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devieuls · 2 months ago

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ˋ Haunted .✵

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 4.9k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

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Chapter I: The Abyss of Temptation

(The shuttle landed silently on the verdant surface of the planet Khofar, a wild jewel among the worlds of the Outer Rim Territories. As the hatch opened, a wave of humidity enveloped the Jedi, carrying with it the intense scent of damp earth and the exotic fragrance of the lush vegetation. The forest stretched out before them like an endless sea of green, where the trees rose like ancient towers, their massive trunks covered in layers of gleaming moss. The thick, intertwined canopies above them created a natural roof, allowing only faint rays of light to filter through, speckling the ground with golden patches. Khofar was a living, wild planet, and they were only temporary visitors, intruders in an ancient and balanced ecosystem. Every rustle among the leaves, every distant call, was a warning. A premonition or prelude to what the day would bring.)

If only you had known in advance that your teammates would die one by one before your eyes as you returned from the hut where Jedi Master Kelnacca lived, you would have thought twice before agreeing to the mission. You had fought against the Sith who killed your friends, battling with anger and bitterness, in a grief too fresh to fully comprehend. In the end, the pain of your body hitting the hard ground was nothing compared to the searing agony in your side from a nearly fatal wound. Your vision began to blur, and you could only see footsteps approaching before everything faded to black.

You awoke slowly, as if emerging from a hibernation that had lasted for years. Your eyes opened with difficulty, greeted by a nearly suffocating gloom. The dim light of a few torches was the only source of illumination within what seemed to be a cave. The rocky walls, uneven and cold, seemed to loom over you. You felt weak, every movement was a struggle, and a dull pain throbbed in your side. You tried to sit up, but your injured side forced you back down, a hiss of pain escaping your lips. You brought a trembling hand to the wound and felt the rough texture of the bandages wrapped around the torn flesh. Despite the agony, the wound had apparently been cleaned and treated with care. Someone had taken the time to tend to it, to ensure it would heal, though it was still far from being fully recovered. You looked around, trying to piece together fragments of memory that crowded your mind. You remembered your friends' deaths, Sol screaming, your lightsaber changing color, and a battle. You recalled the fierce confrontation with the Sith, your fall, and the darkness that enveloped you. But beyond that, nothing. You had no idea how you had ended up in that cave, nor who had brought you there.

Your heart raced, panic beginning to seep into your thoughts. Were you a prisoner? And if so, who had shown such mercy to tend to your wounds? The most unsettling question was the most obvious: why hadn't the Sith eliminated you when he had the chance? A shadowy thought slithered into your mind, and the face of the Sith echoed in the depths of your being. The idea that he might have been the one to save you, to care for you, was as chilling as it was improbable. Yet, you couldn’t shake the possibility from your mind, no matter how absurd it seemed.

You dragged yourself out with great effort, and through the blinding light, you saw the silhouette of a man, barely identifiable. You followed him stealthily, still holding your side and trying to endure the pain from the wound. For a moment, you lost sight of him, only to find him again shortly after, immersed in a pool of water in what seemed to be a coastal area with black sand you couldn’t identify. Your eyes fell on the figure facing away from you, submerged in the water, his muscles relaxed, his raven hair wet and slicked back. To your eyes, the man seemed completely unaware of your presence, though he appeared to have a vigilant awareness of the surrounding area. You moved silently among the rocks and vegetation, observing your target until your gaze fell upon a pile of clothes near the shore, where the deactivated lightsaber lay. With swift and somewhat precise movements, you approached the lightsaber. Tension mounted inside you as you crouched to pick it up, aware that any sound could betray your presence. You grasped the metallic object and assumed an attack position as the man began to speak, still with his back turned while he calmly washed himself.

