed the appropriate move. There really was no reason for you to say anything or share your thoughts about the situation. He had decided the second the threat showed itself and found him out, on the other side of the coin this time around.

Nightfall was a few hours away, the villagers gathering the necessary supplies to make a farewell dinner.

You opted to hide away, knowing that the focus would be on the others, on the Child. The attention would be too much for you to endure, wanting to keep to yourself and protect yourself from the attachment you’ve developed against this small village. You had the tendrils of fear beginning to take over your senses and warp your sense of self, suspicion of the Mandalorian continuing on your return once back on the ship.

Cara found you in the clearing you had taken up for your training, just before the sun fully set. She told you that she was going to be making her way to the town, while you and the Mandalorian would be taking the land speeder straight back to the ship, it had been decided while you had been hiding away.

“I’ve grown to like you, I hope the Maker allows us to meet again.”

“It was an honor to fight alongside you, cyar'ika.” You bowed to her, leaning into her space slightly where she sat beside you atop the fallen tree trunk. She leaned over into your space, her shoulder knocking against yours lightly with a cheeky smile gracing her features. She really was beautiful, you mused silently, like Omera, like Winta would be. Like your mother had been once before…everything.

“I should be saying that to you. What you did, what you’re capable of…it’s amazing.”

“It’s nothing, really. Or at least, nothing but trouble. But thank you all the same.”

The clearing became silent as you two simply sat and enjoyed in each other’s company. It was shaping up to be a clear night, the stars becoming visible as the sky darkened with the sun settling below the horizon. Oblivious to the movement of the woman beside you as she watched you watch the sky for a few moments before she shoved off and disembarked. You gazed up at them, lost in thoughts that swirled around in your mind until the footsteps of the Mandalorian broke the reverie you had fallen into.

“San, it’s time to go.” He stood just inside the tree line, helmet catching the moonlight as you turned to face him. His deep voice was soft, your name leaving his lips catching you slightly off guard.

“Yes, jatne vod.” You jumped from the trunk, feet landing steady on the forest floor. He didn’t move from the path that led through the forest to the clearing, which allowed for your shoulder to brush lightly against his cuirass as you passed him. You could’ve sworn your ears picked up the static crackle of his vocoder sounding, but you didn’t look back. Your gaze ahead as you made your way through the foliage.

If you had, you would’ve noticed the way that his hands had been bare and had begun to reach out toward you.

“She…reminded me of my own mother.” His voice admits as he’s still seated on the end of the speeder, his legs dangling over the edge of it. His visor is aimed at the horizon, away from you. Peering into the darkness as the trees had thinned out in this part of the path, allowing him to look beyond them and see hints of the environment you were traveling through. There was no doubt in your mind that he was able to switch between different points of view with that helmet of his.

It was a part of what made him most formidable, daunting to be on the wrong side of. Something that you had contemplating removing from him in such a way that it would be both a hinderance and panic inducing tactical move. Something that would help you to gain the upper hand and a head start, but that would mean exposing his face to you should you be able to harness the mental strength to either use the Force and remove it that way or bodily pin him somehow to remove it with your own two hands. Both would be far too intimate a thing despite the reasons behind it, the motives behind it. Because you weren’t sure which ones would win out if you were brave enough to actually try…

If you were to actually witness his face, who he was, you were sure your mind would shut down. The timber of his voice was nice and soothing even through the moderator, you couldn’t imagine how much more pleasant it would sound to your ears unrestricted. To see his face, the bridge of his nose and the notch of his eyebrows as you witness expressions and emotions play out. The curve of his lips as he would speak your name…would certainly have effect to you much like it would be to have his helmet removed. The most intimate part of who he was exposed, it would be a line crossed and surely would spell out your death and his own devotion to a Creed he gave his life to. Or it would breathe life into the feelings you could sense burrowing beneath your skin, taking over as if it was sunlight warming you from the inside out and you would give into the dreams your mind has been torturing you with these past weeks.

“It wasn’t…anything else. It was nothing like….” Like how he was beginning to think about you. How he did. But those thoughts remained a secret housed within the armor he donned, unable to speak them out loud to you now, unable to gather the courage to do so.

“Your business is your own, jatne vod.” Voice clipped, still holding him at a distance. Thoughts confusing and pinging around so fast it was easier to shut down the conversation rather than go in circles with the man in front of you.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I won’t remember you even existing soon enough.” Your words tasted bitter as they left your mouth. But you had to build that wall back up, you had been slowly replacing the bricks that had begun to slink from their spaces in the wall of your protection, the wall you had put up in your mind to separate you from reality in self-preservation. The thought hurts him as much as it does you. It twists in his chest much like it does in your own. Like the blade of a knife that had wedged itself in between ribs and flesh. He feels the weight of your gaze on the back of his helmet, something he didn’t dare turn around and face head on.

He still wanted to share with you that he had no intention of turning you in, he wanted to give you a chance to be that woman who had taken down that walker with no effort, the woman who had taken down those raiders like they were simply a bully who had done you wrong in the simplest of ways, the woman who looked after the Child with such care and devotion is stalled and softened his heart all at once. The woman who he saw wore confidence in her motions and was a practiced fighter, the woman who would want to travel with him perhaps…

Silence permeated the air between you, darkness making it all encompassing. It was a slightly charged one but you quieted yourself, waiting for him to reach out with his own voice should he want to. But he didn’t.

The sun was just rising when the land speeder cleared the thicket of forest that surrounded the clearing the Mandalorian had picked out all those weeks ago now to station the ship in. You felt the speeder come to a clean stop, the motion smooth despite it being loaded down with all of the crates and trunks that had been brought along with the three of you onto the planet.

The Child was asleep still, nestled in a bundle of blankets in the crook of space between you and the Mandalorian who had shifted to lean against a stack of his belongings, facing the direction that the speeder had been moving in. He moved to scoop up the small bundle the Child was encompassed in, but your hands reached first. The fleeting thought that you weren’t sure for how much longer you could indulge in interacting with the Child and wanting to do so as much as possible in the time that you did have. You care for him, and it was going to be harder to forget the people you interacted with this time around than the last, the kindness you had been shown and the things you had encountered of a different tone.

You busied yourself with getting the food and the Child aboard the ship, the two things that couldn’t be left alone for fear of predators taking advantage. Setting the food atop the makeshift table, you felt the Mandalorian behind you, but he veered off toward the ladder, to the cockpit. Probably to check transmissions he may have received while being off ship, while laying low.

You placed the Child in all of his blankets in the safety of his hammock in the Mandalorian’s personal quarters, being mindful not to look about or disturb anything. Hesitant to be in his personal space despite having slept in there previously, while injured and recovering as the ship travelled through hyperspace. As you exited the small, closed off space a familiar voice was wafting down from the ladder.

The realization had you freezing mid step, foot falling heavy in a stomp to the flooring of the ship. Heart racing and ears burning as heat flushed over your entire body before it gave way to chills down your spine and beads of sweat to form at your temples.

“There is a bit of a time sensitivity issue with this job now, I apologize. But I was informed that you had her in your possession and are actively traveling.” Your mother’s saccharine voice, too soft in words that didn’t betray her true nature, sounded from the cockpit above and down the ladder. Your entire body remained still as a statue, fearful she was aboard the ship herself before hearing the crackling of static that told you it wasn’t really her; it was just a hologram. “I don’t care much for drama or that you are no longer a part of the Guild, I still intend to pay you upon completion of the job. Please, return my daughter to me.”

