#I had her hand on the correct side in the old drawing too so I still don’t know how I messed up my directions for her top???

[cosmicnovaflare]

ur new cinder post looks very nice but I think your old one also does too. I like the shading and look of thag one

Thank you, I struggled with both, but the old one has a very major mistake. I’m notoriously bad at my left and right, and even though I double checked the old one before posting it I still messed up. Her top should have been folded left over right, and I remember checking it and thinking that I had done that, but nope, I mistook my directions and drew it right over left.

[julietsbody]

lace garters

words : 3,903

tags : 18+!!! mdni! escorts , sex work , reader ! sex worker , vaginal sex , finger fucking , finger sucking , porn with feelings , brothels , oral sex , save a horse ride a whattt

p.s : this is also posted on my ao3!! ( divider by siren4u & gif by drewstarkrs )

billy was a virgin, surprisingly, he didn’t have time for a girlfriend, and the quick fucks from the escorts never enticed him much. many offered, when he would stop quick at towns for a simple beer or to take care of things— he would typically get stopped by the escorts dressed in their gorgeous silks, tight corsets, and sleeves that fall off their shoulders so easily it has your fingers itching with desire to fix it. it would make even the most sane man turn mad, and somehow billy never allowed himself to fall for it. 

not until now, an escort stops him before he walks in a bar, “how old are you, dear?” 

“19, ‘bout to turn 20,” his voice is smooth and sweet, southern drawl sweeping out with ease. 

the girl hums out, tipping out of the way to allow his eyes to another girl standing far behind her, you, “you’re too young for me, dear, you should talk to her. she can show you a good time.”

typically billy would say no, offer a few coins for their efforts and simply walk into the bar like nobody had offered. but something was different when his eyes fell on you, you weren’t like the other escorts, quick to talk to the men and get some money for the events that take within the confines of the motel walls. you were rather looking off in the distance, your position more reserved rather than comfortable. it had him wanting to know more. 

to be fair, billy was bored these days, all he did was travel and go from town to town, never leaving a mark on those behind. other than his wanted posters, which by the way, had an awful drawing on it. how the hell was he ever supposed to get a girlfriend with drawings like that made about him? each step is slow, calculated, as he moves over to you. he notices that mid way, your attention seems forced away from him. 

are you afraid of him? he tips his head in your peripheral, easily looming over you, “darling.” 

your eyes snap to him almost immediately, widening as if you didn’t think it would truly be him, yet you mumble out a, “honey.” 

“lady over there told me to talk to you,” his head tips up, blue eyes piercing into you, even through the deepest of the night. 

“i don’t want trouble,” you finally turn to him, the smell of musk and gunsmoke filling your nose as he bites through the toothpick in his mouth, “i hear you’re wanted.” 

“wanted, but not trouble,” he corrects, smirk tugging at his right lip, “you don’t gotta tell anyone.” 

“wasn’t plannin’ on it,” your voice is so sweet, it nearly has him doubling over. you’re teasing him, clearly, but billy has never backed down to a challenge once in his life, he can bet on that. 

his eyebrow twitches upright slightly, “how much for thirty minutes, beautiful?” 

“you can satisfy me in thirty minutes?” you tease, smile widening at your own joke. 

his head cocks to the side, and he can’t help the way he licks his lips, cockiness coursing through his veins, “i probably could in ten.” 

you can’t help the way your flesh feels like rubber over molten, cheeks flaring to a new maroon that you hadn’t expected. your eyes dare to match his, the lust unsheathed in the teal of his eyes, “thirty will be just a few coins.” 

his hand moves to your jaw, tipping your head up further to look at him with ease, now you have no choice of looking away, “you don’t think i can in ten?” 

“i doubt it,” your skin is hot underneath his touch, despite your bold demeanor. 

“we’ll see.” 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the motel carried the same smell as it always did, the mix of mustiness, smoke from cigars, and whiskey. billy’s gut churned as you led him to the room that you always rented, surely, he was cocky at first— then he began to worry if he would even be good enough. he was a virgin, after all, and he’s sure you’d been with mostly experienced men. he doesn’t say anything once the door opens, seemingly every worry dissipates as you look back at him with a different look, your lashes flutter over your eyes with ease, the look is more seductive, siren like. 

if you were a siren, consider him the sailors in those tales, lost in the tides and addicted to the song that oozed out your vocals.

he allows you to guide him to the bed, sitting him down on the thin, firm mattress with your hands lingering on his shoulders, “what would you like me to do?” 

“i’d like for you,” he trails off, eyes tracing down your body, “to get on your knees.”

your hands leave his shoulders as you ever so slowly kneel down, every movement is well thought out, calculated, your body flowing in the most seductive ways. despite your lowered body, your eyes still remained up at him, the sudden doe look in your eyes making his legs spread ever so slightly. his hand is gentle when it touches your cheek again, pinky lining underneath your jawline as his thumb threatens against your lips. 

it’s dangerous, the way you look at him, like your gun is being drawn to him with your finger teasing the trigger. 

“and?” you add, his thumb teasing your now open lips. he tried not to flinch when your mouth encased his thumb, the warmth wetness of your mouth enveloping the skin. he finds himself unable to speak, unable to wonder whatever he wants— he wants to be stuck in this moment forever, it was greater than any other treasure he had come across. you were so good at your job, it made him want to know the lengths of your skills. 

“suck me off,” he finally speaks, gentle to remove his thumb from your mouth. 

it was a statement that you were used to, the firm tone, the expectation to get to it immediately— yet you are somehow surprised when it comes from him, it’s less firm, not like a demand but rather an offer, and there wasn’t a feeling of being rushed. for a man who seemingly had no time for women, he surely had a way to talk to them, to be gentler with them, unlike the other men. it was always cowboys who had the better ways of treating women, respectful with every word, or touch. his eyes are heavy on you, the curtains of your eyelashes blinking up to him, your lips tinted a sweet rouge due to a patted on lipstick, and he finds himself pushing his thumb across your lips, smudging the burgundy ever so slightly. 

your hands smooth over the fabric of his pants, fingertips teasing the leather of his belt which accompanied his gun holster as you palmed him through his slacks. the touch of the leather was rich, sturdy and every loop was clean cut, rather than loose and falling apart like many belts you had undone before. you hear him groan as your hand gently pushes against his clothed cock, his back stiffening ever so slightly as a chill runs up it. 

he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly as you undo his belt, your fingertips threateningly close to his gun holster as you pull the leather from the metal to loosen it. a chuckle vibrates from his chest, voice lower than usual, “careful, princess.” 

he lifts his hips as you tug down his pants, boxers following soon after to slip down to his ankles with ease. a hiss escapes him as soon as his hard dick is released to the cold air, with the opposing blow of your warm air on his tip. he was already so hard, as if he had been aching for a day like this. his hand moves to wrap around his base, hips scooting closer ever so slightly. 

“open,” his voice is husky, yet velvety, like the thorn of a rose to the petals. 

you’re quick to allow your jaw to fall slack, tongue smoothing out past the burgundy that coats your lips, as if you expected his next command. he taps his tip against your tongue, biting back the groan that thunders inside his every limb at the feeling of the warm, wet muscle. he allows you to take the lead, your tongue following the underside of his dick, memorizing each vein. when you reach his tip, you press a few sloppy kisses to it that has his breathing roughen, allowing you to open your mouth once more and take his length inside. 

he sucks in a deep breath, a hoarse groan escaping past his lips when he exhales, allowing his teeth clench on the thin wooden toothpick that still remained in his mouth. his head tips back when you hollow your cheeks only mere seconds into sucking him off, his hat slipping off his head and falling onto the plush of the bedsheets. 

his breath becomes ragged with the more you bob your head, allowing the tip to reach the back of your mouth, to the throat. his free hand moves to pass through your hairline, gripping at the beginning of your hair, even through your updo, loosening the tightening of the strands. the muscle in his arms flex underneath his short-sleeved button up, veins popping out every time you reach the base. 

“good girl,” he breathes out, the whimper that vibrates around his cock making his release come quicker than expected, hand bunching up your hair as he has to move you back, off his dick to stop his orgasm. he heaves, noticing the way strips of saliva connect your mouth to his dick. he moves his hand from your hair down to your lips, watching the way your mouth instinctively opens then closes around his fingers, sucking them in with pure ease. 

he allows you to wet them with your saliva until he pulls them out and mumbles a soft, “come.” 

he helps you up onto his lap, the metal of his gun is a cooling sensation on his heated skin as he moves back, reaching under to toss his gun elsewhere. he had his guard down now, despite the large bounties on his head, he was too focused on you, and giving you the pleasure that you deserved. as you straddle him, his fingers dared to touch the bottom of your dress, threatening to raise, “may i?” 

your eyes are tantalizing when they meet his, like the threatens of the deepest lust lie within them, and billy is willing to dive in, “you may.” 

his hair is messy now, like he never took off that damn hat, and when he did— he didn’t bother to fix the hair underneath.

every movement is careful, meant to be more meaningful than a quick fuck, he raises your skirt until his eyes catch on to a white lace garter that’s propped around your upper thigh. so sweet, the purposeful placement of it all, it’s like a prize for whoever gets to raise your skirt. as you sit on his lap, your arms rest on his shoulders, a hand threatening the skin on the back of his neck as his hands move back around your waist, through the silk of the corset to the strings that hold it together on the back. his eyes are stuck onto you as his fingers begin to tug at the tie of the strings, they were in a harsh knot, but billy always knew his way around things. 

kissing clients was typically a line many of the women wouldn’t dare to cross, sometimes not even you, but the way his eyes kept tipping down to your lips had you threateningly close to the now faded line. as the laces of your corset loosen, your head tips down to where your lips barely brush him, you can smell the mint already before even getting a chance. your lips move to close around the toothpick that he kept in his mouth, moving to spit it out and he was quick to chase your lips. as soon as you had spit out the toothpick, his lips finally pressed against yours, allowing your freshly manicured hands to curl through his brunette hair. 

the fresh smell of your rose and jasmine was quick to his nose as he inhaled you up close, tongue teasing against your lower lip ever so carefully. there was a certain thirst that billy found himself feeling as he moves to spread your mouth open with his own, allowing your tongues to both clash, the mix of spit and remnants of mint and a cigarette becoming prominent to the taste. he wanted to drink every word from your lips, to suck in your siren song like his life depended on it. 

when your hips bucked up against him, needy to feel a form of friction, it had encouraged him to finally free you from the confines of your corset. your lips part when he breaks the kiss, his lips trailing kisses down to your jaw, throughout until he meets your neck, the softness of his kisses making it feel as though doves were flying through the confines of your body. when his lips begin to move to suck on the delicate skin, you hiss, “dear, dear, you can’t leave marks.” 

“your rules or brothel rules?” he murmurs against your skin, moving to toss away your corset onto the floor. 

“brothel rules,” you hush out, and you feel his lips curl onto your neck. 

“then ‘m gonna leave as many marks as i want,” he falls back into your skin, lips taking in the skin between his teeth as he moved to mark you as his own. the desire to have a prostitute as your own was a dangerous game, but billy had been a part of many dangerous games before, and now he was pulling all his money in with the unluckiest of cards— yet he still finds himself with the pride of feeling he will win. his lips pause at one of the pulse points on your neck, noticing how your heat beat quickens, and flutters, was this typical? 

he wasn’t sure, but he finds himself praying it’s a good thing. he chuckles as your hands are desperate to unbutton his shirt, pushing each wooden button through the loops with ease, you had done this a million times before, this is the only time your heart is thumping in your chest when you do, though. he moves his hand down to take a hold of one of your wrists, “easy, girl, easy.” 

“you said ten minutes,” you remind him, smile dripping on your lips. 

“mm, i want longer than that,” he helps you unbutton the last few before taking off his shirt, noticing how your eyes trail down his figure. 

“just sayin’ that because you can’t make me cum,” you break into a soft laugh against him, and he can’t help the way a small smile curves his lips as he takes off the dress that you were wearing. your body is alike to the statues you could only dream of seeing in those beautiful stories about gods and women who ruled. women who were worshipped, even as billy knew you for mere minutes, he found himself wanting to kneel at your altar, to worship the ground you walk on. to make you cum would mean more than he imagined at first, he wanted to be that man, to pleasure you in ways others haven’t. 

his fingers slip underneath the hem of your panties, immediately exposed to the wetness underneath as it coats his fingers, “can’t make you cum yet you’re so wet for me, hm?” 

you bite your lip, allowing your hips to sway against his fingers as pleasure envelopes your every thought almost immediately. though billy wasn’t quite sure about what exactly to do, he had heard the other cowboys speak of this, and he hoped it delivered as much pleasure as they said when he dips a finger inside of you. you’re loose around him, wet, yet sucking him in so easily. he’s quick to add another, finding his rhythm almost immediately and getting cocky with it. he dares to let his thumb tease the edges of your clit, as if he didn’t know it was there and he was merely looking for somewhere to place it. 

he notices the way your nails dig in to his scalp, biting your tongue so hard that crimson may bleed from it with ease. 

billy had kissed many women, been on the brink of sex, and yet none have reacted the ways in which you do. they were quick to show how they react, every emotion not blanketed behind a curtain of embarrassment but now, despite it being your job to over exaggerate the pleasure, you found yourself shy to make noise. he moves to allow another finger to push inside of you, the pink velvet of your insides encasing his fingers with ease. he hears you gasp when his fingers threaten to curl, and he allows himself another smile. his thumb moves to your clit again, and that’s when your grip becomes lethal, biting your lip no longer becoming a guard for your moans. 

“please,” you mumble out, whimpering. 

“please what, princess?” you’re putty in his hands, and he’s kneading you with ease. 

“i.. i need you,” you moan out, to be saying this to a wanted man, one who has killed, and committed theft, as well as escaped from prison— it was something you swore to never do. yet you were having sex with him and his touch felt so gentle it was as if it never happened, how could a man so dangerous be so kind? you feel a vein pulse from his neck as he finally pulls his fingers out, his eyes following yours as he moves his hand up to his mouth, allowing his fingers to move in between his lips and the taste of you to savor his tastebuds.

your pupils dilate at the sight of him tasting you, skin warming before you can even realize that you’re moving to take his fingers out, replacing them with your tongue as your mouth presses against his again. his hand falls on your waist, other hand guiding his dick to your cunt as he deepens the kiss to feel you moan against his mouth. your tongues fight for dominance, each movement a hunger of it’s own but yours falls submissive as soon as his dick slides into you with ease. your velvet is tighter around him than he expected, and he feels the vibrations of your whines against his tongue, mumbling a small, “you’re so big—“ against his lips. 

once you reach his base, you pull away from his lips, a mere string of saliva connecting you both like a lifeline. 

now you have the lead to take, your lips connecting with his neck to leave marks on him, you wonder how the other cowboys will react as your hips start swaying on his dick, riding him with ease. will they laugh at him for all the prominent hickeys? there’s no way he could hide it, you’ve heard billy had girlfriends all around in many different towns and parts of the state, what if he went back to them and they saw all the marks? it would trace back to you, you’re sure of it, but something about that fills you with a sense of pride rather than fear. you’ve always adored the outlaws, even though you were raised to be a good christian woman, a good girl. the outlaws were always the sweet talkers, as you were told from the other girls at the brothel. you were told stories about how well they treated the women, their touch being better than most the regulars, their words so dirty you’d only dream of being told it until you had finally heard it. 

now you found yourself in love with the idea of trouble, as you wrap yourself in the silks of his touch and the pleasure he gave you. his head tilts back to allow you more access to the free canvas of his neck, his hand raises, then immediately smacks onto the flesh of your ass. the slap tore a cry from your throat, into the skin that coats his neck, and a plain redness forms around the mark of his hand, branding you. 

somehow, this was more intimate than your previous affairs, even despite the roughness of the sex. it felt like a wild play of ballet, an opera you would only dream of seeing, the gracefulness of each movement and the sweetness that drips like honey off each sound, even the sounds of skin slapping as you ride him. you taste the bitterness of his cologne as you reach the sides of his neck, sucking the pale skin with a need to create marks that last. he’s fascinated by your every movement, if this truly was a ballet, he would find himself in the crowd, watching the dancer move with such purity even during such a lewd act. 

you felt yourself curl as your orgasm builds again, and it seems he is too in the way his hips begin to rock. every movement feels like being coated in molasses, trying to swim through it, the orgasms scorching through your inner thighs to your core until it wracks your body, hitting you harder than it had any other time. you don’t know what it was about him, but you were quick to flutter around him, and that had him pulling out, stroking himself for mere seconds until white stripes fall in messy streaks across your skin. 

he pulls you closer when your lips move so your head tilts onto his shoulder, both of your guys’ chests heaving as if you had just been working out, as if you were running towards danger and felt the warmth of it’s embrace reel you in. it was billy’s arms, his eyes closing for a mere second before they open again, “thought i couldn’t make you cum.” 

you hate the way you smile so easily at anything he says, the way you melt into his touch, the way even though you were merely a one night stand it felt like you wanted this to be an eternity, you wanted him to be a regular. 

“mm, i faked it,” you say with a smile, so clearly a lie. 

you move so he slips out of you, your cunt clamping around nothing as it missed the feeling of him inside of you. soon, you reassure yourself as you stand, convinced he will be returning. poor, poor girl, you were just another victim of the sweet talkers with pretty faces. it worsens as your legs become jelly, and he’s quick to stand, hands fastening to your waist and holding it to keep you balanced. his chuckle turns to a laugh, a deep, hearty laugh, “you sure, doll?” 

you roll your eyes, pressing a kiss to his cheek, somehow your lipstick remained and it kept the mark staining his cheek as you left your kiss there. then you moved, taking your clothes and putting them on, “goodnight, billy.” 

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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[aemonds-sapphire]

Dragons

Summary: Aemond had once doubted his ability to be a good parent, but, as far as you and your daughter are concerned, he excels at it.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Pure fluff. Dad Aemond. Cavity inducing fluff

Word count: 800

The moment you opened the door to your bedchamber, something firm collided against your legs.

Or rather… someone.

You looked down to gaze at your daughter clinging onto you, silver hair all messy and left eye covered.

The black eyepatch resembling the one who belonged to…

“Aemond?”

But your daughter had an unlimited supply of vivacity within her, and had her arms so tightly wrapped around you, you simply couldn’t move.

“Look, muña! I’m just like keppa,” she grinned widely, making use of High Valyrian just as her father intended. “I look ferocious now!”

A genuine chuckle escaped your lips as she started marching in circles on the floor, conjuring a deep frown and and brushing her long hair off her shoulders.

Your heart was bursting at the seems with adoration. He had been the one to give her that. He had once worried he would not be a suitable father, but the happy little girl running in front of you was the living proof that he had overcome his fears.

“Keppa, keppa!” She cheered once Aemond walked in from the other room.

He lowered himself to pick her up into his arms, and she promptly wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, squishing her face against his.

“Please do not say a word,” he said in defeat, but only to get a reaction from her.

You had to clasp one hand to your mouth to muffle a laugh.

His silky long silver hair had strands twisted in all sorts of odd angles from the velvety laces that ranged from a rose pink to a deep red.

“Iksā gevia,” she said, planting a sloppy kiss on his scar.

“Gevie,” he corrected, welcoming her affection. “And you are the one who’s beautiful.”

She pecked his eyepatch, playing with his hair and tying tiny bows into it. “Now I’m beautiful like you,” she beamed, pointing at her covered eye.

You slowly approached them, and placed your head on his shoulder, realising just how fortunate you were to be blessed with a husband who was an exceptional parent.

“The eyepatch?” you inquired, raising an eyebrow.

He looked adoringly at the child sitting on his arm. “She asked me to get her one.”

Aemond had onced expressed how hesitant he was to show her his sapphire eye, fearing she might be scared of him.

But shouldn’t have feared her reaction. She did gaze at him with eyes wide open, and then said her father’s eye reminded her of the deep blue ocean she had seen from Vhagar’s back one day.

Their bond was so strong one could only wonder how such unconditional love was possible.

The first word your daughter had said was keppa. The moment she was old enough to walk, she would stride around the Red Keep behind Aemond. The first time she stubbed her foot on a table, he had Vhagar burn it to the ground (much to Queen Alicent’s horror as it was a very old and esteemed piece of furniture).