"how does it feel?" he said, turning towards you. You recognized him immediately. The mere sight of his face sparked rage within you. "Pleasant, don't you think?" His tone was a piercing screech to your ears. You gritted your teeth, not responding, remaining in your attack stance. "Your stance is good despite the wound on your side, but your elbows are a real mess. I had my doubts when we fought last time, and now I see why it was so easy to defeat you. Your elbows are too low; you should keep one higher, you know?" he continued, observing you. "…To block more quickly and strike with more precision." He took a brief pause. "Since you don’t know how to use the Force, you should learn to block better," he concluded, stepping out of the water, now only a few steps away from you.

"Don’t move," your stance changed, now aiming the off lightsaber directly at him. Your gaze was sharp and cold. "If you don’t want to join me, at least let me put my clothes on" he said. You took a slight step back, allowing him to exit the water. You swallowed, trying not to let your gaze fall on the naked, wet defined body of the man, keeping in your mind that he was your enemy. You began to ponder whether it was appropriate to attack him now. But it was neither Jedi-like to strike a defenseless man nor to act in such a dishonorable manner. "Surely, you’re wondering if it’s honorable to kill me like this," he began, his tone different from the one used in battle. You swallowed. Your gaze fell for a second on his chest, and you cursed yourself for the terrible idea. "In battle it’s justified, but days later isn’t it revenge?" he asked with a sarcastic tone, as if he already knew the answer. "And now you wonder if I can read your mind… and the answer is… no. Anger betrays your thoughts" he continued, dressing himself as if you weren’t pointing a weapon at him. His gaze seemed oddly gentle, more delicate, almost innocent. So much so that he almost didn’t seem like the same man who had killed seven Jedi just a few nights before.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you kill me?" you asked, watching him sternly, uncertain of what to do next. "Am I your prisoner?" "Prisoner? You’re the one with a weapon" he said with an overly calm look and an obvious tone in his voice, as he walked back towards the cave, passing by you without fear. You followed him, teeth clenched. You wanted revenge on this man, but what a miserable person you would be to strike him from behind while he was unarmed. "If you keep me here, Sol will come for you. He’s found me before, and he’s powerful with the Force." Your voice sounded threatening, though not as forceful as you’d hoped due to the stabbing pain in your side. The man turned and looked at you with a puzzled expression. "Do you think he’s powerful with the Force? It’s you who’s powerful with the Force, y/n. Someone should teach you," he said. You were stunned for a few seconds, as he knew your name. To you, he was a stranger, but you didn’t seem to be as unknown to him. The stranger walked back into the cave, and you followed him, confused. "In what way am I powerful with the Force? You should know it’s something to be practiced. If you don’t train it, it fades" you said, your voice still sharp as you scrutinized the man who seemed so at ease in your presence. You had long abandoned being a Jedi, retreating shortly after becoming officially part of the Order. If it hadn’t been for your sister leaving a trail of blood wherever she went, you would have stayed far away from that world. You had lost every Force ability, not having practiced it for many years. You vaguely remembered how to use a lightsaber, thanks to Sol, who had helped you recall the skills during the time you spent together, training with his young Padawan Jecki.

The stranger was seated next to what appeared to be a small campfire, while you kept your distance. He tasted the food he was cooking. You didn’t trust him; something about him made you suspicious, aside from the fact that he had decimated your team. "You know… The Jedi teach that there’s only one way to access the Force, and if you don’t do it their way, it fades. But there’s another way," he said gently, turning his gaze toward you. "Beneath the surface of consciousness, there are powerful emotions." "Anger. Fear. Loss…" he slowly mentioned the emotions you had learned to suppress, as you had been taught in the Order during your time as a Jedi Padawan. "…desire." The last emotion was spoken almost in a whisper as he took on a more serious and penetrating expression. You swallowed, observing him with disdain, though you subconsciously held your breath as he listed the emotions. "That’s the path to the dark side," the words came out acridly from your mouth.