Before you could even register it, your legs were burning as you ran from the inside of the ship and past all of the crates and trunks that contained the Mandalorian’s belongings. The items and the surrounding green of the clearing lined with trees blurred with the effort you were pushing into your legs, sprinting away from the Crest. Away from the voice and authority of your mother, the power of the Mandalorian that hovered over you like a storm cloud, the stifling humidity of it all suffocating the air around you and making you pant slightly as you tried to recover out from under it.

The golden light of a rising sun shining happily down onto the wreckage that had become your life, the joke that had become your life, oblivious to the panic and fear that had slammed hard into your very soul and winded you. The land speeder would a the good option, but too bulky. It could be traced easily; it would slow you down. You heard your name being called, a harsh sense to it as you paused in front of the land speeder.

Frazzled mind reading into it as the Mandalorian being upset and furious that you had fled the ship, that you were still fleeing even as he gave chase. His instincts triggered and you turned from where you had paused for a moment beside the land speeder, to see his broad frame burst from the inside of the ship and down the ramp. His steps were silent, though you could see it in the way he held himself that he was as taut as a bowstring. His armor glinting in the early morning sun as he came out from the shadows of the ship and closer toward you.

“I deserve to be free!” You shouted, fisted hands at your sides shaking as you whipped around. Loose hair over your back volleying up with the motion. Voice carrying over the open space of the field that the ship was grounded in, louder than the Mandalorian had ever heard it and full of emotion he couldn’t begin to understand that had been awoken inside of you at the sound of your mother’s voice through the transmission.

The Mandalorian had hastily followed you, your quick steps and stilted breathing telling him you had overheard every word of the message. His instincts taking over as his mind dove into overload and his feet quick in pursuit. He couldn’t let you get away, he couldn’t let you make it to the trees. You would be a formidable quarry now that he could sense that you were willing to fight against him, fight for your life, fight for your freedom after getting a taste of it these last couple of weeks. He had to tell you, he had to let you know he wouldn’t dare do what was racing through your thoughts right now. He wouldn’t turn you in, he wouldn’t treat you as a quarry any longer, that he…hadn’t wanted to for a while. That he wanted to offer his ship to travel on, to offer himself to travel with…

You looked so startled across the open space of the clearing, so taken off guard as your bag swung against you, having tugged it over your shoulder quickly. The handle of your saber was tight in your grip and your thumb hovered over the activation button. You didn’t look like you were about to submit to him as your recent behavior hinted at, now that the reality of the situation was glaring in your face, inevitable. It both exhilarated him and worried him, he would give chase should he need to, he needed you to know the truth of his feelings and thoughts. But it looked like the smallest movement or the faintest word would send you running. He sighed quietly before opening his mouth.

“San, listen to me-“

You took a few steps back, furthering the distance as he had stepped down from the metal of the ramp and his boots had made contact with the ground. He was fast, light on his feet and swift despite the weight of the armor he donned, if he had the chance to, you were sure he could outrun you. His words cut off as you moved, but whatever he had to say, you wouldn’t listen. He…the threat he posed to your freedom could no longer be looked over in favor of feeling like he was more capable, more skilled than you. He had that flame thrower in his armor, he had those bullets that had a mind of their own, he had those sensors in his helmet, he had such an advantage over you. The thought of disarming him of the helmet flitted through your mind once again, followed swiftly by guilt at thinking of such a thing.

Eyes narrowed with determination that won over the deep set fear your mother’s voice had invoked. The time spent on Sorgan seemed to have allowed you to feel more like yourself, to heal and regain enough strength to fight for your life once again. So fiercely like he had suspected you did before your capture and containment at the compound. It was obvious that keeping you drugged was the only way they had been able to control you, the battle proving as much as you had taken out the literal tank of a walker without breaking a sweat.

“I’ve spent my entire life fighting to survive. I was hunted, I was tortured, I was starved, I was priced like stock! I was told so many lies. I was drugged for years! I was used!” Hot tears were streaming freely down your face, not caring about the display of openness, of unbridled emotion, of weakness. You let the wave of emotion wash over you, letting yourself feel it all without a filter or trying to suppress it down. You wanted to feel it, to feel like a person, to feel human. To feel like yourself, whoever that was now. You were always too emotional to be a master, feeling things deeply and taking things too personally as a child.

“I’m done! I-I….I can’t go back to being a shell of a person while people who claim to care about me, love me keep me dosed up on so many drugs I don’t even know where I am. I can’t be sold to someone who will only use me to warm their bed and entertain their guests! I can’t, I won’t.”

But you had grown out of it, or so you thought. Here you were nearly twenty years later and still shouting out in the face of personal injustice. Fighting it tooth and nail now that you’ve found your sense of self once again, having been woken up to the feeling of being human.

The man was quiet in front of you, not moving a muscle holding his arms up in front of him in a placating motion, his palms open. He was facing you across the clearing, him by the ramp of the ship, you by wall of trees, his visor trained on your distraught form. No words were being spoken by him, you were merely arguing against the thoughts that were consuming you, shouting at them as they circled in your head like vultures stocking a dying animal.

“I may not know who I am, but I am a person!” You felt your lips curl in a snarl, words and feelings rushing out of you in a frantic manner, afraid you would never get the chance to voice them again beyond this moment in time. Afraid that if you didn’t let them free, they would fester inside of you and turn you bitter. The Mandalorian’s hands tensed into fists at his sides as his arms lowered, the leather of his gloves crinkling. The expression on your face taking him by surprise in how much emotion was behind it. With how alive you looked, even as you feared for your future, feared for your life.

“If you are still to turn me in, then kriffing do it. I’ll fight you until my body gives out on me, until you’re dead and no longer someone who can overpower me!” The blade of your saber hummed to life with your words. The power emanating from you was like a wave across the clearing as it washed over to the Mandalorian and made his own instincts come to flare to life where they had been simmering just below the surface of his skin throughout the entire exchange, fighting taking over flight as it had always done.

“You may be able to sedate me, but I will kill myself the first chance I get. If I could even manage to escape again from whatever awaits me, be on the run with what little freedom it would give me. I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!”

The man that made up the wall of beskar stepped forward toward you, the way you were shaking was alarming, like the sobs you were doing a good job of choking back from sounding were fighting underneath your skin. Your shoulders were shaking, your hair was moving wildly with the motions, the crystal housed in your saber must’ve sensed the lack of control you had over your emotions, and it wavered between varying degrees of brightness before it deactivated altogether. Your hands still gripped the handle tight but were now rising and falling with your words, rocks and fallen tree limbs along the edges of the clearing around you on the ground moving in tandem with their movement. Even some of the crates that held the Mandalorian’s belongings moved along with your motions. Your eyes were clear as day, flashing sharp in the sunshine, the brightness of their faceted color mesmerizing.

“I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.”

“If I were to return you to your mother, you would remain my quarry until handed over.”