Aemond turned his face to you, placing the softest kiss on your lips.

“Please aid me, my lady,” he feigned suffering , drawing out the most adorable chuckles from your daughter. “This baby dragon is attacking my hair.”

She bared her tiny teeth as fangs and growled. “I am dangerous!”

The love he had for her knew no boundaries. She came first. He’d give her the moon should she ask for it.

Yet, she had celebrated her 7th name day not long ago, and her only wish was to always have her father by her side.

She was far too young to know such thing was impossible and to learn of the heartache of losing someone you loved, but you didn’t tell her. Nor did Aemond.

For now, you’d simply cherish your family, and falling deeper in love with them.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Do You Know How to Bend? | Raymond Leon x fem!Reader

summary: You're working the streets in Dayton (the poorest timezone) when your old client and famous Timekeeper, Raymond Leon, comes calling just to spite you. He takes pleasure in reminding you of your differences and takes pleasure in seeing you struggle.

warnings: Mentions unsafe sex and paid sex. Derogatory/sexist words used for and against sex-workers. Slut-shamming. Smut.

Word count: 4331k+

I Don't Want to Be- Gavin McGraw 🎶

Lunch- Billie Eilish 🎵

*Inspired by the line Billie Eilish's song "Lunch": Don't want to break it, just want it to bend. / Do you know how to bend?*

“Well!” A low, arrogant voice pulls your attention away from your next client. You pause, recognizing the voice and set your mouth in a perturbed frown. “I thought you’d be retired by now, Miss Y/L/N. You must be pushing 50 at this point, right?” The man laughs softly at your expense, it’s short and sounds almost like a clap. The quick glance he gives to your potential client sends the man scrambling away. You sigh, watching your rent time leave with him. 

“Oh, sounds like he doesn’t like older women…” Raymond Leon observes casually over your shoulder, his palm resting on the wall behind your head, as if he knows you well enough to do so. You don’t bother turning around to address him when you respond, your arms still wrapped around her chest as they had been to display your cleavage to the clientele. 

“Or…he saw your face. What did I tell you, Ray? If you’re going to start whoring yourself out, you need to do something for your features, they’re too…”

“Intimidating?” Ray offers with a smirk, enjoying the derogatory banter. You turn and move your hands to your waist, pretending to examine the annoying Timekeeper. 

“Pretentious.” You correct cooly, copying his unemotional expression, a knack you’d picked up after his frequent visits decades before. Ray clenches his jaw and raises an eyebrow lazily. 

“I haven’t seen you around here lately,” you add, changing the subject. Ray nods and shrugs again. 

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” You ask, your eyes dropping lazily to his clothes, still a sucker for leather and zippers, you notice. 60 years old and he still loves his leather… you nearly smile. 

Ray smirks, chewing a piece of gum on the left-side of his mouth. His blue eyes fall to your breasts, half-hidden by your low V-neck dress. 

“I can multitask,” Ray talks around the gum in his mouth and draws a finger down your waist to prod gently at your wrist. 

“Look at you…” his tone hinders on distaste as he trails his eyes over your short dress. “This is something you would have worn in your teenage years, not in your 50s.” 

 “A woman has to work right? I’m not getting any younger,” you shrug playfully, and smile when Ray rolls his eyes at your joke, his hand sliding over your hand to grab your wrist. 

“You disgust me…” he mutters half-heartedly, stepping closer so he can look down your dress. You cock your head to the side, studying the prominent scar below his right eye. 

“So are you here to arrest me? Is what I’m doing illegal?” You ask with a skeptical tilt of your head. Ray scoffs and looks up, weighing his words before responding. 

“No, it’s not illegal.” 

“Mmm,” you raise your hand, Ray’s fingers still wrapped around your wrist like a bracelet. He looks at you, making no move to release his grip or even to loosen it. You slowly grasp the thin metal zipper on his shirt, tugging it teasingly. You can feel Ray’s heartbeat quicken through the pulse point on his wrist. You wait for him to speak first, your eyes giving him an invitation by fluttering your thick black lashes. Not yet taking the bait, Ray looks down at the time displayed in vibrant green light on your arm. He takes your forearm with his freehand and rests his shoulder against the wall instead. Taking your arm, he raises the clock to see it better and clucks his tongue in a pitiful gesture. 

You look away and roll your eyes, scoffing at the turn in his behavior. Ray will always be Ray. You try to snatch your arm from his grasp but Ray clucks his tongue again, this time in disapproval. 

“This is no good, no good at all, Miss Y/L/N,” Ray releases his fingers from your wrist and instead brushes them across the light colored hair on your arm, barely visible over the clock’s long face. You tilt your head away from him and focus your eyes on the building around the block where people walk by noisily. 

“Are you here just to shame me?” Your voice sounds tired and distant. Ray smirks, his eyes jumping to your face, taking pleasure in the way your head is cocked away from his to avoid looking at him.

“Only 1 year left… You’re not a very good whore anymore, are you?” Ray looks down at you, his nose angled into the air. You roll your head back to center and cock your eyebrow. 

“Is this the part where I tell you that I’m a ‘good whore’?” You clarify disingenuously and Ray barks out a laugh, your attitude turning him on. 

“Are you?” He asks after a moment, expectantly, “Are you a good whore?”

“I don’t know, you thought I was that one time. Or really, multiple times, if I remember correctly.”  You answer, your tone cold. You could never tell if you liked Ray or not, right now, you didn’t. You yank your hand away and rub your sore arm with your hand as if you were nursing a wound.

Ray nods, his mouth straight. Adam's apple bobs as he tries to restrain himself. His eyes return again and again to your chest, your breasts pushed together by the fabric of your dress. Exhaling suddenly, Ray grabs either side of your waist and holds you close. He licks his lips quickly, maintaining his nonchalant nature, and pressed them close to your ear. 

“How about for the sake of the old days I’ll give you an hour for fifteen minutes?”  

Ray’s voice is warm against your ear, sending tingles down the tendons in your neck. You bite your lip, hiding a smile. 

“Two hours and you have a deal,” You barter back, Ray’s mouth still against your ear. Ray draws back, his eyebrows drawn together in a skeptical expression. 

“Cost of services just went up,” you shrug and press your hands to his chest beneath the edges of his long leather coat. 

“Cost of services my ass.” Ray scoffs and moves his hands up to your breasts, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples, covered by your dress. 

“Careful, Ray. You break it, you buy it…” you push him back gently, merely a few inches. He doesn’t even seem to notice, his eyes are still tied to your face. 

“I won’t break you, I just want you to bend.” Ray moves one of his hands up to the side of your neck, turning your face with his thumb so you’re forced to look at him. He leans in once again, his turquoise-blue eyes getting closer. His chest is nearly pressed against yours when he tilts his head, looking you up and down. “Do you know how to bend?” 

Your breath catches in your throat as you look up at him, his face deadly serious. 

“Yes, sir.” You swallow tightly, your face flushing. Your other clients never turned you on this much. Ray nods and takes your wrist firmly, paying you two hours without breaking his gaze. When your clock reflects the hours he’s given you, you slide your hand down into his and pull him further into the alley. Ray follows you, glancing briefly over his shoulder. 

“No, we’re going to a motel.” Ray tells you firmly and takes the lead, pulling you behind him with a strong grip. You follow happily, craving a bed anyway. 

“There’s one around the corner.” Your voice is soft and feminine, grateful to be taken care of for once. Ray nods as he walks, his coat swishing about his legs with a leathery squeak. His styled hair resembles feathery waves down the back of his head and you resist the urge to run your fingers through it. When you turn the corner, the cheap motel’s lights wink like an old woman with dragging eyelids. Ray leaves you on the sidewalk outside the motel’s office and scans his wrist on the reader, paying the notoriously low-rate of one hour for a room. His jaw is still clenched when he comes back out, his eyes scanning the line of pale pink rooms above you as he takes your hand once again. 

Ray’s grip is strong as he takes the steps quickly and unlocks one of the doors, strips of paint peel from the walls on either side. His nose is turned up in disgust as he throws open the door. 

“It’ll do,” he shrugs and jerks his head towards the room, waiting for your approval. You look at the plastic bed with its greasy pink bedspread and shrug. 

“It’ll do,” you repeat his words and nod once, your mouth turning up into a closed smile. “Are you going to invite me inside?” You gesture through the doorway and Ray scoffs, rolling his eyes in jest. He looks down at you, standing beside him in the doorway and looks back into the empty parking lot. 

“Looking for the wife?” You follow his gaze out onto the street and Ray smiles, shaking his head. 

“No…” his voice is low and breathy, like it takes him effort to relax. He raises his left hand, showing a hand without a wedding ring. 

“Ah, so the famous Timekeeper Raymond Leon still hasn’t found a woman good enough to be his wife,” you nod in faux-appreciation and lean against the door jam.

“And you, did you ever marry?” Ray raised a skeptical eyebrow, his eyes looking you up and down almost judgmentally.

“You know I'd never do that.” 

“You like your work too much to quit?” Ray chuckles and leans over you, his arms wrapped around himself as his face inches closer to yours. You roll your eyes, silently cursing him for his cruelty. He knows you wouldn’t do this kind of work if you didn’t have to.

“And run the risk of never seeing you again, fat chance.” You tease him, your tongue resting on the roof of your mouth. Your hands slide up his chest once again and take hold of the lapels on his leather coat. Your thumbs run over the hem, dipping into the buttonholes. 

“Would you still fuck me,” he started, his tone even and cool, “even if I was married?” 

You look up into those cold blue eyes of his, a tint of meanness sparkling in your eyes. 

“I guess we’ll never know,” you shrug, your response icy and indifferent except for the tug of a smirk on your lips. 

“You’re a bitch,” Ray leans closer, his breath fanning across your lips. His nose nearly touches yours as he tilts his head slightly. He doesn’t kiss you, but he wants you to know that he could if he wanted to. You keep your hands on his coat and use your leverage to pull yourself up on the balls of your feet, even though you’re already in heels. Your lips are barely touching as you nod and whisper. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be.” 

As you say it, Ray’s instincts take over, pushing himself against you and kissing you hard. His hands have flown to your hips, supporting you as you hold yourself higher. He breaks the kiss briefly to spit out his gum on the concrete. With remarkable ease, Ray guides your hips inside the room and slams the door behind him, throwing the room into semi-darkness. The leather on his body is warm to the touch as your hands slide over his chest. Backing you up against the bed you fall back on the mattress, landing on your butt. Ray stands so closely that your chin grazes his stomach. His hand goes to your chin and he runs his hands across your mouth. 

“I’m going to need more than fifteen minutes,” Ray mutters and pulls down your bottom lip with his index finger. 

“It’ll cost you…” you respond cheekily, your hands running up the sides of his legs. 

“Oh, I know it will.” He nods and it startles you when he drops into a crouch at your feet, his body positioned between your legs and his head turned up to look at your face. You look at him curiously, your eyebrows nearly furrowed. 

“Don’t worry, Miss Y/L/N, I just want to get a good look at you,” Ray answers the questioning look you give him with a daring smile. Your muscles tense when you feel his hand slide up the inside of your thigh. In one motion, he spreads your legs, forcing your dress to roll up your thighs, exposing the fabric of your underwear. Ray smirks, his fingers etching circles into the cellulite on your upper thighs as he looks at your underwear.

“Pretty,” he teases you, his eyes flicking up to yours, but you’re too stunned to say anything smart back. He inhales deeply as his hands travel the rest of the way up your thighs and pull down your underwear to your knees. You move your thighs together again to allow him to do so and exhale softly as you feel the lacy fabric fall down your calves to the floor. Once gone, Ray turns his eyes to you and spreads your legs with his large hands draped over both of your knees. You watch him, your heart racing and your cunt beginning to throb. Ray’s hand slides up your bare thigh to your cunt. Without breaking eye contact, he slips his middle finger inside you, rising slowly to lean over you as you lie back slowly and support yourself on your elbows. Your breath comes out in pants as you feel a second digit join the first, thrusting in and out of your core. 

Ray rests one of his knees on the mattress beside your thigh, giving himself more leverage to finger-fuck you. 

“Eyes on me…” he snaps when your eyes start to close. Obediently, you open your eyes and bite your lip as his fingers start to move faster, his knuckles hitting your cunt each time. His gaze bores into your eyes as you raise your thigh to rest against his knee. Your dress rides all the way up to your waist but you leave it on. 

“You’re already so wet. Do you get like this for all of your clients or only for your best customers?” His tone is condescending and mean but you love it coming from him. You moan softly before answering. 

“Jealous?” You egg him on and grind your hips against his fingers. Ray smirks, leaning his face down to yours and shakes his head.

“I bet you haven’t had a good fuck since you saw me last.” He breathes heavily against your cheek as he fucks you even harder with his fingers, adding a third and you grit your teeth. “Poor guys don’t even know how to do it properly, do they?” His lips brush against your cheekbone and you arch your back, trying not to whimper from the mixture of pleasure and pain. 

“Such a pity, isn’t it?” Ray whispers and you can feel him pout against your ear. Your body jerks as you begin to build to a satisfying climax, his fingers never ceasing in their work. “Don’t worry, honey. If you’re a good whore for me, I’ll make you cum, ok?” His words are cruelly intoxicating and you curse yourself for allowing him to turn you on so easily again and again. Your eyes are screwed shut as you gasp against his cheek, your left hand grabs onto his shoulder as you feel yourself shaking. You nod and try to open your eyes again, containing your reaction. 

“I don’t want you to hold back… I want to hear every sound you make.” Ray can tell you’re trying not to seem weak and needy and smiles pleasurably. His fingers edge you closer, your breath quickening. 

“And no faking. We’ll keep going until we get it right, understand?” He pulls back to look into your eyes, he’s dead serious, so you nod emphatically, panting from the pleasure. You’re reaching the peak of your climax, a shaky whine spilling from your lips.

“Now do you remember what I asked you before? Do you know how to bend?” Ray asks, his voice breaking the climax suddenly as he removes his fingers, a pleased smile on his lips as he sees your disappointed expression. 

Taking a second to process his question, you nod and lick your lips quickly. “Yes,” your voice is a soft whisper as you wait for his instructions. Ray steps back and takes off his long leather coat, tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. When he looks back at you, your legs still spread before him, he looks up and down the length of your body. 

“Then take off your dress and bend over.” He jerks his head to the left, directing you to turn that way. You pull the dress over your hips and up your chest. Ray’s stares at your breasts, his lazy eyes studying them indifferently. He’s so good at that, looking totally disinterested, put out, and bored. Strangely, it turns you on. When your dress is over your head and discarded to the floor, you let your feet slide down the edge of the comforter. You turn over, your feet flexed in the pink carpet and your butt held out above the edge of the bed. Your hands rest on the bed, your elbows extended uncomfortably on the uneven surface. You flip your hair to the side and wait for Ray. 

With your back turned and your perfect ass pushed out before him, Ray grapples with the layers of clothes on his body. He strips off his shirts, his hands undoing the buttons and zipper with swift expertise. When his clothes are all off, he places his hand on the base of your spine. You almost flinch, not knowing where he was going to touch you. His hand drops around your waist, pulling your hips closer to him but still not touching. Ray’s other hand trails from the back of your left knee to your ass which he grabs harshly. You gasp softly when he grabs you, allowing yourself to make any noise you need to, as per his request. Ray makes a clicking noise with his tongue in approval and moves his hand to your breast, his thumb drawing circles around your nipple. 

As he leans over you to message your breast, his hips pressed against your butt, his erection physically noticeable against your skin. You let your mouth fall open in an expectant, half-strangled sigh. 

“Oh you desperately need a good fuck.” His voice ruffles your hair and you close your eyes in pleasure, wanting him even closer. 

“Ray…” your voice is barely a whisper as his name escapes your lips. He presses his face into your shoulder blade in response, his nose rubbing gently against your skin. His breath tickles the sensitive place on your back and you arch your hips back, bumping against him. 

“Umph,” Ray groans softly and moves his hand up even further to your throat. His grip is loose enough for you to breathe but you still wear his hand like a choker. “You’re so fucking desperate…” he reprimands you distastefully but you can hear his smirk pulling at his tone. He tugs at your throat, moving your head back to rest against his forehead. His teeth find your earlobe and nibble gently at the curve of your ear, you moan softly. You can feel your thighs getting wetter as desire drips from your cunt. 

“Ray…” you say again and tighten your grip on the comforter below you. Ray tightens his grip on your throat in response and moves his lips to your ear. 

“Are you desperate for me?” His question is a husky whisper in your ear. You almost don’t hear what he’s saying, it's so low. You nod and swallow beneath his grip. 

“Yes, yes…” you agree twice. Ray seems to like this response because the hand that was still on your hip takes his erection and plays with the head against your cunt. 

“You can’t ever get enough of me, can you?” He doesn’t wait for a response as he pushes inside you vigorously. You yell out, your voice fading into a moan as he fills you up. 

“What was that? I didn’t hear you?” Ray smirks and thrusts into you again. You moan louder, your body desperately adjusting to his shape and size. Your eyes are screwed shut as he begins a rhythmic motion, in and out. Your jaw falls open slightly and you catch yourself squealing as he pulls your hips against his and continues his harsh movements, knowing you can take it. You can hear him panting behind you, his eyes stuck on the base of your spin and your heart-shaped ass shivering with each of his thrusts. 

“I bet no one appreciates this, how excellent your body is.” Ray manages to say, his voice disrupted by pants. You shake your head no, agreeing with him. No of your other clients even talks to you and you honestly prefer it. But you know Ray, you know his body and the way he uses it. When he talks, it excites you, drives you to do better for him. Ray chuckles breathlessly and pulls out, breaking the tension of pleasure. 

“Flip over,” he tells you and waits patiently as you roll over onto your back, your knees bent and your heels pushed into the edge of the mattress. You take a moment to look at him, having not seen him naked in years, he still looked the exact same. You both do. You both look 25, no older, no younger. Ray’s chest is rising and falling quickly and you admire the way it shows off the muscles in his body. You tear your eyes away from his taut stomach and look into his eyes, now more of a chlorine blue. 

Quickly, Ray is on top of you, pushing you farther back on the bed where your head nearly hangs over the other side. He pulls one of your thighs around him and pushes himself back inside, watching your reaction with a determined gaze. You throw your head back against the bed and raise your other thigh, pressing both of your knees into his waist. Stopping his thrusts briefly but still inside you, he drops his mouth to your breasts and circles one of your nipples with his tongue, his eyes closed to savor the experience. You moan loudly, digging your nails into his shoulders, watching his tongue lap at your nipple. Words escape you as you try to formulate an appropriate reaction. You squeal in pleasure as he moves on to sucking gently on the bud, his teeth sometimes nipping the sensitive flesh. You can feel the sensation in your cunt, as if the two places were connected by a cable. Your moans and gasps are more frantic and you feel lightheaded. 

“Too…much,” you manage, your nails biting into his flesh. 

“Good,” Ray responds shortly after your breast leaves his mouth. He kisses the side of your neck and applies a hickey at the junction of your throat and shoulder muscle, his hips beginning to move again. His hand holds your thigh tightly, using it to steady himself as he speeds up. Your hands fumble around his neck, scratching your own forearms to spare his skin. 

“No, I want you to mark me. Show me how well I’m fucking you.” He unclamps your hold on your own skin and waits for you to settle your nails back into his shoulders. 

“I won’t ask you again,” he warns darky when you don’t scratch him immediately. You manage to smile back, your mouth falling into a pleasurable gasp as if to say: do something good and I will. Taking it as a dare, Ray rolls his eyes and grabs the edge of the mattress above your head and pulls himself harshly into you. This makes you nearly animalistic. You writhe beneath his body weight and scratch your nails down his back, your thighs shivering. The pain from your nails down his back only makes him thrust deeper, his cock colliding with the base of your uterus each time. 

Your whimpers become a routine of gasps. Ray lowers his nose to brush against yours, almost in a gesture of affection but you know better than to read into it. His brow is furrowed from the effort but you can feel him start to climax, heat building between your bodies. Sweat drips from his chest onto yours, pooling between your breasts. 