The man’s expression darkened for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a mocking smile. "semantics… You Jedi are so closed-minded," he replied, turning back to the fire, stirring the stew he was cooking. "The light side isn’t the only way to access the Force. The dark side… amplifies emotions. It’s just another way to access the Force. A way… to freedom." His convincing tone almost seemed reasonable, though it was contrary to your way of thinking. "You killed my friends," your gaze grew even sharper and more bitter, as your hand still gripped the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber, seeking comfort in the familiar cold metal. The Sith’s words were like poison seeping into your mind, exploiting the insecurities you had always tried to suppress. "Friends? That’s what you call people who come to seek you only in moments of need and then ignore your existence?" His voice was laced with a mix of disdain and feigned compassion. Every word from this man was a blade sinking into your soul, touching raw nerves you had tried to ignore. You had been trained to combat fear, anger, desire—all emotions that, if left unchecked, could lead you down the dark path. But at that moment, you felt the internal storm growing, fueled by suffering and loss, a mourning.

"War isn’t pretty, y/n, sometimes…" he began, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he stood up, beginning to walk toward you with determined steps, never breaking eye contact. "Sacrifices must be made for a greater good." He stopped just inches from you, his penetrating gaze studying you with a mix of cynicism and desire, as if challenging you to contradict him. Every fiber of his being radiated an irresistible force, a magnetism that seemed to envelop him like a shadow. He leaned slightly toward you, his warm breath brushing against your skin as his lips dangerously neared your ear. "Your friends," he whispered with a cold, almost contemptuous tone, "were just collateral damage." His words were like sharp knives—cutting and relentless—but the seductive tone with which he spoke betrayed an unsettling intimacy, as if he were confiding a dark secret that only you could understand.

The stranger leaned back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, deep as an abyss, stared at you with an intensity that seemed to penetrate directly into your soul. His face was close, too close, and his expression was serious, almost sorrowful, but there was no trace of remorse—only a dark understanding. "Why do you love people who can only go so far?" His voice dropped further, becoming a near-confidential whisper. "Who can’t go as deep as you can?" His gaze was intense, his eyes locked onto yours with an expression that seemed to reveal far more than his words had. There was a hidden desire, a need struggling to surface, but the man skillfully masked it, maintaining a subtle balance between cynicism and seduction.

You held your breath, feeling the weight of his words and his proximity. You knew that behind those words lay a darkness trying to corrupt you, but his allure was dangerously real. Your mind was conflicted, torn between repulsion at the Sith’s cynicism and the irresistible magnetism surrounding him. The man gave you a slight smile, a smile that never quite reached his eyes, as he pulled back just a few centimeters, leaving you teetering between temptation and inner struggle. "Maybe, y/n," he added in a mellifluous voice, "you’re destined for something more… something greater… something that I can show you." "I’m not my sister. I’m not so easily corrupted," you said, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to maintain control over yourself. Every fiber of your being struggled to suppress the tumultuous emotions the stranger had tried to awaken in you. Your heart pounded loudly, betraying you, but your face remained impassive, covered by a studied veil of disgust. With a slow, deliberate motion, you took a step back, putting distance between you, your gaze charged with superiority and defiance.

Qimir observed you with an impassive expression, but behind his dark eyes was growing interest, a sort of admiration for your resilience. To him, you were not like the other Jedi he had encountered, too weak or easily swayed. In you, he saw a potential acolyte, someone with an inner strength that could be nurtured and guided toward an even greater power. A subtle smile appeared on his lips, a nearly imperceptible curve that betrayed his pleasure at seeing you so determined. "You’re not like your sister, that’s true," he admitted with a tone that seemed both a compliment and a challenge. He took a step toward you, closing the space between you once more, but this time with an even more calculated calm, like a hunter who knows its prey. "But don’t mistake your determination for invulnerability," he continued, his voice soft and sharp as a blade. "The force you suppress within you, the force you’ve learned to stifle, is what could make you great—much greater than the Jedi could ever imagine. I see in you a potential that goes beyond the limitations of their dogma, and that is what frightens them." He stopped just a few steps from you, his gaze locked on yours, trying to pierce through the mask you had erected. "I’m not here to corrupt you," he whispered, his voice almost persuasive. "I’m here to offer you a choice, a path that the Jedi have always denied you. A road to a freedom you don’t yet know." You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you refused to show any weakness to him.