“I would remain a captive until my last breath if you were to return me to my mother. She had plans to sell me off, to make me some nobleman’s plaything. To be kept in a dungeon somewhere on his grounds, to never know the feeling of the sun on my skin again or the sound of another’s voice. I-“

You shook your head, nerves taking over as you almost admitted to the deep feeling of loss you would feel not being able to hear his low timbre through the moderator if you were to part. He wasn’t pursuing you, he was merely standing with you in the clearing. No urgency of submission could be sensed from him, he just wanted to talk. He just wanted to listen. The energy bleeding from him was based in nervousness, in worry, it didn’t feel threatening. It felt…it felt comforting….it felt like home. Biting your lip, you decided to speak it anyway. You didn’t have anything to lose at this point, you didn’t have anything at all.

“I would be remiss if I couldn’t hear another’s voice for the remainder of my days. If I couldn’t hear yours.”

There was a sharp hiss from the helmet, the vocoder doing its best to display what it could. The visor glinted in the sun as the Mandalorian had taken a deep breath at your bold words, at your confession.

It sent a tingle down your back, down your arms. Perhaps you weren’t completely inept…perhaps he felt the same for you in some capacity. He had done so much for you that was unwarranted, since taking you into his orbit as a quarry. He hadn’t been obligated to let you rest atop his cape in the desert, to wipe your face clean then either. He hadn’t been obligated to help treat the scarring and deep cuts and irritation of your wrists after unbinding you, nor to allow you to remain unbound while still in his supervision. He hadn’t been obligated to offer you something you were able to stomach, to make it for you, to provide you with clean clothing, his bed to sleep in in your injured state. He hadn’t been obligated beyond general responsibility to the job to keep you alive and well, though he had done so with great attention and devotion. He hadn’t been obligated to do any of it. And yet he had.

Hope sparked in your middle and spanned out to your very fingertips. They tingled with more than the use of the Force waning from your body.

“My life is not for anyone else.”

“My life is not for anyone.”

The Mandalorian cursed at the way his whole body buzzed at your words, his palms tingling beneath their gloves, his chest experiencing a jolt of something deep inside. He recalled you sitting on the porch in the village on Sorgan, setting sun casting warm lights over your skin, the scars relaying your experiences you wouldn’t talk about. Couldn’t because he hadn’t asked. He recalled the way you inhaled any fruit to be found in a market, the small smile on your face as you learned about what they were called and how they tasted, you liked them all. How the Kid would actually sit still with you, in your lap and meditate with you as much as he could endure before tiring or growing restless. The way you would practice with your saber when you thought he was asleep, out just beyond the barn or in that clearing close by when he was preoccupied with helping around the village. The way you admitted to never knowing what pleasure was and feeling a kind touch to your skin…

“Okay.”

One simple word. And it defined the direction of your life.

That kind of power was something you never wanted anyone to have over your life, but it seemed to be the way the universe wanted things to be. Time and time again. People having power over your life and the way that it should be lead, should be controlled.

You took a step back, the rocks that had been floating with your raised hands falling with a loud rumble to the ground. Shock flashed over your eyes and then the faintest sliver of fear before resignation settled on your tear-stained features. Your entire body tensed and you turned on your heel, about to make a run for it. But the soft words that lilted from the modulator and across the clearing stopped you before you could.

“Mesh’la, you misunderstand me. You will not be bound by my hands, you are free.”

“That’s not my name.”

“And mine is not ‘jatne vod’.”

“But-“

“My name is Din Djarin and you are free to travel with me as an equal aboard my ship if that is what you wish.”

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dividers by the lovely saradika

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ofsappho · 9 months

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treehouse chapter 29 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 8.5k words of sin.

crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)

You run and Morpheus goes after you. Tags under read more. posted here for the folks who want the smut without wading through a ton of plot.

SMUT TAGS:

primal kink, hide and seek/running and hunting, CNC, consent check ins, aftercare, tentacles if you squint, one sided hate sex (she hates him, he loves her)

Reader POV:

You stop screaming about halfway down once you realize that you’re not falling - you’re floating. Like a fucking flower petal.

You land feet-first on the soft, green grass outside the castle and promptly ruin everything by stumbling to your knees, scraping your skin raw and red against the dirt. It’s not your fault. Flying wasn’t on the fucking agenda.

The storm above roils with flashes of sickly yellow lightning and sullen, moody clouds.

Anger bleeds from you like the slit throat of the man you murdered. The feeling clings to your skin, warming you against the tempest’s chill.

It’s been a very long time since you’ve punished someone other than yourself, and you lust half-starved for Morpheus’s misery, for the chance to try your freshly-blooded canines.

As you get to your feet, the fog surrounding you lifts just enough to show flashes of a thick, thorny wood up ahead. A forest fashioned from charcoal shadows and long, spindly branches with no leaves. Not trees, only their skeletons.

It will do. Does the dried blood on your shirt make you some kind of morbid Little Red Riding Hood? If that’s the case, the Big Bad Wolf always dies in the end. Perfect.

Without looking back, you sprint for it.

Lucienne POV

While Lucienne’s life has become more exciting since Lord Morpheus decided to make you his business, it certainly hasn’t gotten easier.

After all, what is his business is her business. Therefore, you and your relationship are her business.

She was doing a perfectly acceptable job managing everything, she thinks to herself somewhat crossly, until the two of you decided to make her life worse.

But while she doesn’t understand why you are trying to escape when you will never, ever make it out of this realm without the Lord’s permission, she accepts that it is not her place to question such… obscure, esoteric decisions and seeks to assist you as requested. To an extent.

Why, is Lord Morpheus’s coat on fire? Lucienne hasn’t seen him so worked up since Rose Walker. Not even then. “Where is she?” He demands, using the rolling thunder and howling wind as his voice.

Play dumb. “…Who is ‘she,’ my lord?” Lucienne winces. Perhaps not that dumb.

Though none of the books can catch fire, as they are not written upon flammable, single-use Waking-world paper, Lucienne resists the urge to beat the hem of his flaming robe away from the stacks of parchment and dream-paper. Call it a librarian’s force of habit.

“My- my intended.” The king’s glare would put the fear of the Endless in any lesser being.

But Lucienne is no lesser being. In fact, she’s rather put out at the complete absence of decorum Lord Morpheus has seen fit to show… this entire debacle.

Sneaking around like a common thief? Lying to you, keeping you completely unaware of the station that he has elevated you to? Casting disgrace and disrepute on the Dreaming and its people by terrifying you of it so?

Lord Morpheus practically dragged you here stark naked and screaming, for all intents and purposes.

And to add insult to injury, he dares to act as though she should be thrilled to debase herself before him.

“I don’t recall ever meeting your intended, my king. You must forgive me,” Lucienne snaps, peering at the figure on fire over the tops of her spectacles.

She is not so decrepit as to misremember when Lord Morpheus formally put forth his suit for the Lady Calliope.

Every realm and kingdom rang with it. Lord Morpheus brought the Lady Calliope in full honor through the Gates of Horn and Ivory, in a gleaming chariot of gold drawn by Helios’s horses covered in rose garlands.

In Lucienne’s unasked opinion, it is the height of disrespect on her Lord’s part to deprive you of such honors. She’s not surprised you’ve rejected him, and neither should he.

His flaming cloak flares blue, leaving holes in the carpet. Repairing them will significantly inconvenience Merv. They may need to replace the whole floor at the rate their king is going. What a pointless waste of a good carpet.

“You are my Vizier. You are my right hand. If you cannot tell me where that woman is, I will throw you out that window myself. And then I shall strip you of your position and seal, and set the hounds of Hell on what remains of you.”