“You’re going to make me cum,” Ray growls as his grip tightens on the mattress, pulling himself up and into you faster. You cannot speak for the life of you so you nod emphatically and cry out as you feel the muscles in your pelvis begin to contract when you start to cum. You feel your nails cut into his skin, drawing pinpricks of blood but Ray doesn’t even notice as he groans, his muscles tensing. He feels you tighten around him in your climax and it squeezes him, releasing his cum and bringing about his orgasm. 

Ray pulls out with a loud gasp and drags a hand across your stomach as he lies beside you, his feet hanging off the edge. You both pant, trying to catch your breath. After a few minutes of euphoria, you both begin to breathe normally. 

“You should really be paying me,” Ray says and you nearly take him seriously. 

“You’d actually make a good whore,” you laugh breathlessly and rest your cheek against your bicep, looking over at him. Ray scoffs and crosses his arms beneath his bed, sweat still sparking on his freckled chest. 

“Well I’ll keep that in mind if the whole Timekeeping career doesn’t work out.” He sounds gruff and rude but you know him better. That’s how he sounds, that’s how he is, and so you smile softly to yourself. 

"You never change," you tell him. Ray pauses for a moment and cocks his head to the side, nodding as he contemplates your observation. He's frowning as he nods, and he sighs slowly before responding.

"And neither have you."

[assortedseaglass]

We Have This Hope - III

Osferth x Lady-in-Waiting

[Masterlist]

Story Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Mentions of Violence, Strong Language, Religious Guilt, Smut

Notes: Barely proofed. Will do later. Hope you enjoy my loves. H x

Aefry and Osferth’s mutual fascination continued over the week and, much to Aefry’s delight, she was provided with plenty of chances to see him, for wherever Aethelflaed went, Uhtred seemed to follow. What’s more, wherever Aethelflaed and Uhtred went, so too did her ladies and his band of warriors. 

Following their fleeting meeting after mass, Aefry had glimpsed Osferth on her way back from the meadows just beyond the keep’s edge. She’d spent the day there with her book of psalms and her pages of drawings. Butterflies, plants, the skies above her and the ripple of the Itchen river. Wrapped in a shawl and sat beneath the old oak that guarded the grassland, Aefry was content to draw, read and daydream. Of her parents, of life beyond the keep, of warriors, of the boy with rough-shorn hair and worried eyes…

The day was drawing in when she made her way back to the warmth of the keep, the grey sky purpling as the sun descended below the trees. A brisk coolness settled on her cheeks, and she felt them turn red. These transitory days of autumn, like those of spring, brought a promise of something on the horizon that only the birds above them could see. In a life so still and, though she was grateful of her position, monotonous, Aefry found the quiet adventure in them thrilling. She thrilled too when, against the darkening sky, a white horse gleamed. Walking slowly, it’s head bobbing with each step, it looked like a spectre. Her cheeks burned all the hotter when she saw the man leading the horse to the stables. 

Head downcast like that of his steed, he too seemed aglow in the twilight. Pale skin smooth as clay, his breath taking flight against the cold air. With his shoulders slumped, Aefry saw not the shy yet brave warrior monk she had become so intrigued by those last days, but a boy. Somehow, despite his quiet courage, he seemed defeated. Not once had he looked up to see his progress towards the stable, glancing only at his feet as they shuffled across the hard earth. He was missing the gentle sunset, had not stopped to look in the direction of the blackbird singing in the hedgerow, not noticed how she stood at the edge of the field, watching. She had to know what troubled him. Spurred on by that desire, any decorum left Aefry as she hurried forward. 

At the rustle of leaves underfoot nearby, Osferth glanced up. Catching each other’s eyes, they both abruptly stood still. Osferth, hand at his sword, gawked at her. Aefry wobbled on the spot, having been caught rushing towards him. The white horse huffed and a great cloud of its breath rose into the sky. 

The look that lingered between them was a second longer than proper, and Aefry became once more a young lady of propriety. Smiling gently, she moved slowly towards Osferth. He glanced quickly at the white horse, patting its thick neck as if finding something to do. Not even Uhtred or the King stirred this much nervousness in him. 

“Forgive me, Sir-” 

“Osferth,” he corrected. Aefry was relieved to see a small smile curve his lips. 

“Osferth,” she whispered his name. To say it aloud, with no title, seemed indecent. “I am on my way back to my mistress, but when I saw you-” Aefry teetered on the precipice of this confession. Did it reveal too much? “Forgive me. I thought you looked sad.” 

Osferth looked straight at her then, and the hand that rubbed the horse’s neck fell to his side. “Not sad, my Lady, just defeated.” 

“Defeated?” She took a step closer to him, eager to know what caused the good man’s disappointment.

Osferth saw the worried crease of her brow and hurried to reassure her.

“Finan, he has been teaching me to spar. ‘Properly,’ he says.” It was as though the moon had risen early. All at once, Aefry saw the purple blooming under his eyes and the small grazes to his cheeks. When he held out his hands, dropping the reins of his horse to reveal the smattering of bruises across his knuckles, she gasped and took hold of them. 

How intoxicating it was, this woman’s worry for him. Excitement, rapidly followed by shame, overcame Osferth and with all the effort he could muster he took his hands back from her. How wanton, to crave more of it. 

“Wait, please,” Aefry said, turning in the direction she arrived from. Osferth watched her reach the edge of the meadow and crouch by a green mat of vegetation. In the low light, it was as if watching someone ascend from deep water. As she walked back to him, a handful of green clutched in her hand, she slowly came back into focus. Osferth shuffled from foot to foot and swallowed, looking quickly back to the horse. Blinking quickly, he saw the outline of her inside his eyelids. The ripple of her long hair, the sturdy footsteps towards him, her silhouette growing ever closer as her hips swayed side to side beneath the modest tunic she wore. He knew at once he would recount the image of her walking slowly towards him in the twilight. That night, in all likelihood. Osferth blushed and bowed his head. His boots were caked in mud, no doubt his tunic torn and much the same. He flattened the hair on his forehead and, shame yet again welling up inside him, hastily dropped his arm. 

“I acknowledge my sin to you, and hide not my inequity-”

“Pardon?” Aefry had begun tearing the leaves in her hand as she stopped before Osferth.

“I-er, she is-she is restless,” Osferth gestured to the horse.

Even with his head bowed, his body stooping to appear small, he towered over her. Aefry came eye level with his leather cuirass, and the cross the rested there. A good man indeed. Funny, Aefry thought, that she found the holy men of the keep so pious they bordered on arrogance, boring to the point of inertia, or else more sinful than those they preached to. Power, she supposed, was the currency of man, and there was plenty for those who had taken holy orders under the command of the King. In Osferth, however, the presence of the cross at his chest calmed her, for she had seen the truth that he was a good man. Ruled not by power, but by his kindness and conscience. A true man of God. He was still shuffling uncomfortably at her side.

“Well then,” Aefry said with a gentle smile. “We best get you both inside.” Her twinkling eyes met his and Osferth’s heart drummed unsteadily in his chest. She turned on her heel and made her way towards the stables. With the click of his teeth, Osferth and his steed followed eagerly in her wake.

The closer they drew to the dimly lit stable, the clearer the voices within it became. That is to say, one voice. The two men inside barely noticed as Aefry pushed open the door and slipped inside. Instead, it was the sound of horse hooves on the dampened ground that told the men they were no longer alone. 

“Hurt your bollocks as well as the rest of your body?” Finan said to Osferth, indicating the horse he hadn’t ridden and laughing heartily. Sihtric smirked but continued brushing the dark horse he rode. Beside them, Aefry appeared from a small stall with a bowl of water.

“Fuck!” Finan jumped back at the small woman’s seemingly sudden arrival. 

Blushing at the language, Aefry laughed. “Perhaps, Osferth, you should take sparring lessons from me. He may be the brute but I clearly have the cunning.” She playfully nudged Finan’s shoulder and found he didn’t budge. It made her giggle all the more and the three men stared at her. Sihtric in question, Osferth in amazement and Finan in mirthful admiration. Unaware, Aefry continued tearing the plant in her hand and adding it to the bowl.

“What have you there?” Sihtric’s voice was quiet. 

“Yarrow,” Aefry offered him one of the flowering stems. “It helps to soothe swelling.” She watched as Sihtric turned the flower between his fingers. Despite his height, his fearsome, bicolour gaze and endless stoicism, there was gentleness to this man she was certain many overlooked. To all of them. Whereas it was plain in Osferth, behind the tough exteriors of Sihtric and Finan lay good-hearted souls. Sihtric with his childlike wonder, Finan with his easy humour. Uhtred too possessed a tenderness, if the way he looked at Aethelflaed was anything to judge. 

Silence, but for the huffing and shuffling of the horses, settled about the stable. Aefry worked the yarrow and water into a paste, unaware of the silent exchange occurring above her head. 

Osferth, still shy around his adoptive comrades and overcome with an emotion entirely foreign to him in the presence of Aefry, looked everywhere in the stable but her. Occasionally, as he glanced between the ceiling’s beams or the hay-strewn floor, he caught either Finan or Sihtric’s eyes. Sihtric, in his usual way, fixed him with a knowing stare somewhere between teasing and curiosity. Each time Osferth caught Finan’s eye, however, he entered into a silent battle with the Gael. 

Finan indicated Aefry with his head, encouraging Osferth to step closer, or else would mouth instructions. “Talk to her!” “Say something!”. Once or twice, he even caught Finan making lewd gestures. When the Gael balled his fist before his crotch, Osferth’s eyes widened and he darted into one of the stalls. In doing so he brushed against Aefry’s shoulder, and the warmth he felt beneath her shawl sent a surge of lightning through him. 

Flustered by the commotion of his own sudden movement, Osferth almost lost track of where he was and what he was doing. He span around. “I’m sorry, my Lady-” Osferth’s voice died. Aefry was watching him with a smile. No annoyance at his carelessness, worry no longer knitting her brow. Simply smiling at him. 

Though bolder than he was, Osferth had noticed in his few meetings with the lady-in-waiting, of which this was the third, that, like him, Aefry was content with silence. He wished then that he had the courage for idle chatter. This lingering silence was torturous. The more she looked at him, and the more he looked at her, the more likely it seemed to him that heaven truly was real and not just a tool to frighten men into subjection.

“Let me see your hand again,” Behind Aefry, Finan walked past the stall and winked. Osferth didn’t move, and so Aefry came to him. Mistaking his infatuation for his earlier disappointment, she reached out and took his hand. Osferth almost whimpered. He bit the inside of his cheek to silence himself and released a ragged breath through his nose. 

“I’m sorry, but the yarrow will help.” 

Osferth let out a shaky laugh at her unknowing sweetness. “‘Tis fine.” When she began massaging the yarrow into his knuckles, Osferth held his breath, for never before could he remember being touched with such gentleness. 

He barely remembered his mother. Sometimes, he thought of her running her hand over his head, but was unsure if this was a memory or merely something his mind had conjured up in the absence of her. When he entered the monastery, it was with the clap of his uncle Leofric’s hand at his back and a promise that he would always be near. 

In their memory, Osferth touched the cross at his chest. Aefry’s eyes flickered there but she asked no questions, and began rolling a torn piece of cloth about his hand.

Behind the walls of the monastery, Osferth knew nothing but prayer and penance. 

The blond hair his mother had allowed to grow long was roughly shorn, his clothes were replaced with itchy hand-me-down robes, and despite having lived so meagrely before, he would have given anything to sleep on the hay mattress of his uncle Leofric’s rather than the wooden board and blanket of his shared quarters. 

That first room he shared with two other boys, Arric and Hablendan. He did not need to ask why they were sent to the monastery. The abbots looked at the three boys with an obvious disdain that they did not show the other novitiates. They were woken between matins and prime, then set to work preparing breakfast for the sleeping monastery. After a long day of work and prayer, Osferth and his companions would say compline, or vigil before Sunnundaeg, and await the abbot to permiss them sleep, long after everyone else had retired. 

Bastards. Shame of father and family. That was why. 

“A stain upon the good King’s virtue.” 

“Nothing but a whore’s shame.”

“It would have been far better if you had never been born.”

When Hablendan succumbed to a fever aged eleven, the penitential psalms were hurried, his anointing near forgot, and the abbots slung him in a haphazard grave beyond the monastery wall. Only Osferth and Aerric kept vigil.

Arric left the monastery suddenly, and from time to time Osferth imagined he had run away with a tradesman or visiting abbess. That way he could believe a life beyond that harsh place existed. A monastery in a warmer climate perhaps, or a new life altogether. 

“Osferth?” 

So tender was her voice that Osferth thought he’d imagined it. The voice of Hablendan or Arric. Perhaps even his uncle or mother. 

He blinked in the dim light, and felt a warmth about his hands. She had taken both in her own, and held them gently before her. Her eyes, a muddy mixture of browns, were looking up at him with concern. 

“‘Tis fine,” he said again, although the lump in his throat betrayed any attempt at ease. Aefry nodded, held his hand a moment longer, then let go. Osferth twitched awkwardly before coughing and clearing the stall to make way for his horse. That he had been about to take her hand once more, Aefry did not know.  

“Will your mistress not worry where you are?” Sihtric was heaving his horse’s saddle onto one of the stable beams.

“If Lord Uhtred is with her, I doubt it entirely,” Aefry said with a smile. “Her mother, however-” The men laughed. “I am away. Remove the dressing in the morning and the swelling should have gone down,” she addressed Osferth. “If not, seek me out and I will gather more.” 

“He surely will,” Finan stepped forward with yet another gleeful glance in Osferth’s direction as he wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. “I’ll walk you back.”

Osferth’s heart sank. He had not known Finan long, but it was enough to see the long looks women gave him. Wit, kindness, honour, strength. How could he possibly compete? Aefry and Finan were backing out of the door when Sihtric nudged Osferth’s shoulder and nodded in their direction. Aefry was looking hopefully at him over Finan’s shoulder.

“Goodnight Osferth, goodnight Sir,” Sihtric nodded his head at Aefry. Osferth bowed a little. 

“Come,” Sihtric said to him. “You have more to learn than swordsmanship.” And together they trudged towards the inn on the outskirts of town, Osferth hanging off his every word. 

In the opposite direction, Finan and Aefry walked in comfortable silence. The sun had set fully and torches flickered at the welcoming gates of the keep. In a few moments, they would be sheltered in its warmth. Aefry’s stomach gave a rumble and she laughed. 

“Thank you, Sir, for walking me back,” Finan smiled and Aefry continued. “Though, and I do not mean to offend, I suspect it was not for my safety.” Expecting to see annoyance in her eyes, Finan looked at her. To his pleasant surprise, he saw her eyes twinkle in the low light. A broad smile stretched across his bonny face. “I do believe Saeflaed will have returned from her father’s by now.”

“I would not have let you walk back alone, lady-”

“Aefry.” She corrected, holding a hand to her chest. He copied the movement.

“Finan.” Aefry nodded and Finan continued. “But a glimpse of her would not go amiss.” 

Aefry’s smile widened. Finan had thought her a meek little thing at first, smaller than her companions, not so pretty as Saeflaed or outspoken as Adburh. But he saw now that he was wrong. Behind the round cheeks and rosy complexion, pleasing manner and quiet reserve, a brightness burned within her. Quick to help and to laugh just as he. The youngest of Aethelflaed’s ladies, he thought perhaps, despite Saeflaed’s beauty, that Aefry was his favourite.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Aefry said, her voice full of that longing awe one heard in a girl recalling a princess, or a little boy dreaming of the battlefield.

“I’ve never seen a fairer lass,” 

“And here she is,” she indicated the keep gates, where a golden haired girl stood waiting. Aefry turned to Finan, a knowing glint in her eye. “Almost as if this meeting were planned.” 

“Not a word to your mistress of Uhtred,” Finan held her arm gently. 

Aefry held a finger to her lips as she slipped away, and Finan watched as she clasped Saeflaed’s hand before disappearing through the gate. 

Over the next few days, the three men and three women followed their leaders like a gaggle of children. 

Having told Aefry how much she liked the man, Saeflaed either clung to her arm or Finan’s, whispering hurried observations in the former’s ear, flirtations in the latter’s.

“His wit is as sharp as his sword!”

“There’s something about his eyes,”

“I watched him train the monk,” Aefry’s ears pricked. “His arms, Aefry!” 

Poor Adburh was quite taken as ever by the silent Sihtric, but the discovery of his wife had left her quite bereft. 

“Many a man takes a mistress, Adburh,” Saeflaed had said.

“I’ll not be a man’s whore,” Adburh snapped from beneath her bedsheets.

“Not even a man so beautiful?”

Adburh sniffled and Aefry silenced her friend with a quick glance. 

When next they saw Uhtred and his men, all walking the halls and corridors of the keep as he spoke to Aethelflaed in hushed tones, Aefry was forced to abandon her position by the monk to remind Adburh that she was at court. At once, the red-headed girl’s shoulders straightened, the crease of her forehead vanished and her steps became lighter. 

“He is a handsome man, ‘tis true,” Aefry whispered to Adburh. “But not the man for you, my friend.” Adburh’s face soured at once and she made to protest. Aefry didn’t allow it. “Aside from his marital status, he is far too quiet and serious. Imagine the household you would run together! You, fearsome and outspoken. He, fearsome and silent. That poor man would not stand a chance.” Adburh laughed sadly and linked her arm through Aefry’s. Together, they processed behind the others.

Uhtred and Aethelflaed were a way ahead now. Uhtred too, seemed equally bewitched by Aethelflaed as Adburh was with Sihtric, and Aefry was glad to see a man bestow her mistress some compassion. The image of a gentleman in her presence, Uhtred listened to Aethelflaed’s words as though she were bestowing upon him a prophecy. He walked half a step behind her at all times, and always, his gaze was directed toward her. 

Finan and Saeflaed, still holding his arm, were a few paces behind them with Sihtric. Aefry giggled as Saeflaed’s golden curls bounced animatedly as she spoke to him, and Finan looked over his shoulder at the noise and winked. 

Osferth saw him do so and glanced to where Aefry and Adburh walked. The moment he looked at her, Aefry’s steps faltered. 

“Are you alright?” It was Adburh who sounded concerned now. 

“Yes. Yes, fine,” Aefry resumed her steps and looked to Osferth. He had turned back to face the front. Let him look round again, please. The strange sensation that had made its home in Aefry’s chest ever since she met the monk stirred, and she gulped a few times to steady her breath. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Adburh,” Aefry lay a hand atop her friends. “Believe me when I say, I am fine.” Adburh eyed her suspiciously but they continued ahead. 

Osferth walked alone between the groups, hands clasped behind his back. As people passed them in the corridors, going about their business, Aefry found a new appreciation for his height. She had seen few men so tall. He was taller than Finan, that was certain. Now, she saw he was taller than Uhtred and much the same height as Sihtric. She thought of the three warriors and their broad backs, and her mind wandered to what lay beneath Osferth’s robes. Whether he would become as muscled as them as he continued his training- 

I’m sorry. Let him look at me, and I’ll spend Sunnandaeg in the chapel. 

Aefry did not know precisely what it was that she longed to see, but when Osferth turned to look at her again, his mellow eyes brightening when he saw her already watching him, she felt a small part of her desire to be seen by him sated. 

“Aefry, your cheeks are flushed. Are you certain-”

“Adburh!” Aefry dropped her friend’s arm in annoyance and took a few rushed steps forward before realising where she was; a step or so behind Osferth. When Adburh stomped past them, her temper flaring, Osferth startled and gazed back. Upon seeing Aefry so close, he startled again but smiled all the same.

“Her fires are burning rather hot today,” Aefry mumbled, giving Osferth a small curtsy. 

“Is everything well?” said Osferth as he watched Adburh storm ahead.

“She had some bad news,” Aefry wouldn’t betray Adburh’s feelings, no matter her annoyance.

Osferth hummed and waited for Aefry to fall into step beside him. Unlike that which she had shared with Finan, Aefry could not say their silence was comfortable. On the contrary, both seemed strained to think of something to say and altogether uneasy. 