"I don’t need your freedom," you replied coldly, your voice steady despite the internal turmoil. "Your whispers don’t touch me. I know who I am and what I represent." "So sure of yourself" he murmured, with a tone that seemed to appreciate your determination. "But what do you truly represent, y/n? A Jedi struggling against her own nature, stifling the potential that could make her truly powerful? Oh… perhaps I should say, ex-Jedi?" he asked with ironic amusement, towering over your figure. You clenched your teeth, pointing the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber at his stomach.

He tilted his head slightly, amused, his gaze growing more penetrating as he sought to reach that part of you he knew existed—the part that thirsted for knowledge, power, something more. “You feel the Force, you perceive it in ways that even the Jedi cannot understand. And you know there is a greater, deeper power calling you. It is not betrayal to explore that possibility. It is… evolution.” His words, spoken with such conviction, seemed to echo in the cave, breaking through the barriers you had erected to protect yourself. You raised your lightsaber to meet the man's neck. “Do it… light it” he ordered, his tone of challenge making your blood boil. The Sith, on the other hand, seemed delighted by your anger, his sharp and contemptuous smile only fueling the tension. Qimir merely tilted his head slightly to the side, offering his neck completely to you, his penetrating gaze fixed on the lightsaber you pointed at him, waiting for the moment you would decide to ignite it.

“A Jedi… does not attack the unarmed" you said through gritted teeth, your voice a murmur of frustration and determination. Your mind was a tumult of emotions, but your will to remain true to your principles was steadfast. “Do you still think you’re a Jedi?” he asked, his voice low and enveloping, almost hypnotic. “Don’t you remember how your lightsaber changed color the last time? Do you still believe you must adhere to a code you’re questioning within yourself?” Those words hit like a punch to the stomach, evoking images you would have preferred to forget. The blade of your lightsaber, once glowing a pure blue, had trembled, taking on red hues like those of the man before you. You took a step back, your heart racing, desperately trying to put space between you and that voice which seemed to read into you with ruthless precision. But the man gave you no respite. His hand moved with surprising speed, gripping your arm in a gentle yet firm hold. His fingers closed around your wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from withdrawing the saber from his neck. The contrast between the contained strength of his touch and the relaxed calm of his face left you breathless.

His penetrating gaze was fixed on your eyes, a subtle yet relentless challenge. “You know yourself that after what’s happened you couldn’t return to the Jedi even if you wanted to,” he whispered, his tone charming and confident, as if he had already won this silent battle. “Sol has seen it, don’t believe that after succumbing to rage and revenge you can return to a position that no longer belongs to you.” You felt trapped, not so much by his hand holding you but by the words resonating inside you. His words seemed to challenge every certainty you had until that moment. Every fiber of your being wanted to reject him, but there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made you doubt, even if just for a moment. Qimir moved closer, his warm breath against your skin, each movement calculated with lethal precision. “It’s not a matter of principles, y/n,” he continued, his tone now almost seductive. “That pain, that anger… this is what you are.” Your breath grew irregular, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain control. “Let me go.” you threatened, your voice a low growl, but you knew there was a shadow of hesitation you couldn’t hide.

“Sol saw it… the Jedi saw it” he continued, his tone now softer but laden with cruel truth. “And for that, they will throw you away, again.” His piercing gaze cut into you, as your eyes took on an expression of anger and fear at his words. You felt his words like a sharp blade piercing through your defenses, and your gaze hardened, but you couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in your eyes. The fear that, deep down, he might be right. The fear that your Order, those you would give your life to protect, might indeed see you as a threat, something to be eliminated. The Sith sensed that shift within you, and his gaze became even more penetrating, probing every corner of your mind. It was as if he could see every weakness, every hidden thought, and he used them with a terrifying skill. “You can’t hide from what you are, y/n. The dark side isn’t a weakness… it’s your strength. And you know it.” You gritted your teeth, disgust and anger mixing into an explosive blend that pushed you closer to the edge. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to press; every word, every look was a sharp blade striking at your raw nerves. The tension inside you grew, turning into a knot that threatened to snap. Until you could no longer hold it back, and it was in that moment that you ignited the lightsaber, the glowing blade just a breath away from his neck. “It won’t be like that,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, desperately trying to stay calm, though your eyes betrayed the mask of confidence you wore. “I will not succumb to the dark side.”