Lucienne doesn’t think it’s nearly that serious. But then again, she has never been in love like Lord Morpheus loves, nor has she misstepped the way Lord Morpheus perennially steps on cracks in concrete.

In her mind, Lucienne apologizes to you. She hoped to grant you a little more time. “She went that way,” Lucienne says, gesturing to the Great Beyond on the outskirts of the kingdom. Hopefully, you’ve made it far enough to enact whatever chaotic scheme you’re brewing.

“Good luck, Lord Morpheus!” He’ll need it.

Lucienne watches the king disappear without a word of thanks. Once she’s sure that he’s gone, she goes to inspect the damage to the library.

Her earlier fears were warranted; the carpet is done for, along with a few floorboards. They’re singed to a crisp, filling the air with an acrid, burnt stink. With a long, suffering, frustrated sigh, Lucienne summons the pumpkin-headed caretaker.

Reader POV

Your shoes-

They’re getting in the way. The laces have come undone, and you trip over them, then over a series of tree roots rippling above the ground.

When you kick them off in an impulsive, frustrated fit, you expect the ground to be full of sharp things, thorns, jagged pebbles, and maybe even a few bones.

Your feet instead sink into pillowy-soft dirt. As soon as your toes go near a twig, the hard edges around it blunt until it metamorphoses into a blade of tender young grass. The pebbles turn into balls of fuzzy moss, and upon closer inspection, the bones are oddly shaped mushrooms.

So Lucienne was telling the truth when she said nothing in this place could hurt you.

The wind picks up, blowing your hair around your face in a halo and rustling through the leaves in a high, wailing sound, screeching like a pulled fire alarm left too long.

The hairs on your arms stand, and goosebumps trail down your spine.

As you start to run again, you wonder if you’re not only hearing the wind but also some wounded creature crooning and crying out for help.

It’s coming from behind you, from the castle.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You feel a cramp open up in your side from running so hard, from panting and clawing for oxygen to keep you upright and moving.

The forest goes on and on, a never-ending series of towering, menacing dead trees with gaping shadows and a horizon that grows increasingly distant no matter how far you go.

Fragments of dried bark dig into your palm as you brave yourself on a withered tree trunk.

Run.

You lurch a few feet forward.

The shadows grow maws. They grow fangs. They nip at the backs of your heels.

Morpheus is coming for you.

Everything aches, but you keep going. Your stomach grows nauseous, but you keep going.

The sky above you turns a sickly shade of blue-gray, a horrible warning sign for the torrent of freezing rain about to accompany your desperate, hunted flight.

He will catch you, stick his claws in your back, and parade you through that grand palace in chains.

Or not.

Morpheus says he loves you. Look at what you’ve done with your love for him. No chains are needed for the dead.

But who knows?

You don’t. You do know better than to hope.

That thought carries you just a little further. No matter how weary or wounded you become, you’ll never stop fighting for yourself or your baby bird.

Your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, and your blood sings in your veins.

You flee past two trees, then three, then four. Their long arms beckon you to turn down one of their dark, haunted paths, to put your back to the horizon and lose yourself in the underbrush like a rabbit running straight into a trap.

You cling to slivers of gold and orange sunbeams peeking through the branches with all the dying hope you can dredge up. The edge of the forest isn’t that far away. You’ll feel the sun on your face and outrun the storm in a moment.

A twig snaps.

Something takes a step. It breathes.

At the corner of your eyes, the shadows pulse and twist.

So he’s found you. You never truly thought you’d make it out of here, but disappointment weighs on your chest like a brick pulling you into the depths of a cold, unforgiving lake. The forest may have had no end, and you were only deluding yourself that it did.

The scent of salt and ice is so heavy in the air that you can taste frozen crystals forming on the roof of your mouth, briny with a tinge of iron.

A dark, endless void of shadows blocks your path, reaching the top of the stormy sky. “Boo.” Morpheus wears a disgusting smile filled with sharp white teeth. It makes you feel things. Abject terror. The impulse to drop to your knees and beg for mercy. And a sick, sadistic heat under your skin.

He came hunting.

You love it.

He wears a red flush on his stark white cheeks as if chasing you took effort. “Dream.” The show is appreciated, even though you both know his godly biology doesn’t work like that. A+ for effort.

It enhances the glowing blue of his irises, like twin stars shining bright in his face against the rich obsidian cloak with a smoking hem flaring around his shoulders. He is a stained glass painting of an archangel, and you are the creature of clay and Adam’s blood barred from Heaven.

You watch the razor edge of his teeth sink into his bottom lip with a feeling reminiscent of envy rotting in the pit of your stomach.

His voice has the sensuality of freshly carded silk brushing over bare skin. “How on earth did you find yourself out here, beloved? These woods are dangerous. They say there is a monster here that eats pretty girls.” Morpheus tilts his head slightly, and his smirk widens.

Your rust-colored nails flex and dig into the hem of your sweater. “Do you get many of those passing through?” You snark back. If I’m so special, prove it. Do what you wouldn’t do for a goddess, or a queen, or a star.

Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t land. He acts like you’re the only person he’d come for. “None as pretty as you. So what are you doing alone? My lady, I’d be delighted to lead you back to the castle. You’re shivering.” There is a grating, patronizing indulgence in his tone. He’s fucking humoring you. He knows you’re full of shit and that no matter how hard you deny it, his feelings are a truth you can’t sully.

That doesn’t mean you’ll give up. “I’m not going back.” How far can you go before Morpheus turns away? How terrible and cruel and horrible can you be before he decides you’re not worth the trouble?

You want- no, need to find out.

It’s only fair. You have suffered, and you never stopped loving him. Let Dream suffer and see if his love endures, if he’s even half the person you are.

In the blink of an eye, the shadows disappear as if they were never there. “Anything could happen to you. Some fiend could carry you off-“ Morpheus says evenly as his cloak shifts into the elegant coat you adore.

Now, he is but a beautiful stranger in the woods. Your clothes are a weak, flimsy barrier to his searching, heated gaze, trailing intimately over the full curves of your body and your rounded belly.

Has Morpheus read your mind and revealed your own brutal desire concealed in your skull like a minefield waiting to explode? “You’ve already done that.” Maybe he didn’t need to. You’ve given yourself away in your dilated pupils, and how you gave up on running as soon as you got what you wanted.

“Hurt you-“ Dream ignores your provocation as he spreads his long-fingered hands, showing he holds no weapon or trick.

For every step he takes towards you, you take one back. “You also already did that,” You frostily remind him.

Morpheus’s coat would irritate you less if it were cast off on the ground and crushed into the dirt along with the rest of his clothes. His hair would be prettier fucked up and tugged between your fingers. You might be able to stand the sight of his mouth better if it were bleeding and bruised from your teeth.

The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Or dishonor you, right here. Who would hear you scream?” He backs you against a tree, and the bark snags your sweater. “Nobody,” Morpheus leans in to whisper. His collarbones peek out of the neckline of his shirt, as delicately articulated as the hollow bones of a bird.

Heat stirs in your blood at the sight.

You felt good watching that man die for Morpheus. And then empty, dreadfully empty. “Don’t touch me,” You hiss, more of a challenge than a deterrent. You want to feel good again.

Morpheus could make you feel good again.