“The yarrow worked-”

“How is your practice-”

Both spoke together, blushed and allowed the quiet to resume. After a moment, Aefry took Osferth’s hand. Perhaps it was an excuse just to touch him, but she brought his knuckles to the light of a passing window and examined his bruises. The yarrow had worked indeed, for she could make out the bone and blue veins of his hands. His hands. How small hers suddenly felt underneath his. When she looked up at him, she saw he was still staring down at their entwined hands. 

“Do you need anything more of me?” she whispered.

Osferth’s eyes flickered to hers. “Lady, I-”

“Come on, Osferth!” 

Finan’s voice boomed down the corridor and Aefry stepped quickly away from Osferth. Onward they walked. 

“That is much like how he speaks to me when teaching,” Osferth said lowly and Aefry laughed. “But he is kind do it, and a good man.”

“That he is.” 

Osferth watched her from the corner of his eye. She smiled as she looked in Finan’s direction and he tried to quell his jealousy. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he whispered. 

Ahead, Uhtred and Aethelflaed had stopped outside a large cabinet of rooms at the fore of the keep, and Aefry, distracted on their journey there, noticed at once that it was the study of the King. She quickened her steps, leaving Osferth’s side, to stand behind her mistress. It would not do for Lady Aelswith to see her at the side of one of Uhtred’s men and not her daughter. 

No sooner had she, Saeflaed and Adburh settled behind Aethelflaed did the door to the cabinet open. Father Beocca stepped out and grasped Uhtred’s hand. A moment after, the King entered the corridor and all in his presence bowed their heads. Aethelflaed kissed his cheek. 

“You are ready?” He said to his daughter and Uhtred, to which they nodded and entered his private chambers with Beocca. As Aefry bowed once more, she noticed the King’s intelligent eyes carry over Finan and Sihtric, before flicking to the man stood still in the corridor.

Subtly, so imperceptibly, Aefry saw Alfred falter. From her reverent position, she looked sideways through the veil of her hair.

Osferth was looking pointedly at the ground, his shoulders a little stooped, his head a little bowed.

When the King turned away, Osferth looked up and saw that Aefry was watching him again. With a sad smile and nod of his head, he retraced his steps, away from his fellows, and out of sight. A haunting sadness had returned to his eyes, and Aefry thought of little else all evening.

Early one morning under the guise of prayer, Aethelflaed brought her ladies-in-waiting to the town chapel so she may share some secret with Uhtred before he and his men left for the north.

Finan and Sihtric were stood at the door, happily talking when they arrived. They bowed to Aethelflaed as she passed, sharing a knowing look, and greeted the ladies. Saeflaed placed herself by Finan and leant gaily against the stone wall so that her hip jutted just so. Adburh, too, stood scandalously close to Sihtric. He said nothing. Aefry did not worry about Osferth’s own whereabouts, for she knew he would be inside.

Sure enough, when she pushed open the chapel’s great doors, daylight streaked into the chamber and set him aglow. Sat on a simple wooden bench at the back of the chapel, his head was bent in prayer. Like a moth to a flame, she drifted towards him, sitting carefully beside him as he prayed.

The creaking of the wood gave her away, and Osferth opened one eye. When he saw her sat beside him, he smiled and relaxed in his seat. Together, the monk and the young lady sat in contended silence at the back of the chapel. After a while he looked at her fully and saw the happiness on her face.

“What has you smiling, my Lady?” Osferth whispered in her ear as they sat side by side. Aefry looked up at him. His hands were clasped in his lap, his head bowed slightly to hear her answer. Wherever he went, he always looked in prayer, and she wondered if it was the same on the battlefield. If he fought with as much grace as he did everything else.

“Those two,” she indicated Uhtred and Aethelflaed with her eyes. “It is good to see her smile again.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her face glow with tenderness. It seemed her permanent state. On occasion, he had seen her about the keep with Aethelflaed and her other companions. Where Adburh and Saeflaed seemed suited to keeping the princess jovial, the lady beside him must have been picked as a companion for her quiet sincerity. When Aethelflaed fell into clouds of despair, it was Aefry she went to to lift her spirits.

When Osferth stumbled upon Aefry in the town, or sat in the meadow beyond the keep, she moved with serenity, like river buttercup in a stream. It struck him that she was prayer incarnate; contemplative, curious, calm.

When tending to the horses, he watched her in the meadow. She gathered flowers, read beneath the oak tree, or when not alone, talked spiritedly with her companions. Just as fascinated as she was with the monk, he too was with the lady-in-waiting.

“Though she doesn’t show it, not to Lord Uhtred, she is sad.” The monk titled his head towards her as she spoke. “You are away tomorrow, are you not?”

He nodded, eyes scanning hers. Would she be sad when he left? As Aethelflaed was for Uhtred?

“Take care, Just Osferth,” she smiled. His mouth twitched at the corners, and she knew he wanted to smile. “What?”

“My lady, do you think perhaps you could simply call me Osferth? The others have given me their own name, I should like to hear mine just plainly.”

The lady’s eyes lit with mirth. “What do the others call you?”

He sighed and looked at the cross atop the alter, as if pleading for help. “‘Baby monk.’” He whispered it in her ear like he was at confession, and she would have shuddered were it not for the ridiculousness of the name. She sniggered and the monk pinched his nose.

“Are you a monk anymore?” She had turned to him slightly, though she still glanced at her mistress every now and again. “Now that you are in Uhtred’s company?”

He thought a moment and watched his hands. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

She took his hand in hers and faced him directly.

“You are Osferth.”

“That I am.” There it was again. Pride. Looking at her pretty face, open with kindness and judging of nothing as she watched him, Osferth felt that whatever he had been, or would be, was fine because she saw him. She.

“What do you think life would have held for you? Had you the choice?” Aefry knew the question was intimate, and should he rebuke her, she would understand. To her happiness, he did not.

“I do not think it matters, lady.” Visions of himself as a prince, or an ealdorman with wife and child flashed before his eyes. “My lot was chosen long before I was born.” Aefry knew he was thinking of his father’s actions but said nothing, only let him continue. “With another mother, another father, in a different realm perhaps my life would have been different, but it does not do to dwell. I am thankful for what I have been given.”

He watched her side, for she had turned to face Uhtred and Aethelflaed solemnly. Her lips parted delicately, plainly thinking over what he had said. A few strands of hair had fallen loose from the braid knotted at her nape, revealing the pulse point on the elegant column of her neck. Osferth was struck with the desire to run his finger along it and the britches beneath his tunic tightened. He shifted on the hard pew. Damn. Faintly, as though listening through water, he heard her say something similar to “we should leave them be.” He looked up to see Uhtred and Aethelflaed departing through the door behind the chancel.

“Will you pray with me?”

Her hand was still in his and she squeezed it before clasping her own in prayer. “Of course.”

Aefry knelt before him and he swallowed, shifting his hands beneath his tunic before kneeling beside her. Osferth wasn’t sure how long they prayed. Or rather, how long she prayed and he tried to. Her devoted mutterings and deeps sighs of breath were beautifully distracting, so he settled on watching her pray instead.

She leant her head on her hands, as though this would open a direct channel to help her commune with the divine. She glanced up on occasion, to gaze at the altar, before casting her eyes down. When she hastily wiped a tear from her cheek between devotions, he found he could take it no more and moved towards the offertory shrine next to the tabernacle. He hadn’t seen someone so moved by prayer since the monastery, and even then he believed the abbot did it to scare the oblates into servitude.

He took a candle and, placing it next to its fellows, lit it with a taper. Closing his eyes with the flame in hand, a moment’s solace finally found him, and he prayed for that which he always could. When he opened them, she was there beside him, placing her own candle upon the shrine having silently finished her prayers. As if in slow motion, he watched as she covered his hand with hers and moved the taper he still held to the wick. The candle flickered into life, and she let go.

“Who did you light your candle for?” she whispered, watching the flames dance together.

“My mother.”

“I lit mine for you. I want to see you safely back in Wintancaester.” Sadness befell Aefry’s eyes and Osferth said the only thing he could think that would ease her unhappiness.

“I shall try, my lady.”

She nodded. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

His lips parted with barely supressed awe. “Psalm ninety-one.”

Aefry nodded again. “The psalms are my favourites.”

“My lips praise you, because your faithful love is better than life itself.” Osferth whispered, his eyes intent on hers.

“Psalm sixty-three.”

“Yes,” Each time he was near her, his voice floundered. It seemed it was not just he who struggled. The light of the chapel cast Osferth in a soft glow and his eyes, pierced by the sun, looked aflame. Aefry watched as his tongue ran slowly over his bottom lip and, mindful of their place in God’s house, pressed the back of her hand to his so as to feel close to him.

“I must away, my lady.” His words were abrupt, their sudden intimacy overwhelming.

“Yes, you must,”

Osferth swallowed, and with some urgency said, “But I will see you soon.” Her beautiful face became doleful as she looked at the bidding candles and he stepped closer to her. Her eyes, brimming with tears, took in his face and as he made to brush them away, she stood on her toes to place a chaste kiss against his cheek.

Frozen before the shrine, Osferth listened as her steps carried her from the chapel, away from Adburh and Saeflaed, from Finan and Sihtric, and from him.

In the meadow beyond the town, beneath the oak tree, Aefry let her tears fall.

“The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night,” she said aloud to the grasses and the birds. Please, she begged, please let him come back.

Notes: Matins, prime, compline and vigil are part of the liturgical hours in the catholic faith, and are prayers that are said throughout the day. Typically for a monk, there would be matines, prime, lauds, none, sext, vespers and compline. Vigil came before holy days and some even took nocturnes which is around 1am. I used to live with a monk (true!) and sometimes I would do lauds with him. Fifteen minutes of quiet is a lovely way to start the day!

Tags: @arcielee @babyblue711 @elizarbell @chilling-in-my-head @skikikikiikhhjuuh @fan-goddess @sylas-the-grim @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @targaryenrealnessdarling @doomwhathouwilt @gemini-mama @myfandomprompts @bcon24 @humanpurposes @wise-owl @bookwyrmsblog @yentroucnagol @allthefandomtherapy @hightowhxre @elizarbell

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Toy Story - Rafe x Reader

A little collab with @housekeeperjjswife

Summary: a little blurb from an idea in my Dating Rafe Would Include fic in which Rafe gets a little frisky while you're watching a movie with his sister.

Warnings: language, sexual themes, fingering, not proofed

You and Wheezie were halfway through your Toy Story marathon, the thirteen-year-old had never seen the movies. After making your relationship with Rafe official, you formed a close bond with Wheezie, spending nearly more time with her than with Rafe.

Rafe had definitely noticed this and his libido was taking it harder than he was. His high sex drive constantly paired with not being able to touch you whenever you were with his sister was simply killing him.

He rounded the corner of the living room in Tannyhill, taking in your body laid out on the couch, watching intently as Woody and Buzz go on yet another unrealistic adventure. You looked so innocent, watching a movie about the secret lives led by toys all the while Rafe was stuck taking cold showers and or taking care of the problem himself with his fist and a pair of underwear you'd been missing for weeks. It had been going on for far too long. Rafe needed you.

An evil smirk pulls at his lips, an equally evil idea pooling in his head.

"Hello, ladies." He walks to the couch and leans over the back of it, giving Wheezie a small smile before turning to you, and kissing your cheek. "How are Woody and Buzz?"

Wheezie dives into an in-depth recap of the plot of the movies you had watched but Rafe isn't listening. His eyes are on you, the small smile as you listen to his sister, how cute you look in his t-shirt and a pair of his pajama pants, and how completely and utterly fuckable you look.

As Wheezie continues, Rafe's lips lower to your ear.

"Wanna know a secret?" He doesn't wait for you to answer. "I'm so fuckin' hard right now." Out of all the things he could have told you, you weren't expecting that. Your eyes widen and your head turns to look at him. Rafe's face is neutral as if he didn't just tell you he was turned on but there is a look in his eyes you know well.

Wheezie is still talking as Rafe smiles at you, kisses your cheek, and rounds the couch.

"I'm not sure if I trust this Lotso guy yet, a purple teddy bear seems suspicious." It doesn't cross your mind that Wheezie's accusations about the toy are correct. Your mind is still on Rafe's dirty comment as he plops down next to you, lifting the blanket and pulling you into his side.

"Interesting theories, Wheez." You don't engage in the conversation, simply opting to watch it, in hopes of forgetting about your boyfriends' problem.

All is going well until his hushed voice is in your ear again.

"Are you thinking about it now?" You suck in a breath, trying to keep your focus on the screen, and not the incredibly good-looking man beside you, whispering into your ear. "Are you turned on too?" His hand settles on your thigh under the blanket and your cheeks heat. "If you won't answer I guess I'll see for myself." His fingers dip under the fabric of your, his, pj pants, and he smiles when he finds what he's looking for. As his fingers glide against your wet centre, your bottom lip pulls between your teeth, trying not to draw attention to yourselves.

"Rafe..." You whisper.

He's quick to hush you.

"No, baby. Just keep watching."

It's torturous. The way he's touching you is addicting but simply can't be happening at this moment. Your cheeks are hot and your breathing is beginning to pick up.

"Shhhhh. Don't make a sound."

Rafe's thick fingers roll your clit before slipping inside of you, your arousal sliding over them. You begin to absentmindedly roll your hips into his hand, your orgasm nearing, and he chuckles.

"Awe. So needy." Your head turns to his.

"Says the guy who is doing this just because he's hard." His eyes narrow and his movements stop, right before you finish. You return the glare.

"If you wanna come, then you'll come upstairs. Or finish the movie with Wheezie. You decide." He gets up, the feeling of his hand sliding out of your waistband making you shudder. "Alright ladies, enjoy your movie!" He winks at you, walking back around the couch. You keep your eyes on the screen until Rafe is leaning into your ear again. "If you aren't in my room in five minutes, I won't touch you at all. You can do it all yourself." He walks away, leaving you stunned on the couch, Wheezies laughter filling the otherwise silent room.

She was alone seconds later.

BOLD MEANS I COULDN'T TAG YOU

Taglist: @iameatingmyhair@cherrrywraith@lil2023@lcvrsheart @sophiah2253 @mila1224 @iamlilykrav @emotionalldamage @earthruled @bluuuughh @sunsetargent @kingedmund007 @iluvbunnyhops @steveharie @rafelover @tarrenshayne @stcrkeyluvr @idktheusuall @eddiemunson86 @taylorswiftloversera @wh0r3-for-klaus @housekeeperjjswife @wildwallflower24 @poge-life @fuckmelikestilesstilinski @lonnielainn @sachaa-ff @xhaliemax @kravitzwhore @coryisagee @multidimensionalslut @fratboyharrysgf02011 @iheartthe90s @settingmoxn @lewisroscoelove @hannahxhoney @iluvcatslolol @x2skyler @kkmstblog @kinokorii @pickingviolets

[xoxopandapanda]

Proportional

Men like him gave up lives like this so that others could live simple and quaint lives. He risked his everyday so people could live theirs. He sacrificed so children would be able to grow up in a world more peaceful than he had.

Anya had come home, beaming and rambling on about something he had no idea about. He had long learned to not try to predict her - she would just throw him for a loop anyway. She kicked her shoes off at the door and beeline it for him. He had half a mind to tell her to put her shoes away, but she was holding a piece of paper that drew his attention more.

Instinctively, he lifted her into his arms as she climbed up him without asking. He caught a glimpse of the colors on the paper before she settled into his chest sideways, and to proudly present him with her object of fixation.

"Papa!" she loudly exclaimed, the paper give a pathetic snap as she pulled it taught between her two little hands to show him, "we practiced porpoises in art!"

As if he knew her all her life and could know indtany what she meant, he corrected her. "Proportions."

She was undeterred by his correction. "I drew our family!"

Loid took in the color drawing before him. The human in the picture were certainly fairly proportional, but the white dog was the same height as the man and woman, he presumed was him and Yor. "Bond is too big. He is as tall as me."

"Yep." Apparently Anya didn't see anything with a nearly 6 foot head to toe dog.

Loid leaned back to look into her shimmering green eyes. "What did your teacher say?"

Anya shrugged and wiggled to show she wanted down, which he complied with. She scrambled over to show the family dog her artwork.

He seemed very interested and let out a happy 'borf!' when she pointed out, very explicitly, that he was just as big as Papa and Mama because he was just as important to her.

Loid smiled softly to himself, wondering if she intended it to be that way or if she was just that good at thinking on her feet. He watched her from his peripheral vision as she put the drawing in his briefcase.

The next day, he sat in his office, waiting for the next patient of Dr. Forger, a man in his early sixties struggling to adapt to life without his wife. He pulled out the drawing from his briefcase and admired it.

He heard Anya in his head, telling Bond that he was just as important as him and Yor to her. He felt his heart squeeze slightly at the memory, a feeling he had long since come to accept as part of his day now, especially when he thought about the Forgers.

He had left it on the top of his desk when his patient came in, his focus quickly shifting to his work. However, the image was not lost on the elderly man.

"You've got the next Michaelangelo on your hands there, Doc." The wrinkles alongsode the man's eyes were ever present, but seemed extra deep in that moment.

Loid laughed good-naturedly. "She is certainly creative."

The old man nodded. "Does she make you happy?"

Loid answered after a pause. He was used to being the one who asked the questions, especially if this nature. "... She does."

"It's a good reminder after all we've seen in our lives that the young see us in such a light."

Loid cocked his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The old man pointed at his face in the drawing. "She doesn't see the war scarred soldier you hid under your facade. She doesn't see the sleepless nights that hollow out your eyes because you are tormented by the people you left behind on those fields."

They made eye contact. Loid felt exposed in front of this man who had fought on the opposite side of the line of him. His brain screamed to assess the dangers that this patient presented to Operation Strix, the Forgers, to Anya, but he was frozen in his body. He wasn't anything more than the boy who had lied about his age and tossed away any hope for normalcy at that moment. Not a spy, not a soldier, nothing but a boy who just wanted the world to go back to what it was before that bomb fell.

"She sees her father, a strong, happy man who holds her. Look at the smile she put on you." Once the old man's gaze had dropped from his, he was back in the moment. He felt rattled but still followed the man's finger to show the wide, white smile on his peach face." She drew the same smile on herself." Loid realized in that moment that the old man was right. He and Anya had wide, undefined toothy smiles in the drawing. Yor had a small black line.

Anya saw herself in him. And he knew, deep down, he did too.

"After all we've been through, it makes me happy to see life through a child's eyes." The old man shook his head softly and walked, back bowed, towards the couch. The session proceeded as Loid had planned, but once the door closed behind the elderly gentleman, Loid's mind raced back to the drawing.

He gingerly picked it up, almost as if he was afraid it was going to disappear once he had a grasp on it. He had been so focused yesterday on the proportions, he had missed the reality it represented.

Anya lived in a world where she was warm, safe, and loved. Anya knew that.

There was so much more to secure the world he wanted, where no child was ever scared or in danger as they grew, but he had done a small portion of that work already.

And maybe that was proportional to what he had scarified.

[pilesofpillows]

Stars Aglow Ch. 4 || Okoye x Attuma

A Sea of Stars ~ Part 3 of 3

Ch. 1 • Ch. 2 • Ch. 3

Warnings: An Excessive Amount of Fluff, Talk of Marriage

Tags: @mamajankyy @xenokattz @tvreadsandsleep @ariyannah @iccedays @blissdoutbyattuma @karimk2 @umber-cinders @mickimomo @dontruinmymorning @princess-of-gondor

Okoye smothered a laugh with her hand, studiously avoiding Nakia’s eyes as they watched Toussaint peer cautiously over the oversized crib the triplets slept in. T’Challa’s son stood on his toes, glancing back and forth between Okoye and her children skeptically. His face was twisted into the most adorable of frowns, and she nearly lost the fight to keep her composure when the boy turned to them with an aggrieved sigh.

“They’re very small, umakazi. And they’re sleeping again,” T’Challa whispered— or at least, attempted to as he stepped into the space between her legs. 

Okoye hugged her precious nephew, trying to quell the laughter bubbling in her chest at his decidedly underwhelmed expression. Junior had waited an eternity (nearly three weeks) to meet the triplets, and Okoye feared the three small infants (who did very little but sleep and eat) hadn’t quite lived up to his expectations. 