The man remained still, his mocking smile slowly widening as his eyes stayed fixed on yours, as if he were looking through you, reading every hidden thought. He swallowed slowly, a gesture that seemed almost like an invitation, a further provocation. The blade of your saber illuminated his face, but there was no trace of fear in his eyes, only a cold calm. “It’s not something you have to give in to… it’s inside you,” he said with that velvety voice of his, each word a whisper insinuating doubt into your certainties. His words struck you like a blow to the heart, breaking that fragile barrier you were desperately trying to maintain. “Your potential is immense,” he continued, lowering his voice to a warm, almost intimate whisper. Your gaze grew sharper as the subtle poison in his words sought to seep into your consciousness. The lightsaber blade barely touched his skin without making contact, his calm expression only annoying you. It was as if the threat had no effect on him, as if he knew you would never have the courage to go through with it. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate, calculated to keep you on edge, playing with your emotions like a master puppeteer. Anger bubbled within you, a fire growing ever stronger, fueled by his words, his confident smile, the way he seemed to control everything. You couldn’t deny it; there was a part of you that wanted to give in, that wanted to let go of the anger, the pain that burned so intensely. And he knew it; you could feel it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“I understand…” His voice was a seductive whisper, just above a breath, as his hand rose with studied slowness, approaching yours without ever touching it. His eyes, which had been filled with impenetrable confidence until now, took on a new light, something deeper, almost vulnerable. “I’ve lost everything, y/n…” His gaze now seemed sincere, almost pleading for some strange reason. “But when you lose everything,” he continued, his hand now resting on yours, which still gripped the cold lightsaber handle. The contact was surprisingly gentle, a light pressure, but enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His grip was soft but firm, and the contrast between his words and the apparent gentleness of the gesture made you waver. “That’s when you’re truly free,” he concluded, his voice a whisper carrying an inescapable weight, an invitation to surrender, to let go of everything that still bound you to the light. His gaze locked onto your eyes, deep, almost pleading, but not for pity: for understanding, for sharing. It was as if he wanted you to see the world through his eyes, to understand that the dark side wasn’t a condemnation but a liberation. His words struck you forcefully, penetrating your defenses once again with lethal precision. It wasn’t just a mental game; there was something genuine in the pain that lingered in his voice, a shadow of loneliness that echoed your own torment. And in that moment, the Sith you had seen as an implacable enemy became a figure that seemed to understand your suffering, your anger.

“The anger you feel, the pain that consumes you… you don’t have to fight it,” he continued, his tone calm and inviting. The tension between you was thick, almost suffocating. You felt the dark side’s pull toward him, the promise of freedom shining like an irresistible temptation. But there was something more in that man, something human, making it harder to you to ignore. The sincerity in his gaze, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper, made you doubt your certainties. His hand, warm against yours, made you feel dangerously close to an abyss you weren’t sure you wanted to avoid. You remained still, analyzing his words in your mind. The lightsaber still tightly gripped in your hand, your teeth clenched as you swallowed before sighing, thinking about what you should do. You deactivated the lightsaber and stepped away from him, pressing the hilt of the now-deactivated saber against his chest. You wouldn’t be deceived by his seductive words. You knew who you were and what you fought for. But, inside, a small part couldn’t help but wonder: what if he was right?

“You don’t know me to tell me these things. And as I’ve said, I’m not corruptible like my sister,” You hissed, your voice charged with a tension the man couldn’t help but appreciate. He let his smile spread slowly across his face, watching with almost amused interest as you deactivated the lightsaber and then pressed the hilt against his chest. The determination in your eyes, the resolve in your gesture, fascinated him. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected, but there was something in you, an inner strength, a resilience that intrigued him deeply. He could see the internal struggle you were facing, the conflict between the Jedi code and the emotions he had deliberately stirred.