A black shade knocks on your skull at the edges of your vision and politely asks to be let in. Your eyes roll back as it walks through the door you’ve opened inside of yourself and sees what you define as ‘good.’

“…Is that what you really want, darling?” Dream asks, both mocking your resistance and subtlety, softly acknowledging what he found behind your eyes.

Bile builds in your mouth. No. No softness. He has no right. “Why would I ever let you near me again? You are a liar and a fucking dick,” You hiss venomously before gathering saliva and spitting straight into his face.

Morpheus blinks a few times, his eyes round and blameless. “I love you.” For a single breathless second, you don’t hate him, and he never hurt you. You’re two children playing tag in the grass or tackling each other into the dirt.

You snap out of it. “Fuck off.” You feel a thousand degrees hotter. Sticky sweat gathers under your clothes along the heavy curve of your breasts and clings to the small of your back.

He braces one muscled arm on the tree above you and leans in to take in the scent of your hair, so close that his lips almost skim the shell of your ear. “I adore you like this. Fighting me, fighting yourself. It’s charming.” You shiver, unable to stop yourself from reacting.

He’s not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on your other side, effectively boxing you in.

But he’s still not touching you.

You swallow quickly.

“I’m not fucking doing it for your benefit. Can’t you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why don’t you keep doing that and go the fuck away?”

Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you can’t shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angel’s wings.

His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as you lick your lips.

He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. “Ah, so this is a test. You want to see how far I’m willing to go. You want to see what I’ll do for you, how long I’ll wait, and how much patience I have,” Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.

You should-

You should tell him that he’s got it all wrong. You should tell him that you’ll never forgive him and there’s nothing he can do. You’ve made up your mind and hardened your heart.

“And if it is?”

He kisses you.

The worst part is that you let him.

Morpheus’s hands clutch you against him, your belly brushes his coat, his lips are warm and inviting, and he kisses you like he’s waited his whole long immortal life to do it. His tongue brushes yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. He tastes like salt and musk, and your arms circle his neck, pulling him further into your kiss.

“Then I look forward to passing it,” Morpheus says breathlessly as he breaks away, pressing his forehead to your temple as if nothing is wrong.

With strength you didn’t know you had, you take him by the lapels of his coat and shove him back. Fuck him. Fuck this.

You turn and run before he realizes what’s happening. Panic isn’t egging you on anymore - it’s your fury, smothered slightly but not anywhere near finished. Oh no, you’re not fucking done with Morpheus. You want to see him draped in your agony, you want the light in his eyes extinguished.

You don’t make it two feet. Darkness wraps you up in a warm, gentle embrace, blocking out the whole world other than Dream, watching you struggle with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shadows thread around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. “Running away again? I’ll always catch you, and you’ll never escape.” Morpheus runs a finger along your jawline. His skin feels cool, and the touch is far too tender.

“You don’t know half of what I’m capable of.” Your glare would singe his stupidly immaculate hair off if it could.

His finger trails down your throat and hooks in the neckline of your bloody sweater, pulling it slightly away from your body. “I think I do. I think I know you better than anyone else, dead or alive.” For every ounce of your poison, Dream gives you back steady, unwavering adoration, tugging on the sweater without shying from the stains.

When the damned thing gives, you’re not even that upset. It falls to the ground in two pieces, leaving you in your tank top and pants.

“What the fuck?” You squirm in your makeshift binds, trying and failing to find a sharp edge you could use to convince him to release you.

“That divine mouth of yours may lie, but this,” Morpheus hisses as he rests his palm at the base of your throat to feel your blood rush crazed and wild at his touch. “This doesn’t.” The corner of his mouth turns up as you moan, reluctantly eager for him to tighten his grasp just a little more.

Morpheus tuts before releasing your throat.

Before your feelings smart from the loss, his shadows pluck at the straps of your tank top. “How fucking dare you? Get off of me.”

“But I don’t want to,” Morpheus parries in a high-pitched, playfully mocking tone.

Oh, he has a goddamn death wish. “Do you think I care?” When one of the shadowy tendrils tries to sweep lovingly across your cheek, you bite it. Hard. It tastes like fresh snow. You far prefer it to Desire’s sickly-sweet flesh.

With a single flick of his hand, he makes a deep crimson mark appear on his throat, a perfect image of the imprint of your teeth. Morpheus tilts his face as proudly as if he were wearing a crown.

“I’ve thought about having you like this, bare in our home, ever since I left you.” He rids you of your pants with surgical precision, casting the shreds of rust-speckled fabric somewhere, never to be found again. As Morpheus turns to your tank top, his shadows tighten their grip on your hands, pushing your chest forward.

You watch the intelligence and rational thought die in his eyes when he sees your breasts free of clothing, hanging round and heavy in the cool air.

“What? You’ve never seen my boobs before?” You snarl after growing tired of a full minute of speechlessness.

Your dark binds tug you back and back until you find yourself held upright by a tree trunk.

Dream delicately sweeps strands of your hair away from your throat so he can see without obstruction. “They’re… they’re bigger,” He whispers hoarsely. His fingers pause in their exploration of your sternum long enough to feel your pulse thudding under your skin.

Then he covers one of your breasts with his palm. You hear him groan under his breath when he realizes there’s far too much you for one of his hands. “I distinctly, intimately, precisely remember the shape and size of yours, and they’ve grown…” His fingers knead your soft breasts slowly, relieving a tenderness you didn’t even know you had.

There’s absolutely nothing sacred or respectful in his eyes glittering like sapphires. He only has a wolf’s hunger for a rabbit for you.

And then his face is pressed to the crook of your neck, his lips moving on the column of your throat as he runs a thumb over your nipple once, twice.

His touch feels different. Maybe he’s fucking with your head, or maybe being pregnant has done something to your nerves. Every little movement feels like too much pleasure and not enough of it at the same time.

Heat washes through you, blooming from his mouth and his hands to pour into your belly. “Fuck, you’re so fucking creepy, oh-“ You gasp, hating how much your body craves him.

Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you shift in search of a position that lessens the ache in your core.

Your head falls against the tree as you writhe in his hold. He runs his nails along the curve of your breast, greedily soaking in your every whimper and how you jolt, unconsciously arching closer.

You feel Morpheus lick a hot line along your throat. “Sensitive.” His other hand clutches your waist, your round hips, then palms your ass. A contented groan rumbles deep in his chest.

In revenge, you tug fervently at his coat, getting it about halfway down his strong shoulders before you start clawing at his shirt. The fabric disappears beneath your fingers, leaving him as bare-chested as you.

Instead of avoiding your nails, Morpheus encourages you to carve gilded furrows into his back. “I’m sorry, I cannot- I can’t help myself,” He says, far too pleased with himself to mean that stupid apology.

You look down to see what’s captured his attention now, only to find your tits littered with fingerprint bruises.

That sudden movement displeases him, and he pins you against the tree with a hand on your throat. “Beautiful. And when I…” When he leans down to take one of your nipples into his hot mouth and sucks, bolts of lightning dance and fizz under your skin, electrifying every nerve.

Your hips tremble and push towards him as your dripping cunt pulses and flexes around nothing. “Stop it,” You moan, trying to shove him away yet only managing to tangle your fingers in his hair. Then he switched to your other breast, kissing and lapping at the hypersensitive skin. “Oh God.” You give up fighting for a moment, too caught up in the sensations to care about your pride.