“I know they are, sweet boy. But they will grow; you have to give them time,” she consoled with a chuckle. “They’ve only just arrived, you know.”

He returned her embrace, sinking into her arms and sighing again. “Can I still teach them Go Fish?”

“Probably not anytime soon, ingwe enci. But when they are old enough, I’m sure they would love to learn.” Okoye lifted T’Challa into her lap, relishing the ability to hold him close without the barrier of her belly. “You will be the first cousin they know, the one they love the most. You’ll be their best friend and greatest protector, and when the time comes, I’m sure you will be the best Go Fish teacher in all of Wakanda.”

Her nephew grinned at that, chest puffing out proudly. “I will teach them Go Fish when I am–,” he paused, counting quietly to himself, “ten!” he announced, holding out both hands, fingers splayed. “I’ll know other stuff then, too, so I can teach them lots.”

“Indeed you will, chan baláam.” Attuma’s voice sounded from the doorway of the nursery, drawing both of their attention. He and Namora stepped into the large room, both still damp from escorting Ixtli and the Talokanil nursing team to the eastern side of the Continent for the journey home. 

Toussaint wriggled from Okoye’s lap and greeted them with exclamations of joy, only looking a little abashed when Nakia reminded him to keep his voice down. Nonetheless, he took a running leap toward Attuma and giggled when he was caught and hoisted onto her beloved’s waist. Attuma received an affectionate forehead press and Namora, a series of salutes followed by an enthusiastic high-five. 

Her nephew touched Attuma’s hair, taking in his and Namora’s damp appearance, and scolded them in a loud whisper. “You’re still wet, Uncle Tuna! You and Nacomora need to use the dryer better.”

His face and countenance were so serious that Okoye lost the battle with her laughter at Nakia’s unrestrained snort, the mangled combination of Namora’s title and name sending them into a fit of hushed giggles. It didn’t help that Namora refused to correct him. She claimed it was a blessing from her chan aj baláam and even prohibited them from correcting him. 

Indulging T’Challa was a crime they were all guilty of, and Okoye could already tell it would be the same, if not worse, with her children. 

Her giggles tapered off, and she shook her head at her sister as Attuma set Toussaint down, crouching before the boy and solemnly promising to use the dryers better next time. Her nephew beamed at him, offering his littlest finger and extracting a pinky promise from his uncle before darting across the room to his mother, pestering her for the cashews she was snacking on. 

Attuma rose with a quiet chuckle and crossed the room, stopping at her side and dropping a kiss on her head. Reaching up, Okoye pushed his hair out of his face and pressed their foreheads together. He’d been gone for less than an hour, but she’d missed him like it’d been days. They hadn’t been apart since the triplets were born, and if this was how she felt now, Okoye dreaded to think of what she would feel when he went back to work. 

That wouldn’t be anytime soon, of course, so she put the thought out of her mind and tilted her chin up, kissing the corner of his mouth. Attuma turned his head and caught her lips in a brief kiss, and she gave a quiet hum.

“Ts'o'ok u taktal in wilech xan, in yakunaj [I missed you too, my love],” he whispered against her lips, kissing her quickly again. 

Okoye offered him a soft smile as he drew back and settled into the reclining rocking chair beside her, then turned to Namora. “Did Ixtli and the team get out okay?” 

“Chaac has blessed the winds and the waters are calm; their journey home should be swift,” The Talokanil general replied, softening her voice as she neared the crib. She reached a careful hand in and traced the pattern on the edge of B’atz’s blanket, smiling down at her godson. 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Okoye said sincerely. “We’ll miss them— Ixtli especially. Please thank her again for me, for us.” She would always be grateful to the iyom k’exelom for helping her bring three children safely into the world. She and the Talokanil nurses had made a world of difference in the delivery room and helped immensely in the week of bed rest she’d been mandated to afterward. 

Namora gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment, eyes fixed on B’atz, gazing down at the sleeping infant with pure adoration. The Talokanil general loved all the triplets, but Okoye knew her secondborn already held a special place in her heart. Shuri and Ayo were the same with T’Khwezi and Ixazaluoh, and between their grandparents and godparents, Okoye could proudly say her children were well loved. 

“I don’t think she heard you, diosa. Her ears have gone, along with her head,” Attuma quietly teased his fellow general. He leaned close with a smirk and interwove their fingers. “You could not have known, of course, but babies are one of Namora’s greatest weaknesses.” Okoye snickered at his antics as her beloved gave a heavy sigh and a solemn shake of his head. “I fear our formidable Yeh Kaaye’ Nacom has gone k’iinich [sun-eyed].” 

The Lionfish turned to Attuma with a glare as venomous as her way and arched a sharp brow at him. “You have little depth to tread, Uncle Tuna,” Namora spat back playfully. She leaned back on the railing of the crib and crossed her arms.“You’ve been k’iinich since a K’iino [your Sun] buried her foot in your chest.” 

Attuma let out a garbled sound of protest, trying to deny it, but Namora pressed on, shooting Okoye a conspiratorial glance. “His head has been full of ja'páak'alo' [seaweed] since he hit the water. I fear our mighty Xook Nacom hasn’t been the same since,” she finished, flashing her beloved a triumphant smile. 

The petulant look Attuma sent in Namora’s direction caused Okoye to snort gracelessly, drawing chuckles from Nakia and Namora. Their amusement was only intensified by her mother entering the nursery with a bewildered reprimand clear on her face for their somewhat raucous behavior. Her stern expression nearly caused Nakia to choke on the cashews she’d been snacking on, and Okoye’s attempts to explain sent them back into fits of uncontrollable laughter, their mouths covered in failing attempts to keep quiet. 

Okoye blew out a shaky breath as their laughs faded, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Bast as her witness, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever been this happy. Here, in this blissful bubble where smiles didn’t cease and laughter came easier than breathing, there was only joy. She was surrounded by more love now than she’d ever known, and her heart sang.  

“I leave for 10 minutes and come back to a pack of cackling hyenas,” her mother scolded, hands on her hips.

Okoye smiled at the newly minted grandmother’s unimpressed glare. “Jokes are meant to be laughed at, mama,” she replied.

“Keep it up, and you’ll have more than just me to contend with,” the matriarch said, shaking her head, but the mirth in her eyes gave her away.

Okoye pressed her lips together to smother the last bout of giggles that threatened to escape, and she looked over to the crib where her babies slept, blissfully unaware of the lively chaos surrounding them. Namora’s attention had returned to the trio as well, and she reached her hand in again, thumbing the edge of Ixazaluoh’s blanket this time as Okoye’s youngest grizzled in her sleep. 

The Lionfish hummed, smile dimming slightly, and she cleared her throat, glancing back at Okoye. “K’uk’ulkan has also sent word— he plans to be here by the afternoon.”

Okoye couldn’t hide her wince at the words, feeling the giddy atmosphere dissipate abruptly at the mention of the Talokanil king. She cast a fretful glance toward her mother, and the matriarch scoffed as if on cue.

“He plans?” came the scathing question, her voice pitching along with her brow. “Did he ask?” 

“Mama, nceda,” she pled, seeing Namora stiffen and hearing Nakia sigh. “Ndiqinisekile ukuba unqwenela ukudibana nabantwana. [I’m sure he just wishes to meet the children.]” 

“Iminqweno yakhe ichitha iimbeko ezilula ngoku, hm? [His wishes overrule simple courtesies now, hm?]” Her mother retorted with a disbelieving huff, drawing a pointed hum from Nakia.

Okoye shot her sister a chiding look, and the woman shrugged, popping another cashew into her mouth. Nakia wasn’t an avid fan of K’uk’ulkan either, but they both knew her mother needed no aid in expressing her discontent. She turned to her mother, silently imploring her to choose peace. The woman kissed her teeth in response and gave a dismissive wave of her hand, agreeing to be civil for the time being. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she shook her head and muttered a quick prayer, asking Bast for patience.

“Did he send word on how long he plans to stay?” she asked, turning back to Namora, who’d tuned them out, murmuring quiet words over the triplets instead. A dazed, questioning hum came in response, and Okoye elaborated. “I know M’Baku won’t mind, but Ayo certainly will.” 

The Talokanil woman blinked as she considered the question, and then her eyes widened almost comically. 

Okoye bit back a snort at her friend’s distressed expression. “I’m sure it’s fine. The guest chambers likely won’t need much preparation, and Nakia can go with you so she can assist the General with security protocols.” Her sister stopped mid-cashew, gaze narrowing at her, and Okoye smiled blithely.

“Well, I suppose I’ve been given my marching orders,” Nakia huffed with a roll of her eyes. She unfolded her legs and stood, passing the rest of her snack to Toussaint. “Come, Nacom. Let’s pray to Bast and Chaac that the General is in a gracious mood this morning.”

Okoye chuckled at the pained expression that crossed Namora’s face as they left the room. “You can always bribe her with baby cuddles,” she called after them, snickering when Nakia kissed her teeth in response. 

Hearing Ixazaluoh grunt softly, she glanced at the clock. If the pattern established in these first two weeks held true, they would all wake soon, and her youngest would wake first— loudly. She turned her head and found Attuma already standing and smiled as he leaned close, bracing his hands on the armrests of her chair.

“Any requests for your midday snack, na' in paalal? Fruit? Yogurt? One of your snack bowls, perhaps?”

“Can you check and see if we have more of those protein balls your mother made?” She cupped his cheeks and made her requests known through a series of chaste kisses against his lips. “The peanut butter and date ones?” A few more kisses because she couldn’t resist the smile in his eyes. “Maybe a cup of yogurt, too?”

“Bix in yaakunaj ku k'áatik,” he whispered in reply, kissing her soundly before beckoning Junior to come with him as they went to raid the kitchen for more snacks. 

Okoye rose from her seat, briefly meeting her mother’s knowing stare before rolling her eyes. “Don’t start…”

“Eh? Start what, intomba?” 

Her mother’s attempt at innocence was laughable, and Okoye snickered accordingly as she crossed behind the elder woman. 

“He’s a good man, Okoye,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and fixing her mother with the same earnest expression she’d been hit with far too often in the past few months, “He’s already an excellent father. Why not make him your husband?” 

Her mother harrumphed at the imitation and mirrored Okoye’s stance. “And why should you not?” she whispered exasperatedly. “Aside from the fact you’re both singularly devoted to one another and have three reasons to remain so, that man worships the very ground you walk on. Every day I become more convinced he believes the Sun rises and sets at your behest. And no matter what you are determined to call it, the two of you are certainly not ‘co-parenting’.”

She spat the word with such derision that Okoye couldn’t help but shake her head. Sighing, she scooped her own daughter from between her brothers, hushing her gently with sweet kisses to round cheeks. They’d had this conversation no less than ten times and would likely have it ten more until Okoye acquiesced— out loud. 

She already knew she was going to marry Attuma. She’d known even while she was pregnant. There’d been no moment of grand revelation or wonder, just a deep ease— something quiet and sure that settled over her while she’d lain in the cradle of his arms after one of their countless hammock naps. There, in the afternoon sun, the pieces of it, of them, fell together seamlessly. 

They’d be married next spring, just after the children’s first birthday. She’d wear blue, but not the blue of the Border. His blue. Attuma would wear white, as was Talokanil custom, and the children would wear a mix of both. Tradition also required they wed where land and sea met, and for that, Okoye could see no better place than Warrior Falls. It was fitting, and in some roundabout way, it would heal something in her she hadn’t quite found solace for yet. They’d create a new memory there, a better one. Yoltzin and her mother would watch the triplets, Nakia and Ayo would be her matrons of honor, and the Muscle Brain would escort her bridal procession. And she’d have henna this time. Maybe Mayan glyphs instead of the traditional patterns.

But the details weren’t so important as the man, and the man was perfect. 

Her mother’s insistent murmurings broke her from her idyllic reverie as she bustled around the room, grabbing Okoye’s support pillow and a few burping cloths while she pressed forward on her mission to secure herself a son-in-law. “I’m simply saying–”

“–as you’ve been saying–” Okoye mused, settling back into the rocking recliner and unfastening Ixazaluoh’s swaddling blanket with deft fingers. 

“–as I’ve been saying…” the matriarch looked ready to swat her with one of the burping cloths. “He would be an excellent husband. He will be an excellent husband. And you wouldn’t even be doing it just for you! Wouldn’t you like to give your mother a son-in-law? A good son-in-law?”

“Have I not just given you grandchildren?” Okoye asked in false exasperation. “Three grandchildren?” she added before her mother could protest. “Let’s adjust to them first, eh? Then, we can talk son-in-laws.”

Her mother huffed in acceptance as she stepped closer and helped Okoye arrange the baby and the support pillow for both their comfort. Ixazaluoh’s eyes blinked open slowly as she settled into Okoye’s arms. The depth of their color hadn’t fully settled yet, but they were dark and hooded, just like her brothers— just like Attuma’s. Her daughter huffed, face almost immediately scrunching into a frown, and her mother chuckled above them. 

She lifted her youngest from her swaddle and kissed her a few more times. “Good afternoon, intombi yam,” she whispered soft words against soft skin, “Your brothers are sleeping. Let’s not wake them just yet, hm?”

Ixazaluoh paid her no mind, nuzzling into Okoye’s shoulder with soft grunts. Patient was not an apt descriptor for their youngest; cuddles would come after food. 

Okoye balanced her daughter in one arm while undoing her dress with the other. Her mother kissed the side of her head, then Ixazaluoh’s, before excusing herself to go find Attuma and Toussaint. She nodded absently, repositioning Ixazaluoh, cradling her against her left breast and helping her latch before her sweet girl kicked up too much of a fuss. Okoye traced the ridge of her brow, lowly humming that same lullaby from her pregnancy. The soft woosh of the door sliding open alerted her to Attuma’s return, and she glanced up, smiling at the overflowing tray of snacks he carried. 

“I see she wasted no time,” her beloved said with a chuckle, setting down the tray on the small table between their chairs. 

“Does she ever?” Okoye replied, echoing his amusement. 

Attuma retook his seat and held out the cup of the peanut butter and date balls she’d asked for. She popped one into her mouth and smiled, humming in pure contentment. The man she loved smiled back, wide and warm, and Okoye never wanted to be anywhere else but here. 

With him and their children. 

In this space. 

In this time.

She couldn’t have prayed for anything better.  

~plus venire~

A/N: There's a long ass author's note on Ao3 if anyone cares to read that. It details my upcoming writing plans in a little more depth. I won't bore you with the specifics here 😂 Instead, I'll say thank you forever and always to the Attoye Fandom for their continual love and support. Sharing my writing has been a privilege, and I hope to continue as the years go on. Thank you to every reader and for every reblog, reply, comment, and kudos. You all make my heart ridiculously happy 💕

[fuedalreesespieces]

one of their downtimes in the present after school, kagome braids inuyasha's hair (twins, french, dutch, etc.) while they watch magical girl anime. inuyasha is surprisingly into it (the anime and having his hair played with)

oh, you are so right about this.

.

.

.

"So he's the other guy?"

Kagome's fingers raked through his hair, parting it in two. He had no idea what she was doing, but it felt nice. So nice, in fact, that his attention was starting to wane from the television screen in front of him, if that was possible.

"Sort-of," Kagome amended, bringing a comb to the right side of his hair. Silver locks spilled down his shoulders, brushing against the enormous bowl of potato chips they shared. "He's kinda like a vessel for him, but he doesn't know it."

"Geez," Inuyasha grumbled. "All that power and he doesn't even know it exists."

Kagome let out an airy laugh. On screen, the boy called Yukito transformed into Yue. The bright colors fascinated him just as much as the feeling of Kagome's hands carding through his hair. He didn't quite get the concept of animation until she made him an example and even then, that simple jumping ball she'd created was leagues away from...whatever this was.

How did this even get on the screen, anyway? He'd suspected there was someone trapped in the back, but the box was much too tiny for even a kit like Shippo, and it was all clogged up with tangled wires. She'd explained the broadcasting system to him, but he still didn't understand how waves could translate to pictures. Eventually he'd given up on working out the concept, and his confusion never kept him from settling under her gentle hands and letting the story unfold in front of them.

She'd called it anime, a category for the style of art and animation used in the show they were watching, and Inuyasha had to admit it was wildly entertaining. Convoluted plots be damned, the fights were terribly engaging. Sota had told him that the sort of shows Kagome dragged him into were called magical girl anime, and which thereafter prompted a giggle from the younger boy. Inuyasha didn't quite get the joke, if there was one to be had. The way he saw it, the magical girls were just like the metal golems ("Mechs," Sota had corrected him) in the things Sota liked to watch - albeit better dressed.

On screen, Yue spoke, voice eerily cold compared to his counterpart. A chill ran down Inuyasha's spine. "He looks like Sesshomaru," he muttered.

Kagome finished one his braids and peered over his ears, her chin digging into his shoulder as she leaned in to see what she'd missed. "You know...I haven't really thought about it, but he sort of does. Minus the angel wings, of course." At Inuyasha's bark of laughter, she inched closer and smirked. "Think he'd make a good magical girl?"

An image of Sesshomaru wearing a skirt seemed to enter their minds at the same time, and upon making eye contact, they both collapsed in a fit of laughter. "Evil," he said between breaths, "absolutely fuckin' evil, what you just said."

"I was merely asking a question," she said innocently, her grin wicked. "But now that I think about it, I think you'd fit in better than him."

"Me?" he said incredulously.

"Why not? You've got a weapon-"

"A massive sword, not a magic wand-"

"-transformations-"

"One of 'em is useless and the other kills people-"

"You are not useless," she said immediately. "You're wonderful just as you are."

He was thankful the room was dark. "Kagome-"

"All you really need," she said, "is a change of clothes. Have you ever even been out of the Fire Rat?"

He scoffed. "Why should I? It's my armor. Why, you suggestin' I wear your clothes?" His attention returned to the television, where Yue was drawing an arrow back, but Kagome's ridiculous smile quickly emerged in his vision. She'd finished his hair and had come to sit beside him, fiddling with one of the two braids she'd done.

"Well...I do have an old school uniform-"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Inuyasha! Please?"

"I'm not wearing one of your skirts!" he shouted, face as bright as a plucked tomato.

"But I just finished your hair!"

"And what the hell does that have to do with it?"

"You would look good, I promise!" she assured. "Nobody's around."

"Your entire family is in the house, Kagome."

"And I'm sure they would all support your decision to finally be the magical girl you were born to be."

He rolled his eyes and twisted his head so she couldn't tempt him with that smile of hers. "You're crazy."

She slipped into his view and batted her eyelashes. "For me?"

"Woman, if you don't-"

"Please, Inuyasha?"

He told himself not to look. Her voice alone couldn't tempt him. He thought of happy things in his mind, like ramen, or cooked steak, but the image of her sad, droopy eyes kept tainting the images, and when he eventually cracked one eye open, she was still kneeling in front of him, hands clasped and wide, grey eyes lit up like silver by the artificial light of the television. The decision to keep staring at her, like a stubborn fool, damned him. She had him wrapped around her finger the second he chose not to close his eyes - or perhaps he'd been doomed to agree from the start.

Either way, all paths lead to him wearing the skirt.

"Oh my god," Kagome whispered. "Oh my god."

"Shut up," he snapped. The waistline was too tight, but he'd somehow managed it. The outfit he wore was simply a spare uniform she had stashed away in case hers was ripped up in the feudal realm, but she insisted that plenty magical girls wore similar clothing (did the schools purposefully let their girls dress up as magical girls?) At her request, he'd worn a pair of elbow length gloves, boots, and "Happy?"

"Oh, Inuyasha," she sighed, and his face turned another shade of red. "You have no idea."

[sevi007]

Warning! I will be blogging about my first Tales of Abyss playthrough here. If you don't want to see it or be flooded or smth, blacklist "sevi plays tales of the abyss"

@magicmetslogic get tagged!

Soooo started Tales of the Abyss now! (I kept thinking it's called Tales of Abyss, without the "the", RIP me) Must say, this immediately felt incredibly different of a premise to Vesperia (the only Tales I have finished til now) and Zestiria (which I... maybe barely passed the prologue, lol). I think a lot of that is because of Luke and his situation. Getting into that later on.