Morpheus barely has to apply the slightest pressure with his knee for your legs to part.

His fingers drag along your inner thighs to capture the arousal leaking through your panties. Before you get the chance to feel ashamed, Dream sucks his shiny fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with an almost-blissful glaze across his eyes.

With his lips still coated in you, Morpheus looks like the very picture of sin.

After he’s cleaned his fingers, he runs them along the soaked cloth covering your cunt, pressing down just enough to tease. “You’re so needy, my love. I’m horribly cruel, aren’t I, letting you suffer in this state without my assistance.” You grind your hips against his hand, trying to get him to do something about your needy, swollen clit, desperate for relief.

He tastes like salt and sex when he kisses you. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” Morpheus tears through your underwear like ripping paper. He works your clit with his thumb until you’ve soaked his palm and then slides a single finger into your pussy. Without waiting for you to adjust, he sinks in a second finger knuckle-deep.

You cry out, shaking like a leaf, as your core spasms and milks his digits. You thought that could satisfy the ache but it barely scratches the surface. You need more-

You take his chiseled face between your hands and drag him down for another kiss. “I literally despise you.” To spite him further, you mulishly keep your mouth shut as he starts fucking you with his long fingers.

It turns out that your stifled whines aren’t needed. Your wet cunt more than makes up for it. Loud, soaked squelches echo, and your legs shut to hide the sounds. That only forces Dream’s fingers deeper into your pussy and grinds your throbbing clit into his palm.

You can’t stay quiet a second longer, not as your stomach tightens and tears gather in your eyes from the rush. Those breathless, pathetic noises are all yours, and Morpheus answers them with a breathless laugh.

He keeps up a steady rhythm, carefully and precisely aiming for that sensitive spot deep inside that drives you fucking insane. “You want me to be the villain? Is that it?”

You sink your teeth into his shoulder as deep as they’ll go as your thighs shake, ecstasy rushing painfully through your muscles.

His eyes burn a brighter shade of sapphire when you bite him again. “You wish for me to be cruel? To torment you?” Morpheus wraps his other arm around your hips to help you fuck yourself on his digits. “No, beloved. I won’t,” He purrs in your ear and then kisses away the sweat from your brow.

“Go fuck yourself, Morpheus. I hate you. I hate you,” You chant in a trembling, weak voice. He doesn’t need to help you anymore, you’re shamelessly riding his hand and dripping slick to the ground.

“And I love you.”

You cry out at his words. They fucking- they do something that makes you feel hotter, more sensitive, drives you closer to the edge.

“I want- that’s it, my darling. You’re close. I can feel it.” Your pussy quivers repeatedly as the tension in your belly grows unbearable. He quirks his fingers, hitting that sensitive place as he rocks your puffy clit into his palm.

Your body is betraying you, and you’re just fucking letting him ruin you. “No. No. No, fuck- no, I’m not,” You try, blubbering denials through cries of pleasure.

Morpheus fucks into you faster, harder, matching the pace your hips set. “Tell me what you need. Use me for your pleasure, beloved.” Fuck. Fuck. You’re going to-

Your knee slides up a little, giving him more room to stretch your tight cunt further. “Come for me. I know you want to.” His tone is soft and affectionate, calling to you sweeter than a siren’s song. It tells you to give in and promises unimaginable bliss if you do.

You come with your eyes rolled back and your mouth open, shuddering, your hips jerking on his fingers, and waves of hot flame pouring down your spine.

Your orgasm fucking drenches his fingers and your muscles clamp down tighter, each vicious pulse so strong that you taste iron in the back of your mouth. All you can hear is your heartbeat, loud and insistent, and the low sound of Morpheus’s approval. You’re wracked with pleasure, wholly gone to anything else.

Just before the feeling dwindles, Dream slides his fingers out of your swollen folds, forcing you to finish coming on nothing. “That’s it. There you go. Good girl,” He says with a smile. Your frustrated wail fills the air, and you clutch at his wrist, wordlessly begging for more. “I’m not so loathsome now, hm?” Morpheus showers your face with delicate kisses, pausing only to clean a tear from your cheek with light kitten-licks.

The two of you rest there for a moment. You’re slumped between him and the tree, panting and spent and warm, while he gently rubs your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.

Once Morpheus deems you suitably recovered, he traces the marks he scattered on your chest. He smears the slick gathered on his hand across your nipples, then bends down to lick your juices from your skin. The feeling of him mouthing your tits, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping and biting, overwhelms you, and your knees buckle.

Morpheus catches you and lowers you to the ground. Dried leaves find their way into your hair and crunch under your back as you stretch out like a lazy cat.

“I have a feeling that I’d be able to make you come simply from playing with your breasts,” He murmurs as he kneels between your open legs before laying another series of kisses over the bite marks. “My lady, you are truly the most sublime creature I’ve ever touched.”

You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his head away. “Yeah, well, you’ll be lucky if I let you near them again.” His hair feels soft and downy under your fingers like the underbelly of a bird. That’s another thing to resent him for. Why can’t he be ugly with bad hair?

Dream’s canines leave imprints in your hand when he bites, clearly communicating how he feels about being denied access to you. “We’re just getting started, darling. Your game isn’t over.”

You look up at his fair, radiant face, shining brighter than a full moon, and his mouthful of nightmarish, fanged teeth, and wonder for the first time if this was a mistake.

That’s how you find yourself riding his face while being forced toward your third orgasm of the night.

The second orgasm passed by in a shimmering haze of heat and lust.

Morpheus pulled you astride his shoulders without fanfare, clamped his hands around your plump thighs, and dragged your sensitive cunt onto his open, wet, and waiting mouth. You hit and kicked, you even tried forcing his head back with a fist in his dark hair, but he gave you the most glorious and beguiling grin at the sudden violence. You couldn’t give him any more satisfaction, so you had to let go and let him do… what he wanted.

Hands made of antimatter gripped your hips and held you upright by your hair. He thumbed your swollen folds, carefully tracing around your clit but never touching it. You weren’t able to look into his eyes from this position - your belly was just large enough to hide most of his face when you were on top. But you had a pretty good guess about how he felt about your wet cunt dangling before his lips, like fruit to be easily plucked, split open, and devoured. You heard him fucking whimper, a stupidly arousing, frustrated sound, and then his arms forced you down.

It took Dream no time to make you crumble like a deck of cards. He lapped his tongue through your folds, smearing your arousal over his lips, before working carefully on your reddened clit. Morpheus’s strong hands endured your desperate attempt to escape him by clutching you tighter.

He sucked on your bundle of nerves once, then twice. You tried to tell yourself mind over matter, that if you focused hard enough, you could ignore the pleasure rippling through you.

Of course, that meant you came so suddenly that your stomach tied itself into knots, and your spasming, throbbing cunt soaked his face. The waves snatched every scrap of air out of your lungs, so you couldn’t even plead for mercy or cry out. You gasped, hunched over with hair in your face, silently screaming and shivering, as your brain turned to slush and your eyes glazed over.

Now, Dream takes sadistic pleasure in teasing that third orgasm out and denying it to you every single fucking time.

There’s an obscene squelch when he thrusts two fingers into your cunt, finally filling the awful, hollow ache. “Fuck, fuck, oh my God, Morpheus… please…” You babble, mindlessly grinding down on his tongue.

He takes his mouth off you and slowly strokes his digits inside you, far too gentle to get you off. “Please what? Please what?” Morpheus mocks as you almost collapse into the shadows, letting them take your full weight.

You try to hide your mewls by biting on your lips and end up cutting yourself, fresh blood joining the fine layer of sweat covering your face and body. “Stop, I’m- it’s too much. You have to stop.” You have no fucking clue what you’re begging for anymore. You’re dumb to it all, helpless and panting and begging for the fever that rises every time he drags the tips of his fingers over your g-spot.

A shadowy tendril wipes the blood from your chin before crawling into your mouth, gagging you so you can’t bite yourself anymore.

More tendrils curl around your breasts and pluck at your hardened, swollen nipples. “You need more? Is that what I’m hearing? Does my lady want more?” Now he matches the rhythm of his fingers with kisses along your shuddering thighs, occasionally pausing to suck and lap at the juices covering your skin.

The tendril in your mouth dissipates into smoke so you can answer. “No, shit, aaah-“ Strands of your hair stick to your cheeks as you writhe and gasp for air.

Morpheus tries to withdraw his fingers to deny you again, tease you again, punish you again, but you’re having none of it. You blindly reach down, grab his slick hand, and urge it back towards your greedy pussy.

He laughs roughly, then kisses your hip with petal-soft lips as he obeys. “That’s it, darling. Does it feel good yet?” Fuck. Fuck. It does. You’re so full, your core flutters and milks his digits, but it’s not right or enough to satisfy the burning wildfire of desire that’s driving you mad.

You shake your head to try and get some control back, to clear your head. All you want is to just- just to give in, let him have you, let him replace every thought and word and will with himself. “No,” You stutter through slightly numb lips, your eyelashes trembling.

Your nails find his wrist and dig in as deep as they can go. Shimmering gold blood coats your thighs, and the mess gets worse and worse when Morpheus starts to bounce you on his face, eagerly drinking from your creamy folds.

“Go on. You can tell me. I know you fucking love this. Just like you love me.” As Dream is far too busy eating you out like he’s starving to lift his mouth, his voice is muffled by the slick, disgusting sounds of his tongue, his fingers, your cunt.

“I… I…” You scrabble for purchase in the dark, searching for something to hold onto, anything that can stabilize you. The hands that intertwine with yours aren’t the ones kneading your ass or fucking you into oblivion, but they’re just as reassuring as Morpheus’s real hands.

His mouth works your clit, getting rougher, messier, sucking harder. “Sweet girl, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your noises and, fuck, the taste of you. And this pretty, pretty cunt. So sensitive. Delicious.” Dream braces one hand on your lower belly, just above your core, applying faint pressure to heighten the sensations.

“But I need you to come. Please, my darling. Please,” He moans against your puffy folds, forcing in a third finger as you wail and thrash.

Just like that, you’re shoved off the cliff, screaming and sobbing. Tears cover your cheeks as your hips move on their own, wrenching out every last bit of pleasure you can. It hurts so fucking much yet feels so fucking good. Static electricity arcs through your limbs, and even the faintest breeze whispering across your bare back makes your overstimulated core flicker and squeeze his fingers harder.

His shadows lovingly lower you to the ground, helping you curl on your side around your rounded tummy. Exhaustion filters in slowly, wrapping you in a gossamer blanket of numbness and calming your frazzled nerve endings.

Dream is there. Dream is curling protectively around your shaking form, he slides an arm under your neck to support your head, and his other hand squeezes the back of your neck. You bury yourself in his embrace and let him rock you like a child.

Here, stitched as close to him as you can be, the horrible past forty-eight hours starts to be less horrible and more foggy, like looking at something in the rear-view mirror as you drive away.

You can let yourself love him in this moment. You can be weak for a little while longer.

When you lay your palm against his heart, you feel it thudding as furiously as your own.

Morpheus exhales slowly as the feeling of you in his arms leeches the tension from his muscles. Even if you wanted to push him away, which you don’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to do it. So, for now, you’ll let him keep you here.

He kisses you as many times as he can, everywhere he can reach. Your baby hairs, your smile lines, the corners of your eyes.

Before Morpheus wipes your cheeks clean of tears, he cleans his fingers off with his tongue. Then he’s stroking away the stinging salt water dotting your skin. A furrow grows on his smooth, unwrinkled brow out of concentration.

When you start crying again out of relief, hiccuping ungracefully and snot going everywhere, his large hand tucks you into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I know, I know,” Morpheus soothes. “Do you want us to be done now? Are you finished?” He’s warmer than a furnace, and you instinctively wrap an arm around his waist and shove your feet between his calves, seeking that comfort with single-minded determination.

His small chuckle is as sweet and fragile as spun sugar.

You absentmindedly trace the veins crawling up the back of his hand as you think.

Then your anger begins to grow back, rotting through your lungs and making each breath taste like death, and you have your answer. “I want… don’t make me say it, Morpheus,” You mutter into his skin and follow it with a tiny, tiny bite, more of a nip than anything else.

This time, when Morpheus unfurls the petals of your mind, you anticipate it eagerly.

You want him, and you loathe it, and it’s choking you. “I should. I ought to make you beg on your knees,” He tells you.

You need him to cut the strife and self-loathing from your chest and smooth out your riled, tangled heartstrings, and then put you back together again. He has to pluck the violence out of your hand as if it were a knife and point it somewhere it can’t hurt you, ideally towards himself.

Dream goes quiet. He pets your hair and rests his cheek against your forehead. You’re beginning to think the softness isn’t just for your benefit; he’s drinking his fill to tide him over until the next time you let Dream touch you like this.

And there will be a next time, a gentle, honey-sweet next time. That promise runs true in your mind, buried deep beneath the layers of poison and resentment like a vein of untouched gold.

His star-filled eyes flutter shut. “Fine. Fine. I can’t deny you anything. Just a little further, and then you can rest.” When they open, his pupils twist and stretch into a monstrous, serpentine gash of black against his brilliant blue irises.

“N- no more?” You hear yourself ask for mercy, easily slipping into the role of the maiden to his beast.

Morpheus rises on his knees and hovers over your vulnerable form. “No more, my love. Can you be brave like I know you are? Can you take it for me?” He asks as the fingers stroking your cheek turn into obsidian claws for a moment.

You are not supposed to find this attractive. You’re meant to be terrified right now, unwilling, pushing him away with conviction of any kind.

“…Yes.” Yes. Take me. A warm, needy craving makes you draw up your knees to conceal your filthy, ruined cunt, glistening with fresh arousal.

The claws metamorphize into fingers before the sharp edges can slice your skin. Morpheus is no less intimidating without them, looking down at you like you’re a pretty toy in his palm. You’ll miss them, though, and you swallow your disappointment before he notices.

He lifts you from the ground before gently turning you until you face away, unable to see him while he can control all of you. “That’s it, beloved. On your knees, arch your back.” The stoic, hardened mask cracks slightly as he runs an open palm up and down your body, inevitably running into the baby in your belly. You’re surprised he lasted so long without asking about it.

Maybe Morpheus didn’t think he had the right to until now.

Your back presses into his broad, muscled chest. “May I?” He asks before slowly kissing your neck. His hair tickles your earlobe, and you feel a soft puff of air ghost over your skin when he exhales.

“Our baby.” You even surprise yourself by resting his hand over the swell of your soft, squishy tummy.