But! Let's start from the top.

Absolutely gorgeous opening for one, really loved it. I probably got spoilered without realizing it, but with no context, that's not terrible. I remain blissfully unaware!

It immediately felt a bit faster paced story-wise. A bit more emotionally taxing on the protagonist, too. To start, I open the game and get immediately met with red-headed, hot-headed Luke (who is fittingly spoken by Yuri Lowenthal, who voiced Tidus in FFX) and Ithink he's an upbeat headstrong guy - which he is but -

I barely leave his room to get thrown a skit immediately:

I hit the mental breaks when I read that because what. What. You just kept your kid inside like a pet or something?

I mean, in Vesperia, Estelle had a sheltered upbringing as well, and was certainly a bit on the naive side, but she at least was acutely aware of the world outside of the walls of her prison. Luke is not even given that, which you realize approximately two minutes into the game since his only contact to the outside world seems to be his swordfight trainer Van. I am absolutely flabbergasted. This is damaging to a kid!

(And no, this is no normal response to your kid getting kidnapped. Protecting him is one thing. Putting him on house arrest a whole other. I suspect it's not just a security thing but there is more going on here.)

And then next mental break: What the hell is Flynn Scifo doing here?

I'm joking, I'm joking. And yes I have been informed that technically, Flynn is a copy of Guy since Vespy came out later. But still. With my minimum knowledge of Tales, forgive me for immediately drawing connection to Versperia at every turn. And the likeness is startling! XD He seems to be a good guy that Guy (pft) so for now, I like the boy.

(Stop climbing outta windows like a thief though!)

Ah. Really glad I decided to explore the rooms a little. This is...

Well. I assume this was meant to be one of those anime-typical jokes of "haha, he's afraid of this or that" but... call me old-fashioned or a snowflake or whatever the correct term is but I don't think this is very funny. These two quite literally have him cornered, and he looks outright terrified of them. And instead of backing off - or Luke rescuing him - we just have to leave again? Uff. Don't like.

Never quite liked making fun of things others are afraid of, not even if it seems silly from outside.

... Oh wow. Luke is even more sheltered than I thought. This seems to be general, public knowledge, and he got nothing? Does he not get any kind of schooling while on house arrest?

From their reactions, this is not something he is supposed to know but forgot, but more like, nobody even told him. That's... okay. I seriously question his parents right now as well as Van for not teaching him even basics of the outside world.

(On the other hand, in a sense of dumbing it all down for a new player, this is quite genius. Given that Luke needs to be explained everything, so does the player learn at the same time. but still. Questionable decisions all around.)

Utterly. Questionable. Decisions.

Yes I'm already going full on protective mama bear mode on Luke. Give me a caged, sad kid who tries to put on a loud and confident facade and I immediately go "mine" XD

And now, for that faster pacing...

Ma'am I JUST finished the tutorial would you please refrain from killing me til I got to practice some more!

[alastor-simp-page]

The Deal/Chains Prompt Charlastor - A little peek

I feel so bad. I wasn't able to finish it in time but I gotta put something out. I'm scrambling to finish it. Yippee! It's definitely interesting...I'm trying out a new writing style.

They're a bit OOC but I was inspired. And well, you all voted for Charlie owning Alastor's soul so that's what I'm trying to craft. This is for sure steering into dubious territory.

You walked into the room as anyone does. With such a simple action as that, I can glean enough information to know what I’m walking into. Gait, pace, smile or lack of, the way your chest rises and falls. Your eyes looked everywhere but me. Curious. You were the one to ask for me after all. And here you were, rubbing your bare arm and practically stumbling over your feet. 

Wearing a dress shirt with suspenders? Quite a curious thing for a lady of your stature. The way your hair falls over your shoulder tells me you had your nails digging into your scalp not even seconds ago. 

I suppose being the Princess of Hell was no small feat. And meeting the Radio Demon? No wonder you’re a wreck. A beautiful mess if that’s what I could call you? 

I stand, as it's the gentlemanly thing to do and put my arm out for you. I grin, “Why, hello there, darling. You must be Princess Charlotte! Correct?” You simply smile up at me, that sort of nervous one where the smile doesn’t quite reach the eyes.

“Yep, yep!” You say and quickly take my hand. Your hand is soft and warm, something that would melt in my grip if I grasped it too long. You let go far too soon, letting my hand fall back to my side. “But I go by Charlie. Just Charlie now,” You insist. I arch a brow. A name either meant to deny her parents wishes or to establish some sort of dominance in the hierarchy with a male name. I don’t pry, it's rude, after all! 

The fire in the fireplace roars in agony, tinting your blonde waves in a crimson glow, the same hue of those naive eyes. “So…um,” You kick your feet, something to distract you from your words. I understand, darling. My finger swirls around the sphere of my radio cane. An unfortunate habit I’ve contracted. “My Dad set up this meeting and well, I’m sure you know what it's about, right?”

Not simply your Dad…the King of Hell, the Little Guy downstairs as those upstairs liked to call him. Of course, I knew what it was about. It didn’t take a genius to ask around with that ever so charming (and sinister) smile of mine. Your little passion project: that ridiculous hotel. Redeeming the damned! There’s a reason why Purgatory was disbanded. 

I decided not to tell you that. See if you slip up or leave a few details out. I’m sure you will or you may blabber on for an eternity. “No, I have not, Charlie” is what I answered. 

You let out a little squeal and start pawing through your bag. Oh dear, this may have been a mistake. My ears perk up at that sound unwillingly, those blasted things. However that little squeal, that little sound, it's so enticing. I wonder how many sounds I can entice out of you by the time I’m done with you? Don’t you think so, dear Charlie? Make you scream? Cry? Moan my name? 

No, no, no. I’m getting quite too far ahead of myself. I haven’t even seen what you want. What our relationship pans out to be! Hah! Not that it isn’t hard to guess: help. Something a darling little damsel in distress needs I suppose?

You started to ramble on, “So…the Happy Hotel is all about redeeming sinners and I really…” I’m half listening to you. The rest of my senses devoted to the way you practically danced as you talked. The way you swirled and twirled, gripping the papers in your grasp, pictures drawn from the likes of a 4 year old high on Coca-Cola. It was your drawings, I knew, crudely crafted and having the right to be hung in a modern art museum. Still adorable nonetheless. 

However I’m sure no drawings, no art pieces, and no paintings could ever fully illustrate you. The artist would never pick the right color for the rose of your cheeks nor capture the flow of your hair. And certainly never capture that bubble of happiness you became. 

You cared. Care, love, cherish, what alien words in a world such as Hell. And no more, the daughter of Sin itself. Spawn of the Devil and of the treacherous first woman: Lilith. You wanted to help sinners. The worst of the worst. It was almost laughable, downright absurd. You? Daughter of the deviled goat man who offered the apple. Leading to sin taking a hold of the world? Guilt must be gnawing at your soul, the weight of your father’s actions falling onto your shoulders, the burden of family. Or simply because you cared? Because you wanted to help the worst of the worst have a chance to knock on the pearly gates? You’re a strange one, dear.

“So! What do you think, Alastor,” You ask. My name rolls off your tongue like it's etched there, like it belongs there. I rather like it.

I roll back my shoulders, hands twisting my bowtie into place. “It doesn’t matter what I think, dear.” It truly doesn’t. “Your father asked me to offer my services to you. So…do you require them?” Please say you do. 

That bubbly demeanor of yours drops and flips your smile into a frown. “Well, I need to know if you believe in me or not.” You say. Fair enough.

I stand and cross around the coffee table. Your crimson eyes widen at the movement. I aim to surprise, I suppose. I plop myself down beside you and you simply stare at me, shifting an inch. There’s no need to be afraid of me, darling. Well, I suppose it's fair.  

“Darling, what I’ve seen so far is a woman who deeply believes in her dream.” I mince my words, cutting them up in tasty pieces for you to devour. “There’s nothing more powerful than a person who cares. Truly cares about their cause. About their passion. And you seem to do just that.” I tap you on the shoulder. A small touch, nothing too much from stranger to stranger. I can see you’re listening, intently. Oh, you poor dear. Your eyes are wide, surprised. Has no one believed in you before? “Of course, I believe in you, Charlie!” I land it home, driving the stake in deep.

Oh, I can just see it through your glass porcelain face. You want someone to believe in you, don’t you? The way your rosy cheeks deepen in color tells me all I need. Hah, you’re desperate, aren’t you? Letting the Radio Demon of all people to encourage you?

“Thanks…” you say sheepishly. You’re bursting with joy. I know you are. You’re simply too ashamed to admit it. I can see it in the way you shift, look away, and how your chest heaves. You’re excited. Someone! Finally someone! You must think. 

“Again, I’ll offer my services again. Your father wanted you to meet with me for…well, my popularity with my radio station, correct? Get the word out to folks?” I tell you. It is what your father had told me quite stiffly. I guess it must have been your idea, no doubt. 

You rub your neck. You’re…unsure? I tilt my head. What are you about to do, dear? “Well, I said that at first but meeting you…I have a different idea.” I grin. You’re an interesting gal, aren’t you? Changing things up? Perhaps you’re less predictable than I previously thought.

“And what is that?” I lean in close and you lean away. My, my, my, you’re still a skittery little thing, aren’t you, darling? 

“I think you’re a nice guy but my Dad doesn’t really like you at all. And well, he only trusts someone if they're on a leash,” You say. Oh dear. This is going in a direction that I would not go in. A leash? That only meant one thing and it wasn’t something I was willing to bargain for today.

“You are aware there’s little trust if one must be put on a leash for there to be trust,” I say. It’s true. A leash is a walking prison. Move from place to place, try as you will to stretch it and it will still yank you back.

You murmur to yourself, “I know…” However your eyes sparkle. “But I think you’re going to like my offer! A deal if you will!”

Deal? Now that’s what I wanted to hear! My specialty! My hands weave together, cracking a knuckle one by one. You stare. You’re unsure. That seems to be a theme which always etches your face. The way your eyes crinkle and how your lips twitch. 

I have you just where I want you. I stab my cane into the floor, you flinch, and I rub my digit on the sphere where my good old mic blinks idly. “So, what are your terms, dear?” Words I plan to switch into: what are my terms. 

Something flashes within your crimson eyes. Something beyond that naive little princess you are. I couldn’t catch it in time, it slipped just as quickly from my grasp. What was that? Perhaps nothing. I hope nothing.

You stare back. I can feel the pressure of your gaze seemingly pressing into the space between my eyes like the cold barrel of a rifle. You’re getting bolder by the minute aren’t you? You clear your throat and fold your hands neatly in your lap. How princess-y of you.

“My terms are that…” Your eyes dart away. Good. You’re nervous again. Just how I like you. “...you can assist me on a much more personal level if…” Well, go on! I’m listening, darling! We may have all eternity but all this stalling is getting rather out of hand. “...my Dad said I can only make you my hotelier if I own your soul,” You say.

(Subject to change)

[lizzardwitch]

Top 3 Kendall Ships?

Ooooof I've got a lot to say let's go

3rd Place: Kendall/Ivan. Definitely not helped by the fact that I crushed heavy on Ivan (still do) when I was a kid & and that I just as heavily related with Kendall then as I do now. It's so adorable how Kendall always looks to Ivan whenever shit is going down and he tries to make her feel better, the entire episode where he destroys the suit of armor and IMMEDIATELY upon clocking how terrible the situation is, tries to do something about it because he doesn't want to make her upset especially is too fucking cute. They're like a subversion of the princess/knight dynamic, instead of insisting that Kendall be his damsel in distress, Ivan adores her just the way she is. The way he's constantly calling her "m'lady" (even though he does this with every girl) has me weak every time. In the Halloween episode where they were skipping together in their costumes <333. Their height difference is also adorable (and I think it's great how someone who is so used to old customs and traditions manages to get along with and have a deep bond with someone who is constantly developing technological advancements and believes in science).

2nd Place: Kendall/Shelby. Probably one of my favorite wlw ships in fiction, I absolutely adore the development their relationship had from the beginning where they would antagonize one another, moreso on Kendall's end to Let Sleeping Zords Lie, when Kendall actually makes good on her creed to correct her mistakes and begins to cooperate with Shelby more. Given how they're the only main female characters out of the entire team of 10 and incredibly intelligent, it's really nice to see them stand in solidarity with one another and support each other given their similar situations and interests. Definitely giving the writers props for subverting the childish trope of pitting women against each other for no reason in favor of character development for both. Their sunshine/sunshine protector dynamic is so cute and Shelby helping Kendall relax while Kendall employs her musical background to help Shelby got me going crazy oh my goddddd Kendall/Shelby girlfriendism is so real (+ I actually have some drafts/drawings for a Madoka Magica AU featuring these two lmao since I'm a sucker for pink/purple girlies)

1st Place: Kendall/Heckyl, hands down. This is gonna turn into a yap fest but I've been obsessed with them for nine years and that shows no signs of stopping any time soon, they're in my top 10 favorite ships of all time. Much like Ivan, I crushed heavily on Heckyl when I was a child (and still do) and absolutely ate up his flirting with her, calling her 'pretty lady' and things of the like. You can see it gradually, when he hesitates between saving her or revealing his identity upon Wish Star attacking (although he's still in his evil arc so he runs off). When he catches glances at her while working. When Shelby revealed his villainous nature and referenced him saving her from the car she looked and sounded so heartbroken during the scene :( (and in the Beauticruel episode he mentions that love hurts, which I interpret as him feeling at least a twinge of remorse about fumbling his relationship with Kendall)

I also love how in the finale they actually work together more once he turns good (after literally SAVING HER AGAIN AAAAAA), like how they cooperate in taking over Sledge's ship along with James & Phillip, and he's STANDING WITH HER IN THE MEGAZORD AND STAYS BY HER SIDE IN THE FIGHT AGAINST SNIDE. I'm willing to bet the only reason it took him so long to turn good in the finale was because Kendall wasn't in the café to convince him lmao

These two are the standard of what I want in a relationship: his constant flirting, the way they're both sassy, snarky, and intelligent but also provide a great contrast (her stoic, deadpan nature w/ his flamboyance and effervescence), and when his convictions are turned for the better, he always comes back to aid them no matter how much he wants to deny it initially (he's such a softie omg). These two are like the old married couple of the show. The autism/adhd couple next to Chase/Riley. The girlboss/malewife next to Shelby/Tyler, if you will. I've got so many headcanons & AUs for them, drawings of them, fics for them, I have a playlist for them, I'm just delusional over them bro

[bokettochild]

To Wield The Master Sword

Okie, so, TP manga has me thinking and thrumming, so here we go, a fic about the boys discussing the Master Sword!

The manga showed me some parallels between warriors and Twilight and their relationships with the sword, and I wanted to write about it, but also include the contrast of Legend's relationship with the blade, because his is more like Sky's than most of the others'. There is some obligatory Wild angst and bitter Time, of course, but also a fun littol theory I've recently had that I threw in on the side :)

Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 Version

"Vet, are you okay?” 

It’s quiet, the camp usually is after dinner. Sometimes someone decides they want to tell a story, like Four with his octorocks or Wild’s many, many, many shenanigans, but tonight they don’t. Tonight, most of the camp sits about, watching the fire and enjoying the peace. They’re tired, all of the heroes are. It’s been a long day and the battle they’d fought against a monster camp had left some nasty injuries. Nothing fairies and potions couldn’t fix, but it still leaves the heroes exhausted; too exhausted to chatter or fuss much. 

Except Four, because Four’s mind must be spinning right now, so of course he’s looking for a distraction. Of all the distractions to choose though, Legend has no clue why the smithy chooses him. 

“Vet?” Time repeats from across camp, concern in the old man’s face that so rarely appears for anyone outside The Trio, “something the matter?” 

It’s probably the way he stares silently across camp, eyes fixed on the Master Sword, that has them worried, and when one points it out, the others look as well until Legend sits back, dragging a hand over his face and shaking himself slightly. 

“Legend?” Hyrule asks, quiet and soft, voice tinkling like a bell. 

The veteran hero sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes falling shut for a moment to recover from having stared, unconsciously, for so long without blinking. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” Warriors challenges as he adds a bit of kindling to the crackling fire they gather around, casting strange shadows dancing across his face the closer he stands to it. His scarf is so going to catch fire if he doesn’t step back soon. 

“The Master Sword,” Legend answers, words immediately drawing the attention of the Chosen Hero, who looks up from the carving he’d been working over to glance at the sword laid carefully beside him. 

“What about her?” Sky asks. 

The vet blinks, eyes taking a moment to focus, but when they do they rest on the sword again, a frown furrowing his brows and pushing them low over snapping violet, nearly the same shade as the blade’s very hilt. “Our relationships with her,” he answers, hand dropping from his hair as he leans forward, arms resting over his knees and hands left hanging as he continues to stare at the sacred weapon. “None of us seem to think the same way about her, do we?” 

Gazes are exchanged while others avoid the eyes of their brothers, but Sky in particular trails sapphire eyes over each and every one of them, curious but guarded; they've all heard Time’s opinion about the sword after all. 

“I suppose we do,” the old man in question hums, one brow arching as he regards the young veteran curiously. “What about it?” 

“I just...” the vet shakes his head. He doesn’t need to expand on how much he knows, just wave it off like he does with most things he really shouldn’t know, “it’s just a thought.” 

“You’re right though,” Four muses, tapping at his chin. He's probably latching hold of the subject matter to get the voices in his head to still, or at least to focus on the same thing all at once rather than trying to balance their different trains of thought and opinions all at once. “I've never wielded it, and Hyrule’s only held it once, but I suppose all the rest of you have used the same sword, haven’t you?” 

“Not the whole time,” Twilight corrects, leaning back into his seat, his protégé resting beside him and watching him closely, curiously, “I carried the Ordon Sword for a good portion of my journey.” His callused hand closes around the hilt of the afore mentioned sword like it’s a habit, warmth in his voice when speaking of the blade. “’s a trusty thing, forged by the best smith in the kingdom.” 

Twilight’s adoptive father, Legend’s mind supplies despite himself. 

“I carried a borrowed sword to start mine off,” Wind offers, “but I got the Master Sword towards the end of things. I didn’t get to keep it long though.” 

It’s telling who calls the sword ‘it’ and who uses ‘she’ or ‘her’. 

“Sky must’ve had her all along,” Warriors observes, shooting one of his best smiles at the gently smiling god-slayer, “after all, she likes him best.” 

The sword can’t talk, not to normal Hylian ears anyway, but she does chime softly at the words. Sky’s eyes soften at the sound, ears twitching slightly as he lays one hand on the hilt of the blade, familiar and fond, but bittersweet for reasons Legend knows well.  

“Doesn’t care much for you, it seems,” Twilight remarks, smirking over at the captain in the way he only ever shows Warriors. Legend himself gets something a bit more disapproving, but fond, something warning and yet amused, like Twi is used to dealing with someone like him and knows that egging them on only asks for more trouble than otherwise. With the captain though, he eggs away, and Warriors always responds. 

“We got along alright,” the captain shrugs, trying to seem unbothered and failing horribly. Legend knows he isn’t the only one who can sense the unease to the man as he stands before the fire, watching it rather than stepping back to his seat, shoulders tight. “I mean, once we understood each other.” 

“How long did that take?” Hyrule asks, genuinely curious. 

Legend doesn’t miss the slight flinch, or the way the captain’s jaw stiffens. “Too long, in my opinion. Like I said before,” and there’s his charming smile again, directed at the traveler and sneaking past Hyrule’s defenses, appealing to the younger’s childhood fantasies of knights in shining armor with charm and wit to spare (that Legend is spoken of as one of those knights will never not make him question the sanity of the generations to follow his own), “I wasn’t the wisest about wielding her. The Master Sword grants you power when you hold it in your hands, as you felt-” 

The other heroes shift. Four is curious, listening with his head tipping ever so slightly on one side. Hyrule is most certainly intrigued, but Time’s eyes flit down, lips and brows twitching into a scowl. Unlike their mentor though, guilt lines the faces of both the rancher and champion, Wild’s eyes heavy on the captain’s shoulders as the man turns to better face Hyrule, thus missing the laden stare of their newest. Twilight’s different though; Twilight winces, hands squeezing the grass as he bites his lip, gaze fixes on something Legend can’t see, pain in his eyes that he’d question if Ravio hadn’t already passed on everything he knows of the heroes of past and future. 