Dream strokes the rounded skin with hardly any force, suddenly treating you as delicately as he’d handle a fragile eggshell. His breathing hitches, and tension strings his tendons as tight as they can go.

If only you could capture this in a painting or trap it in a snow globe so you could relive the feeling of trusting him again over and over.

It’s too much. It’s far too much. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you shove his hand away from your skin. He’s too close, too soft, and too kind.

You’re not sure if you deserve it, and you sure as shit don’t want it.

As fast as a viper striking a hapless mouse, Morpheus grabs the back of your neck and traps you in place. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and his nails prick your skin. “You’re insatiable,” He tells you, then forces you down until the side of your face meets the forest floor.

He leaves your arms where they cushion you on the ground, correctly judging that bringing them behind your back will hurt in an unpleasant way, and instead keeps his dominance with a fist in your tangled hair. Dried leaves crush under your cheek as you try to prop yourself up and rest his strength. Dream doesn’t give an inch, and eventually, your body grows pliant and submissive beneath him.

His fingers dance up and down your spine in a soothing pattern. “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart.” You grit your teeth and buck again, trying to express your displeasure, but Morpheus merely laughs and kisses the base of your spine.

“No need for all of that. I’ll give you what you want.”

When his fingers dip between your parted thighs, you push back, fucking begging him to touch your swollen folds and ease the building ache.

Your moan is exhausted and sweet as he thumbs your clit before playing with the fresh slick on your skin. “Fuck, you’re still so wet. Is that for me, darling?” Dream groans, his breath hitching as you arch a little further, presenting your dripping pussy to him.

The desperation in how hard he tries to make you cry out tells you everything about how tightly wound he is, how close he is to snapping. “Come on. You can admit it.” You keep your mouth stubbornly closed even as the pressure on your clit increases. It’s bad enough that he knows you as well as he does and can play your body like a virtuoso on a violin.

His breaths come in short, almost feral pants. “Silence? We’ll see how long that lasts.” And then- and then- Morpheus pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, going slow enough for your muscles to adjust.

But he’s so fucking big, and it’s been so long since he last fucked you, and your eyes roll back, sweat drips down your neck, and your knees dig into the ground, trying to keep you upright. “Shhhhh. Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Fuck. It’s okay. You’re okay. Feels good, hm?” Inch by inch, he stretches your spasming cunt, and you whine, your hips tilt back, and his thick cock slips against that spot deep inside that makes you sob.

“That’s it, my love,” Morpheus reassures through gritted teeth. “Can you take me a little further?”

You feel your muscles constrict around him like a vice when he grinds himself deeper. “H-how much?” You moan as your juices run down your thighs and coat his cock to the base.

Dream releases your hair before sliding an arm under your breasts to hold you upright without hurting the baby. It takes you a second to trust him and give him the whole of your weight. He balances you between his hips and arms like you’re lighter than air.

He kisses your damp hair and nibbles on your ear. “That much,” He says, showing you another inch or so with his fingers.

Your hand covers his resting above your belly, and your fingers intertwine with his. “…Yeah,” You nod as tears prickle in your eyes. Morpheus is everywhere, inside you, holding you. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him so fucking much.

With a deep breath, you relax and let him carry you. The feeling of his heartbeat thudding through his chest and his hand cupping your breast is a sweet, easy soporific, soothing the sharp, anxiety-ridden knots in your head into something mindless and loving.

He rocks into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. “Relax, my love. You’re okay. Gods- you feel- so good, you’re perfect, that’s it, good girl. Perfect girl,” He chants, over and over, as the stretch and the push and pull have you shaking and pleading for more.

“Oh- oh god. Morpheus. Ahhh- I can’t, I’m so full.” Your breathy cries echo over his deep, gravelly moans.

“You’re still so tight even when full of my cock. And my child in your belly? Gods, I love you. I adore you.” Every time he tells you that, your cunt grows wetter.

Morpheus lays into you, fucking you like a man possessed, pressing in as deep as your body will let him. All you can do is rest there in his arms and take it. “I- I’m not going to last. I need you- I need you to come for me. One last time.” You’re not listening when he speaks, too busy bouncing your hips in time with his thrusts and screaming your pleasure out as loud as you can. “Please, darling?” He begs. His free hand returns to your pussy, and his fingers stroke your clit softly.

Your knuckles go white from the force you use to grip his wrist. “Hngh- shit, shit, shit, yes.” The feeling of Dream kissing your cheek sends you over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as the moon, and you hiccup as the force of his cock bullying into your shivering, clenching cunt wipes your mind blank of coherent thoughts. Your spine straightens and your limbs tense. You’re delirious, babbling nonsense, and he keeps working your swollen, hypersensitive clit, now chasing his own release.

Morpheus sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, painting your inner walls white. The warmth relieves some of your soreness from all the orgasms he forced from your tired body. You can feel your combined cum coat your thighs, sticky and viscous.

When you collapse, you don’t hit the forest floor like expected. Instead, you end up in a large, impossibly soft bed, bundled in plush blankets and your head cushioned on fluffy pillows.

Everything hits you at once - the running, the fear, the man dead in your living room.

As you weep into the soft linen under your cheek, Dream curls around you until you don’t know where you end, and he begins. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His fingers shake as they wipe away your tears and tuck the blankets tighter around your shoulders.

The bedchamber is cool and dark with no shards of light that could irritate your eyes or worsen your building headache from crying so goddamn much.

You cling to him and smush your face into his chest. “Morpheus…’M sorry.” In this strange, fairytale land, the strange god embracing you feels like home.

Something damp trickles down your forehead. “Shhh. Did you think killing that man scared me off?” When you look up, you see tears glimmering on Morpheus’s face like sapphire beads.

“It should have.” You’ve always had darkness in your heart. You might have been born with it, a seed planted by your mother’s hatred and watered by your pain.

But if Desire was telling the truth, Morpheus is as flawed as he is beautiful. That’s oddly comforting.

His mouth tastes like you when he kisses you. “Listen to me, beloved. I have been captured like that once before. I languished in a prison for almost a century. I was forgotten. Abandoned. Starved. All of this around you that I built crumbled into dust. At long last, it was the pity of an old man and my rage that freed me. But you… No one has ever protected me like you did,” He whispers.

Your arms tighten around his waist. You love him, you hate him. Most of all, your heart breaks for the decades he spent alone.

He swallows thickly. “That’s all I ever wanted. For my whole existence. Someone to fight for me.” You wanted that, too.

“And if you had chosen to leave me there, to keep you and our child safe, I would’ve let you. I would have forgiven you. That is how much I love you.” His hand sketched slow, circular patterns across your stomach, never shying from the rolls.

Your lips ghost over his shoulder, sending a shiver through him. You don’t kiss him with forgiveness, not yet. Even though you can’t say it aloud, you want him to know you’re here. He’ll always catch you, no matter where you run, so he won’t ever be alone again.

“Maybe you’ll regret it. That it was me.” You can be just as cruel and monstrous as him; there are other kinder, prettier, gentler, sweeter people. He could be anywhere else right now other than tethered to a canvas of scars with her teeth bared.

He kisses your forehead with his hands, cradling your cheeks like a dragon cradling its hoard. “Do your worst.”

this is the smuttiest thing ive written for this fic yet. hope you guys like this!

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