That had been a conversation, the merchant throwing his feet up into his lap and ignoring Legend’s scowl of disgust in favor of blathering on about some woman named Midna and her wolf companion, or the scarfed captain who pushed himself too hard, or the kid hero with eyes like an old man’s and a mask affixed at his hip, or the boy who could control the wind, or numerous other people he’d met and befriended (Legend had, quite correctly, read that as “scammed”). It had been a subject they’d discussed at length in the weeks following Raio’s return. Whenever chores became too tedious or Ravio got tired of the quiet or Legend’s voice cut off, declaring that his word limit for the day was well surpassed, Ravio would launch into one or another of his stories and Legend would listen, soap-suds up to his shoulders and tickling his nose, or grime streaked across his cheeks and caught under his nails as he worked the pathetic remains of the cottage garden. 

He hasn’t shared what he knows, be it from the books of heroes he’d read as a child, the Palace he'd discovered in the dark world, holding four shattered heroes as captive, or the stories of his housemate, but it nags at him every so often. 

Like now. 

“-it’s an amazing thing,” Warriors continues, entirely unaware of the thoughts assaulting the veteran’s mind. “The problem is,” the man goes on, smile cracking slightly and then falling, eyes gaining a stern look to them and brows furrowing, gaze dropping from Hyrule to rest on the fire again, much like Twilight’s own, “it’s a power that’s easy to abuse. I found that out the hard way; relied too much on myself and my strength and became too lost in my own power, and so I lost sight of what I was supposed to be fighting for.” 

Twilight's eyes flicker up at that, recognition, shock and pain written clear across his face, and this time not going unacknowledged by the rest of camp. 

“Twilight?” Wild asks, watching his mentor warily, worry and curiosity both clear in cornflower blue. The single word earns the captain turning, eyes meeting with the rancher’s with small start and holding, a wry smile touching the man's face. 

“You too?” 

“Word for word,” Twilight rasps, “nearly got me killed.” 

The captain nods, wary smile still in place. “Took my own shadow kicking my ass for-” 

A strangled sound escapes the rancher as he starts as if to rise, brows furrowing, “Ordonia, no way-” 

The captain arches one perfect brow so high it disappears behind his coiffed hair. “Same hat?” 

“Down to the stitching,” Twilight blinks, looking more shaken than he does on the few occasions when Time has turned on him with that disapproving stare they all know the rancher dreads, “a ghost have to kick your ass too, or...?” 

“A kid,” Warriors scoffs, and Legend knows which. The little boy with the masks; Mask, apparently, because soldiers aren't the brightest people and apparently that extends to naming techniques. According to Ravio though, the kid went by another name as well, though less used and only spoken once, in a complaint while wrapped up in the merchant’s arms, sullen and frustrated with those who seemed older than himself; the Hero of Time. “Little tyke handed it to me and slapped me back to myself,” fondness touches his eyes, warmth and longing both, “don’t know where I’d be without that little shit-stain.” 

Time, sitting not far from his pup, looks away, eyes catching with the twinkling ocean blue-green of the sailor as the younger smirks up at him. The man says nothing though, only rolls his eyes and makes a halting motion to keep quiet. 

Legend smirks. They really think they’re so clever, don’t they? Well, it’s Warriors’ own fault for being blind if he misses that. 

“What about you, Sailor?” Sky asks, tearing his gaze away from the exchange between the two brothers whose relationship in past has been most heated and fraught with fuss and jibes to instead watch their bright and sunshine filled youngest, “what was the sword like for you?” It’s hopeful, but with a hint of worry as the hero’s fingers follow the patterns set in the hilt of the sword in question, guilt warring with hope on his face as he waits for his answer. 

Wind frowns, smiling apologetically. “I only had the sword so long,” he answers. “Honestly, I’m surprised she even let me wield her at all, but when she did,” he smiles, eyes clouding slightly as he thinks back, “she was a good sword. Lighter than I thought-” and he doesn’t- none of them miss the flinch of the two older heroes “-but strong,” Wind settles on. The sailor smiles at Sky, bright and warm. He’s apparently chosen to neglect the part about letting the Master Sword sink beneath the waves, still set in the skull of his enemy. Not that it’s the kid’s fault, Ravio had assured him back then, helping him clean up shattered porcelain from when he’d dropped a plate at haring the words because- the master sword? Left beneath water and land by a hero who’d lived and won? He’d always put it back at the end of the quest himself, each time hoping it was the last time but also regretting the goodbye as his hands had lingered, fondness still stirring for the spirit that sang to his own when he held her blade, ears trying to tune her out as he’d walk away once more, only to come stumbling back a year or so later in need of her again. 

Honestly, the way Warriors goes on about his exes has too many similarities to Legend’s relationship with that sword, and he’s not sure if he thinks that humorous or disturbing.  

Not that he has a love life of his own to compare it too, or anything else really.  

Sky is smiling though at Wind’s words, hand’s motions stilling to something more fond than it is worrisome as he answers. “I’m glad she could help you, Wind.” 

“Me too.” 

No one asks Time. They all know how Time feels about the blade; how he sees it as a curse, a curse that Legend knows is more blessing than the man will understand. He’s listened to Fi explaining why their world is the way that it is, how the hero fell and how she’d flickered back to seal him as a child, but how it hadn’t been enough, how time was split and how saving him from seven years of suffering still resulted in their world where death haunted the hero’s title and left Hyrule in ruins. He’d listened and taken it to heart, but knows Time doesn’t know, and can’t. Hearing that time split at all, that Wind’s world was drowned, seemed to be enough for the man, and childhood resentments aside, even Legend doesn’t want the guilt of a fallen Hyrule resting on Time’s shoulders. 

“How about you, Wild?” the sailor passes, and attention shifts to the champion, “what was the Master Sword like for you?” 

The hero in question doesn’t look at them, the self-hating look on his face again. “Cold. I- I almost wasn’t even worthy of her,” and that startles them, because they all know Wild's a skillful hero, and his heart is as big as the world he’s set to protect; how did Fi not consider him worthy? 

“She’s weaker in my time too,” Wild adds, fidgeting with his hands. “I- I had to take trials to repair her, but-” they aren’t enough, the heroes hear, though it isn’t spoken.  

“Oh,” Sky murmurs softly. 

“Sorry,” Wild breathes, gaze lifting to meet sapphire before falling again nervously. “She’s a great blade, when her power is there, but...” there’s a hint of a smile now, playing over the champion’s face and pulling at his scars as his gaze trails to the subject of their discussion, “she was a magnificent thing before,” he offers, “I only lasted as long as I did against Ganon’s armies because of her.” 

But it wasn’t enough, they all know about Wild’s “Nap” and the state of his kingdom. 

Sky nods, slow and solemn. “She must have trusted you a lot,” the Chosen Hero says. 

Wild flinches, 

“I can see why she’d want to wait until her power was restored before trying to fight with you again,” and there’s so much pride and adoration in the skyloftian’s eyes as they catch Wild’s, so much so that the champion’s breath catches in his throat, “she wanted to give her best for you, just like you did for her.” 

Well, that seems to have Wild malfunctioning, likely calling into doubt whatever hatred he’s had for himself or self-doubt from not being able to draw the sword the first time. Good, kid needs a swift kick to the ass to jolt him back to the reality where he’s a capable and admirable hero and not a pathetic idiot who’d failed everyone. 

Beside the vet, Hyrule shifts, big golden-brown eyes turning on him with the same sort of wonder as he’d held while listening to the captain, but stronger, somehow. Legend is his personal hero, his favorite, the one he’d begged for stories about as a child and then had to admit to, later, months ago, that he’d done as much. “What about you?” 

He can feel the eyes of the others, waiting and expectant. He's the most experienced hero here after all, the one with the most adventures and the most monsters to boast at defeating. They all know he’s been through hell six times over, so it’s no surprise that sympathy and resignation emanate from them, Time watching him like he thinks Legend will speak in a similar manner to himself, and Twilight and Warriors both offering something consoling like they’re certain he’d been forced by the blade to face his greatest demons to be worthy of it. 

It’s heavy, their expectation, but he shoulders it like he’s shouldered everything that brought him to them and made him worthy to stand beside them, breathing softly as he fingers the blade laid at his own side. No one’s made the connection, not even Sky; the metal has been tempered and the hilt repainted after four hundred years of rot and decay. It’s heavier, now, than it was before, but sharper too; brighter, bolder, more at home in his hands then any weapon he’s found and collected before or since finding her. 

She fits. Fits in his hand like she was made for him, always has. Even at eight years old when the sword was as big as he was himself, she’d been perfect, and he smiles as he fondles her cross guard’s feathered design and traces the crisscross ribbons of her hilt. “She’s amazing.” 

He doesn’t see it, but the faces of the other heroes crease with confusion, shock even, at the reverence and adoration in his voice, even as Sky’s eyes shine again with brightness and hope at the words. 

“She’s...” she’s the perfect fit, the perfect size, the perfect companion. Her singing had set him at ease when he was too tired to rest easy, had assured him he wasn’t losing his mind when the world crumbled around him. She’s heavy in his hands, assuring that she’s there, making him strain just enough to assure that it’s not a dream where nothing bears weight and nothing holds him down, but light enough to fly with him through battle and be wielded with one hand or two, though her length would suggest he need the latter.  

Expectation rings in his ears in the silence that falls over the camp, but all he can do is smile and worship the blade with hands that had forged her back to full strength and restored her from a crumbling artefact of a fallen hope and back to a shining symbol of strength to those that see it.  

There aren’t words for that though, not in Hylian or Labrynnian, of Holodrumese or Subrosian or Lorulian or Hytopian. Not even the flowery and soul-touching expression of Koholint’s twisting tongue can encapsulate the feelings that blossom in his soul when the blade is in his hands. 

“She’s a decent Old Girl,” he says at last, knowing it isn’t enough, but tone carrying every bit of love he’s gained for the sword’s spirit as it guided him through a trouble ridden and tumultuous childhood and forwards into manhood. “Best sword a fellow could ask for.” 

As if in response, both the blade in his hands and the one at Sky’s side chime softly in return. 

The Chosen Hero’s eyes are shining like stars when they catch his own, and bright constellations reflect back in shades the same as the hilt of blade itself. 

[dindjarindiaries]

Security - Chapter 56: The Waters

summary: The Djarin family and their ally make their way to the Living Waters to earn Din’s redemption once and for all.

warnings: drowning (incl. CPR descriptions), canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

rating: T

word count: 5.626k

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chapter 56: the waters

Having a guide to the Living Waters proves useful to Din now more than ever. He’s lost enough within his own mind, a haunting of shattered memories that makes the resounding ache within his bones grow more and more. They cast a shadow much like the isolated structures that surround them in the abandoned city of Sundari. It’s hard to make them out amidst the darkness and the mystery of it all stings like a nagging wound. Din wishes he could piece those painful glimpses of his memory together, but this isn’t the time. Astra will hold true to her promise to fill him in later on.

For now, he just needs to focus on doing what it takes to get his family back to safety.

Still, his lack of awareness doesn’t go unnoticed. Astra’s grip on his gloved hand tightens just before Din hears her speak in a soft voice. “Are you okay, Din?” She draws herself closer to his side, wrapping a hand around his arm. “You’ve been quiet.”

Din’s armored shoulders rise and fall in a heavy breath. He knows better than to try to hide from her. “I will be.” He looks at her and tightens his jaw at the sight of the crimson stain on her shoulder. There’s still so much he doesn’t know about what happened while he was out, but what he already knows threatens to tear his heart apart into relentless shreds. His family has already suffered so much because of his quest, and he couldn’t do anything to help them. “I just… need all this to be over.”

Astra takes a quick moment to rest her cheek against his arm. Her voice lowers to a murmur that’s just for them. “We’re almost there, my love.” She gives him a smile that convinces him everything’s going to be all right. “Safe and sound.”

Din’s visor lowers. With Grogu having healed Astra’s wound, she’s technically correct, but it still doesn’t feel true. The evidence is present in her torn tunic and in the ferocity with which Zora had clung to him once he woke. There are irreversible scars left imprinted on his family because of this quest that aren’t visible to the eye, and Din has to take responsibility for them.

Instead of drowning in these dismal thoughts, Din forces himself to look around and change the subject as he raises his voice enough for Bo-Katan to hear. “It’s hard to believe that this all was once filled with our kind,” Din observes. It’s true; This is the first time Din’s seen this civilization, one that’s much different than what once stood on Concordia. He wonders what the Mandalorians who lived here looked like. Did they all wear armor and take the Creed? Were any of them foundlings, like himself?

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Bo’s response cuts through Din’s musings. She pauses and observes their surroundings herself. “You’d never know it looking at all this destruction.”

Din shakes his helmet. “It looks like it’s been centuries.”

“The Empire set out to punish us. To wipe away our memory.”

Din tenses at that, especially when Astra’s grip tightens on him. He glances over at her and sees the faraway look in her gaze. He draws her closer as he responds to Bo. “It must pain you to see it like this after witnessing its beauty.”

“What pains me is seeing our own kind fight one another time and time again. Killing each other for reasons too confusing to explain. It made us weak. We had no hope to resist being smashed by the fist of the Empire.”

Din looks at Astra again. She seems even more distant now, her jaw set and her gaze watching her feet crush what remains of Mandalore’s old civilization. Din aches to comfort her, but Bo’s next words keep him from speaking.

“The entrance to the Mines of Mandalore,” she announces, carrying them ahead in silence.

Din exhales in relief. It’s as if they’re reaching the beginning of their forever. After this, he can finally make a home for his family. There won’t be any Jedi to seek or battles to fight. It’ll just be him, Astra, and their children enjoying a home that isn’t a cramped seat on an N-1 Starfighter. When he lets himself dream some more, he imagines what it might be like to cook a real meal together, or plant a garden of flowers he and Grogu can pick for Astra and Zora.

But then Bo-Katan lights the area around them and Din’s forced back to reality. He hasn’t done what he’s set out to accomplish yet. There’s no room for dreaming until Din’s redeemed himself once and for all.

“This area looks much older,” Din states, taking a cautious glance around.

“The mines have been here for thousands of years,” Bo informs him. “The Living Waters are in the chambers below.”

Din looks over at her. “Have you been there?”

“Yes,” Bo says with a breath, “when I was a child.”

Din raises his brow beneath his helmet. “Really?”

“I was part of the royal family,” Bo explains. “I took the Creed and was showered with gifts. But the rituals were all just theater for our subjects.” She glances over at Astra. “I’m sure you experienced something similar on Arilia, Astra.”

Din’s quick to look at his wife. She’s since painted an expression of strength and sweet nostalgia on her face as she nods. “Tradition is important all over the galaxy,” Astra agrees.

Bo nods to agree. “Mandalorians loved watching the princess recite the tenets as her father looked on proudly.” She utters her next words with harsh sarcasm. “Such a heartwarming spectacle.”

Silence sits amongst the group for a long moment. Din’s mind strays to memories of his own father and the assurances he was often offered as a child. His chest tightens and he wishes he was somewhere safer where he could hold his own children close. “Maybe he was proud,” Din speaks up to break the silence.

“I know he was. I didn’t embarrass him in front of everyone.”

Din tilts his helmet at that. The description she provides isn’t unlike the Mandalorians who helped to raise Din on Concordia. His tribe was strong under the Armorer’s careful watch, but he wonders what it would’ve been like to be united under someone such as her father. “Your father sounds like an interesting man. I would’ve liked to have known him.”

“My parents spoke of him with the highest praises,” Astra adds. Din looks at her and straightens his helmet. Astra offers a reassuring smile and squeezes his hand. Bid dral. So strong.

“He was a great man,” Bo agrees. She pauses before continuing. “He died defending Mandalore.”

Din stops in his tracks, causing Astra to do the same alongside him. It’s like he’s a little boy again, watching his father close the bunker door on him. Bo-Katan slows her movements a few steps ahead of them, turning to face Din with a confused raise of her brow. Din lowers his head in respect and speaks through a tightened throat. “This is the Way.”

Astra rests her head upon Din’s arm, a gesture of comfort that surpasses what Din could ever need. She brings him back to reality and frees him from the haunting memory, allowing him to move his feet forward again and head deeper into the mines.

Din hears the waters before he sees them. The light on his helmet catches them and Din’s very chest loosens with a relief he can’t quite describe. Bo nods alongside him and speaks. “Here you go. The Living Waters.” She takes them further inside, down the stone stairs and into the wide open expanse of the cave. Bo continues to speak, but Din doesn’t hear a word she says. He’s set on walking ahead and getting as close to the water as he can. Astra’s confused at his side, but in his desire to end this as quickly as he can, he can’t even stop to appease her. Din looks over the Living Waters and brings himself back to that moment when he was a child staring down his very first helmet and swearing upon the words he’s held to his heart ever since.

“Din?” Astra’s voice calls for him. It sounds millions of parsecs away.

“Are you all right?” Bo-Katan adds.

Din still doesn’t speak. Instead, he reaches for his cowl, unfastening his cape and setting it on the ground beside him. He does the same with his blaster and the Darksaber. Grogu coos with confusion and Zora remains silent, likely asleep from the action of the day. The last thing Din removes is his jetpack as he stands to his full height with a determined breath.

There’s only one thing left to do, now, before Din ends this nightmare: Thanking the person who’s stood alongside him through it all.

Din walks up to Astra and raises the lip of his helmet for the last time in front of someone who isn’t his family. It’s only high enough for him to take a hold of Astra’s face and pull her to him for a kiss that says more than he ever could, especially in a moment like this. He minds their audience and forces himself to part from her only to be gifted with her breathtaking smile of pride and affection. Din lowers his helmet and nods at her.

With her sweet love fresh on his lips and in his heart, Din focuses back on the Living Waters. The light attached to his helmet stays on as he steps down the stairs and enters the water with open hands, reciting the words he could never forget.

“I swear on my name,” Din begins, each word loosening the tense knots that have been tied deep within him, “and the names of the Ancestors, that I shall walk the way of the Mand’alor, and the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart.”

Din finishes the vow and experiences a wave of freedom like no other. He’s about to take another step into the life he’s been wanting before he even knew it when the ground beneath him suddenly vanishes. With no time to pressurize his helmet and no jetpack to lift his heavy beskar above the water, all Din can do is watch the chasm pass him by and fight his hardest to experience the life he’s only just earned.

Astra’s tear-brimmed eyes of joy and pride for Din quickly turn to panic when his helmet vanishes beneath the water. Given the hardships they’ve already experienced on this journey, she doesn’t hold herself back anymore. She won’t let him slip through her fingers again.

“Din!” Astra cries out his name, her voice barely recognizable in her horror. She starts to follow him inside the waters, but her body’s only halfway submerged when Bo-Katan pushes her back and dives in after him.

Instantly, Astra’s brought back to that moment on Trask, when she was forced to watch Din be drowned while all she could do was sit there helplessly at the mercy of the Quarren. Zora’s sharp cry from behind her tears Astra from the dark memory and she snaps her head back to look at her daughter. Grogu’s trying to ease his sister, but his efforts are to no avail. He glances at Astra for help, his ears lowered in his own distress.

“It’s all right,” Astra says to them before she’s even made it out of the water. She kneels in front of the pram and takes her children’s heads in each hand, pressing a kiss to both of them with her eyes closed. “He’ll be back to the surface any moment, now.”

Her words are just as much for her own reassurance as they are for her children’s.

Astra lifts her head and glances over her shoulder. There’s still no sign of Bo-Katan or Din. Zora’s cries echo throughout the cavernous space, and even Grogu lets out a few worried whimpers. Astra’s heart tightens with a prominent ache at the thought of Din hearing his children cry for him yet again. She struggles not to join in their panicked grief.

With a sound that makes Astra jump and turn around, Bo emerges from the water with Din clutched in her arms. She’s forced to practically throw him to the ground at the top of the stairs, his beskar hitting the stone with an unceremonious clang. Astra all but runs to his side as Din coughs and wheezes before going silent.

“Din,” Astra breathes, unable to raise her voice for fear of breaking apart. She holds his helmet between her trembling hands, though her focus goes to his cuirass. It’s not moving. He’s not breathing. “Din!”

Nothing. Astra glances up for a moment and sees that Bo’s frozen where she is, her visor looking out upon the Living Waters. Despite Bo’s lack of focus on the two of them, Astra can’t remove Din’s helmet to make sure he’s okay. She refuses to make everything he’s just gone through be for nothing.

Astra tears Din’s cuirass off and presses one hand over the other on his chest. One. Two. Three. She won’t stop counting until thirty. Astra’s aware of Zora crying behind her, but it’s drowned out by the emptiness of her shared panic and focus. She can’t do rescue breaths and she can only hope that the compressions will be enough. “Come on, Din!” Astra pleads behind gritted teeth. “Come on, riduur! Come back to us!”

Astra’s almost to thirty and he hasn’t moved yet. She’s desperate, pressing hard to expel the water from his lungs. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.

“Come on!”

Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.

Then, at long last, the galaxy does Astra a favor.

Din gasps before he starts to cough. Astra turns him on his side, letting the water escape him as she releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She leaves one hand on his helmet as the other stays on his arm, keeping him steady on his side. Zora’s wailing gets louder as Astra’s awareness of her surroundings returns, but she can’t bring herself to leave her husband’s side. Astra glances back at her children and sees Grogu setting a hand on his sister’s head to ease her to sleep just as he did with the rancor.

Din rolls on his back and makes the move to sit up. Astra helps him, her hands still trembling with adrenaline as she grabs his cuirass and puts it back on for him. He grunts in his effort and leans his arm against his knee while Astra sits back on her heels and watches him take a few deep breaths. She never thought she’d be so happy to see him do something as simple as breathing before.

Astra’s eyes flood with tears just at the thought of it.

“I am redeemed,” Din says, his voice hoarse and broken.

“We witnessed it,” Bo-Katan assures him. She glances over at the two of them. “For better or for worse.”

Din’s visor snaps over at Astra upon hearing her words. Astra nods at him and hopes he can’t see the way her vision’s started to blur. Din tilts his helmet at her and she struggles to find the words to say. “I’m proud of you,” Astra finally says, cursing to herself when her voice starts to break.

Din sets a gloved hand on her thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.

“And I’m… relieved.” Astra tightens her lips and looks down at his hand. She sets one of hers over his. Her next words are barely even a whisper. “I was scared.”

Din’s hand on Astra’s thigh tightens. His voice is almost just as broken as her own. “My cuirass was removed when I woke.”

Astra nods, her lips starting to tremble as she curses to herself for it. Din’s all right and his quest has been completed. But she can’t stop seeing the lifelessness in him as she fought her hardest to keep him alive.

“Astra… ner kar’ta…” Din can’t go on and he doesn’t need to. He moves closer to Astra and takes her in his arms as best as he can. She wraps her arms tight around his middle, burying her face in his cloth-covered neck. Din’s hand keeps her head held there while the other runs over her back. Astra’s relieved that her tears fall silently while Din speaks to her in a low and broken voice. “I’m so sorry. I know how much I’ve scared you today. You’ve been so, so strong and you shouldn’t have had to be.” He pulls her in tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

Astra shakes her head and gains the faith to raise it from his neck. “Don’t be.” She manages a smile as she holds his helmet between her hands. “I agreed to come on this journey with you, and despite the hardships we’ve faced…” her smile widens and she pulls his helmet against her forehead, “you’ve finally done it.” She runs her thumb along the curve of his beskar cheek. “Like I said before, I’m proud of you. So proud.” Astra pauses, swallowing back her fears once and for all as she looks into his visor with severity. “This is the Way.”

Din lifts a hand to her cheek in hardly concealed amazement. “This is the Way.” He exhales as if he’s releasing the weight of the entire galaxy from his shoulders. “I love you.”

Astra beams at him. “I love you, too.”

“I’ll make all of this up to you,” Din goes on, his voice low enough to keep his words between them. “I promise.”

“I know you will.” Astra glances past Din to see Bo-Katan standing restlessly to her feet, and when she looks at Grogu, he’s also quite anxious alongside his sleeping sister in their pod. “For now, I think it’s best that we get going.”

Din looks around the area for himself and nods. “Agreed.” He struggles to his feet and Astra helps him, causing him to thank her with another Keldabe kiss. She stays by the pod while he steps forward to fill the container on his belt with the Living Waters. Once it’s secured in place, he joins their family, his gloved hand petting Grogu’s ear as the little one coos with delight.

“Can I ask you a question?” says Bo suddenly from behind them.

Din doesn’t turn his helmet to face her as he responds. “What is it?”

Astra watches Bo adjust her vambraces as she hesitates before going on. “You see anything down there?”

Din reaches for his cape and Astra helps him put it back on. “I saw the chasm passing me as I fell.” Astra tries not to grimace at his words as she reaches for his weapons. “I didn’t realize it was so deep.”

“It wasn’t.” Bo looks over the waters again. “The bombings from the Purge must have triggered seismic activities.” Astra can see her walking away from them out of the corner of her eye, though she stops to ask another question. “Did you see anything alive?”

Din pauses what he’s doing and looks at Astra with confusion. “Alive?” He turns to face Bo. “Like what?”

Bo shakes her helmet. “Nothing.” Astra furrows her brow, but when Din shrugs it off, she also dismisses the matter. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You don’t have to tell us twice,” Astra remarks, drawing a huff from Din as he sets his hand upon her back and eases their family forward.

Their journey back to the surface of Mandalore is much smoother this time around. Most of it is spent in silence with everyone lost inside their own thoughts amidst the aftermath of such a tumultuous excursion. Din stays as close to Astra’s side as he can manage, something she appreciates, and he asks only one question about the Living Waters. “Did Zora sleep through all of it?”

Astra grimaces, unable to hide it when the memory returns to her. “No. I accidentally woke her up.” She glances at the pod, where Grogu remains alert alongside a sleeping Zora. “Grogu eased her to sleep after I helped you…” She’s not sure how to finish.

Din nods in understanding. His visor also focuses on the pod that trails alongside him. “So, they both saw what happened.”

“They did.” Astra looks at their hands and entwines hers with his own. “But they also saw that you’re okay.” She gives his hand a squeeze. “That you’re strong enough to go on.”

Din squeezes her hand in return, but says nothing. Astra tries not to tighten her jaw at the thought of how he’ll react to everything else she still has to fill him in on. Instead, she rejoices in the true beginning of their forever, the completion of their quests with the redemption that’s been weighing heavily on his heart ever since Morak.

On the surface awaits Bo-Katan’s ship, a Kom’rk-class fighter transport. The Gauntlet has much more space for their family than the N-1, which allows for safe and quick travel back to where the starfighter awaits on Kalevala. Din sits in the co-pilot seat across from Astra with a drowsy Zora resting upon his armored shoulder while Grogu remains in his pod, leaving Astra to admire her husband and daughter with a faint smile.

Silence blankets the hull as they exchange Mandalore’s broken surface for the stars. Astra watches the atmosphere slam against the transparisteel of the viewport until the peace of what lies beyond falls over them. It’s the first time she can truly breathe since they first landed on the planet. To have made it out alive and well is nothing short of a miracle, especially given everything that happened in the mines.

Both Astra’s musing and the silence are broken by Din. “Bring us to our ship and we’ll be on our way,” he tells Bo-Katan. He never once looks away from Zora as her little hand tugs on his cowl. “You’ll forever have my gratitude.”

“I would invite you all in for a feast,” Bo remarks with a hint of amusement before she glances back at him, “but I’m guessing that helmet isn’t coming off again.”

Din nods and looks out the viewport. “This is the Way.”

Bo-Katan returns the gesture. “This is the Way.”

Astra’s about to add her own utterance of the phrase when Grogu suddenly cuts her off. He babbles in a pattern that’s similar to what Din and Bo have both just said. Din eases his grasp on Zora to turn his body in his chair as he looks back at Grogu while Astra does the same. They share a gaze of disbelief. “Is he trying to—?” Astra begins.

She doesn’t get a chance to finish. An explosion from outside the viewport rocks the entire ship, causing Bo, Din, and Astra to brace themselves where they sit. Zora whines in Din’s arms as he assesses the situation. “We took a hit,” he announces, his voice tightened in focus. He hands Astra off to Zora and she takes her without hesitation, allowing Din to focus on the systems at his side. Zora fusses in Astra’s arms and she tries to soothe her.

“Something’s coming up on us fast,” Bo informs them. She tilts her helmet. “It looks like a squadron of TIE interceptors.”

Astra’s heart plummets into her stomach. “Interceptors?” she echoes. She hasn’t seen any since the Empire was at its peak.

“How close are we to Kalevala?” Din questions.

“Not far,” Bo answers.

“Get us back there and I’ll reinforce from the N-1.” Din fixes whatever systems he can. “Can you evade them?”

“Our shields aren’t gonna hold,” Bo insists. “I need you to back them off.”

“I can help,” Astra chimes in. She stands when Din does to set Zora inside the pram alongside Grogu. An explosion rocks the ship and Din instantly wraps his hands tight around Astra’s arms to keep her steady. Once they’ve regained their balance, they nod and sit at their respective weapons stations. Astra glances at her joystick and wastes no time joining Din in blasting whatever she can.

“Where’d they come from?” Din asks Bo.

“I’ve scugged off a lot of Imperial warlords,” she offers.

Din takes a quick glance back at her. “They tend to get mad when you hijack their ships.”

“And steal their weapons,” adds Astra.

“Now you tell me,” Bo mutters with slight amusement.

Astra listens for Zora and Grogu as Bo pilots the Gauntlet into Kalevala’s atmosphere. Her daughter’s whines have now turned to giggles, causing Astra to shake her head with a fond smile. Zora’s love of chaos is no doubt something learned from her father, who had already passed it on to Grogu before she came along. Even Astra herself has grown somewhat fond of the action they often find themselves in.

“Get ready,” Bo announces to Din. “We’re comin’ in hot. I won’t be able to slow down for the drop.”

Astra frowns at that. Perhaps she’d spoken too soon about loving action.

“Interceptors are a lot tougher than TIE fighters,” Din observes. Astra had been thinking the same thing, seeing as she’s only just damaged one of the interceptors.

Bo looks back at Din. “Are you still up for the transfer?”

Din stands and braces himself on his chair. “I don’t see any other choice.” He stops beside Astra and sets a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here with Bo and the kids. I’ll be right behind you.”

Astra sets her hand over his own. She looks at him with the corner of her mouth tugged up in a sly smile. “Give them no mercy, riduur.”

He tilts his helmet at her. “That was the plan, cyar’ika.”

Din steps forward to make his way out of the cockpit. Astra forces herself to take a deep breath and focus back on the vidscreen in front of her. Din can take care of himself. It’s up to Astra to take care of herself, their children, and their ally.

Astra can see Din join the TIE interceptors on the radar for just a quick moment. She grits her teeth at how close they get, though she makes herself aim and fire at her targets regardless. Astra gets one and she celebrates to herself, though she’s aware that it’s only one small victory in a sea of threats. Bo weaves the Gauntlet through the landscape and Astra does what she can to take more interceptors out.

Astra’s body only floods with relief when she hears Din’s voice come through the comms. “I made it to the N-1,” he informs Bo. “Heading to you.”

Bo weaves through the cliffs and Astra grits her teeth at the tight fit, despite how she trusts Bo’s piloting. Still, her tension must be somewhat evident, as the Mandalorian soon raises her voice to speak to her. “Don’t worry,” Bo reassures her. “I grew up flying these cliffs.”

“I wasn’t too worried,” Astra responds. “I know you have it under—,” she cuts herself off when they scrape against one of the cliffs, only continuing once they’ve observed the TIE interceptor that explodes just behind them, “control.”

“It’s been a while,” Bo jokes.

Astra chuckles and continues to do what she can on the weapons. It’s difficult between Bo’s skilled evasion and the craftiness of the TIE interceptors. Most of her shots only serve as distractions, but Astra takes whatever she can get. She can only hope that the Gauntlet’s shields are holding up.

Then, another ship appears on Astra’s vidscreen. She grins as the N-1 swoops in and easily takes out one of the interceptors, in true Din Djarin fashion. “Thanks for the backup,” Bo says through the comms.

“Always a showoff,” Astra insists with a fond smile.

“Two more to go,” Din reminds them.

They weave through more of the cliffs. The angles make it nearly impossible for Astra to get a good shot in. She tries anyway, some of her blasts hitting either the cliffs or the surface of the water. “Go right,” Bo instructs Din. “We’ll meet you on the other side.”

Din does as she says, quickly disappearing off Astra’s vidscreen. When he reappears, another one of the TIE interceptors disappears. “One down, one more to go.” Astra’s grin only widens at his words. She’ll never get tired of how he makes even the most difficult task look easy.

Astra tries to claim the last interceptor, but Bo relieves her of such pressure. “I’ve got this one,” Bo tells her. Astra turns in her seat and watches Bo power down the engines and pull hard on one of the joysticks, letting the ship freefall and turn to face the TIE. Once they’re head-on with the interceptor, Bo launches her own blasts, demolishing it into a final ball of fire. Astra braces herself as the ship continues to fall, her jaw hardened until Bo restarts the engines and pulls up on the joysticks. Both of them bounce a few times in their seats when gravity returns and Astra heaves a breath of relief.

“Everyone okay in there?” Din questions through the comms.

“Couldn’t be better,” Bo assures him. Astra nods to agree with her, taking advantage of the calmness to sit back in the copilot seat and check up on the kids. Zora and Grogu are both smiling as they look out the viewport and see the N-1 flying alongside them. Astra joins them as Bo continues to speak to Din. “Not bad for an antique.”

“You take any damage?”

“Just shields. Astra covered the rest.” Astra smiles at her subtle praise. “You?”

“Not a scratch.”

Astra huffs at that. Bo holds back a chuckle of her own as she responds. “Let’s take ‘em in just to be sure.”

Astra watches as Bo looks through the viewport and nods at Din, who returns the gesture. Din’s visor meets Astra’s gaze even from a distance and fills her with a strong wave of warmth. Even after all the tribulations of the day, here they are, able to enjoy a moment of peace that remains suspended in time. For the first time since Astra’s known Din, it feels like they have what they’ve always wanted: time.

Then comes the alarm from Din’s comms. “Hang on,” he warns. “I’m seeing something on the scope.”

When Astra hears the explosions from a distance, her heart sinks, her stomach hollowing like a deep and dark pit. Bo-Katan gasps and Astra watches her grasp on the joysticks tighten. “No!” she exclaims through a tightened throat, pushing the Gauntlet ahead to watch as more TIE interceptors destroy her castle.

The feeling is all too familiar for Astra. She looks over at the closed pram beside her and sets her hand on it, seeking comfort without putting her children at risk.

“Those mudscuffers bombed my home!” Bo seethes. Astra lifts her gaze to watch as Bo launches the Gauntlet in close pursuit of the fleeing interceptors. Unease sticks like tar to Astra’s chest watching Bo’s composure lessen and lessen. The Mandalorian even fires a torpedo at one of the TIEs, causing it to burst into a cloud of flames similar to the ones that hung over her home.

“Bo, we’ve got company,” Din informs her. Bo remains unaffected, still in pursuit of the interceptors. Astra tightens her jaw and tries to think of a way to soothe her before she flies Astra and her children into danger. “Bo, listen to me. You have to get out of there.”

Astra watches through the viewport as Din pilots the N-1 in front of the Gauntlet to gain Bo’s attention.

“There’s too many of them.” He doesn’t waste a single breath, though his voice strained as he goes on. “You have my family with you. Don’t let these attackers take even more from us.” Astra doesn’t miss the desperation in his voice as he pleads with her one last time. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Bo pilots them into the storm of TIE interceptors before she finally pulls up on the joysticks to follow Din towards the atmosphere. The interceptors pursue them, but the N-1 and the Gauntlet are faster in their escape. Bo speaks amidst the chaos as if she’s thinking out loud. “That’s a lot of ships for an Imperial warlord.”

“I’m sending jump coordinates,” Din informs her.

“To where?” Bo questions.

“Someplace they won’t find us.” Astra wrinkles her brow at first when she hears Din’s words, but then it hits her: the covert. It’s well-hidden, and once Din gets his redemption recognized by them, they’ll be able to finish their quest once and for all.

Astra releases a breath once the blue lights of hyperspace are passing them by, her eyes closing in relief. She’d been too stunned to say anything to Bo after the weariness of the day, despite how close they were to being at risk. From their initial descent on Mandalore to this close call on Kalevala, the toils of this journey have felt almost just as intense as their last one. All Astra wants is to rest safely in the arms of her husband with her children nearby, finally at peace and in a place they can call home.

That’s a future that’s, at long last, just in reach.

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[breannasfluff]

Evil Incarnate

AO3 Link

“Oh, Ravio!” Legend’s sing-song tone has the bowerbird tensing. That’s usually the tone used to preclude something he won’t like. “Your favorite customer is here!”

Oh no. Not again. Why does the old bat continue to hang around? Ravio hisses at no one, flaps his wings to try to release tension, and stalks into the shop.

Legend is all smiles. “Look! Marta is here! And she brought me cookies, isn’t that sweet?

Marta gives a maternal coo and pinches the vet’s cheek. He smiles! He has the audacity to smile at her right in front of Ravio!

He puffs, then pastes on his largest, fakest smile. “Marta! How kind of you to drop by! And you brought cookies!”

“For Link,” Marta corrects. “The poor dear is looking rather thin, isn’t he? Are you sure you are feeding him enough when he’s home from his adventures?” She turns to the flame bowerbird. “You know, I make a wonderful lasagna. I’m sure I could bring some by if your…friend isn’t up to cooking.”

Ravio grinds his teeth. The feathers behind his ear make it clear he’s Link’s flockmate, even if he hasn’t had a chance to trade feathers back.

Legend moves next to Ravio and slings an arm over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Marta, Ravio is getting the hang of life in Hyrule. I’m sure he could benefit from some of your cooking tips, though. You do make the best cookies.”

Ravio’s whistle of outrage is contained—barely.

Marta’s dark eyes are positively vicious as she looks at the merchant. “Link, dear, I would love to share my recipes.”

And stab him in the back, but Ravio doesn’t say that out loud.

Marta, despite being old, has secret connections across Hyrule. It’s the only explanation for how she can get to the same magic sales as quickly as Ravio. Her wings should be too old and flimsy to fly long distances!

Yet here she is, perusing over magical items like the bowerbird didn’t speed here as fast as he could.

“Marta,” he hisses.

She raises one eyebrow. “Ravio.”

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Just browsing.”

The two circle the table. They are old hands at this game. Whatever Ravio goes for, Marta will try to snatch away from him. If Marta gets to it first, sometimes she plays her old biddy card and the salesperson will chase him away. Him! Ravio! Like she doesn’t play up her frailty for a deal.

Today, there’s a beautiful blue scale among the magical items. It’s likely a zora scale enchanted to help with swimming. Legend already has flippers but…Ravio has nothing. And it might be nice to go swimming in the summer.

Mainly, it’s blue. The bowerbird needs it.

His eyes lock on the item and he edges a little closer. Marta, harpy that she is, follows his gaze to the table. Ravio takes his chance and darts forward, hand closing on the scale.

Marta makes a grab for it as he takes it, catching the other end.

“Give!”

“No! I need it!”

“You dirty old bat! I had it first!” Ravio’s wings flare in a threat display and hers do the same. Their shrieks and squawks draw the attention of the salesman.

“What on earth is happening here? Sir, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to put the item down!”

Marta’s lost her old lady card tugging at the scale, so she huffs and lets go, crossing her arms. Ravio is a bit slower, but finally puts the scale down. On his side of the table, because he’s not stupid.

The avian nods. “In Hylia’s name, it’s not worth fighting over, you too. Honestly. What is the kingdom coming to?” Still shaking his head, he turns to return to the register.

Ravio snatches the scale and bolts, ignoring Marta’s screech of outrage. Blue scale clutched to his chest, he chortles and fluffs his wings as he gets in line.

Today, at least, Ravio won.