The Sith, with a slow and measured gesture, placed the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber on a nearby rock. The smile on his face shifted into a smirk of satisfaction. “Perhaps I know you better than you think,” he admitted, his voice soft and filled with an intensity that echoed in the silence of the cave, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. “I see who you are… who you could be. Your strength, your will…” His steps continued to close the distance between you, and you took a step back, trying to maintain the space between you. He gently took your wrist and pulled you slightly towards him, towering over your smaller figure. He looked at you with what might have seemed like admiration or… desire. You held your breath, swallowing, paralyzed by what could be the gentlest yet most dangerous of predators. The man brought his face closer to yours, the distance between you reduced to mere centimeters, his breath mingling with yours, warm and slow. His touch was once again firm but never painful. His eyes, dark as the abyss, glowed with an intensity that slowly captivated you. You found yourself hanging on his lips, almost asking for permission to breathe regularly. “It is rare…” he concluded. You took a deep breath, and the tension between you was growing increasingly palpable. His tone was like sweet poison, flowing slowly through your veins, making you doubt once more everything you had always believed. His hand slowly moved from your wrist to your side, stopping just below your ribs, where the wound, though treated, still throbbed painfully. The contact, though light, made you flinch, a mix of pain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the tension between you becoming almost unbearable.

“You’re still loyal to someone who didn’t think twice about abandoning you to the enemy on Khofar some nights ago…” You swallowed at his words, feeling the knot in your throat that blocked every word and the weight in your stomach. “Deep down, you’re still searching for a master, someone to guide you… That life, you’ve never truly felt it as your own; they never understood you,” he continued, his gaze fixed on your eyes as if he could see inside you, reading every thought, every hidden emotion. “But I can.” For a moment, you felt yourself falter at those words. The tension between you was palpable, and you could not take your eyes off what must be your enemy, although your mind tried to keep lucidity. Your breathing was slow and irregular, each breath an attempt to hold back an invisible and unknown force that seemed to want to overwhelm you. The knot in your throat was getting tighter, blocking the words you wanted to say. Your eyes were mesmerized. There was an incredible intensity in those foxy eyes, a mixture of fear and fascination that left your heart inexplicably throbbing and mind confused. You failed to swallow trying to make words come out to counter his claims

“You are like me…” he whispered a short distance from your lips.

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Notes :

Well, yes, the sexy hot af villain who will be the protagonist of the new series is Him. Qimir, from The Acolyte. If you don’t know him, go and watch that series because Manny Jacinto put all his effort to seduce us towards the dark side. This is just the beginning, still do not know how many chapters will have but I hope not many, I would like to write about more topics for him.

if you haven’t seen the series there will be some spoilers, so please watch the series first

-Mel

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136 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): foul language, suggestive themes, brief non-consensual grab (non-graphic)

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part One of Ink & Needle

Inside the club Riot Room, you meet a masked stranger.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

The puddle in the caved pavement ripples as a raindrop shatters its silent surface. Small, but growing larger and wider until the water is still again. Another raindrop falls from the sky and the process is repeated.

A beginning. An end. A beginning. An end. A—

Fresh start.

New roots.

The brick that starts the riot.

All things have a beginning. This moment is no different, because it feels like the start of something, and for so many fucking reasons.

And it’s not just the water. It isn’t only the water. There is a neon sign, and its reflection is in that tiny pool. A bright pink that is at odds with the old London architecture surrounding it. Maybe the color is melting, or maybe it’s your imagination, and your brain has finally kicked off and this is its farewell salute.

Why, when you are here for someone else’s beginning, does it really feel like yours? It’s not sour or sweet or foul or sticky but heavy as if your boots are filled with liquid cement.

This is supposed to be Evie’s night. This is her bar crawl. This is her marriage. This is her bachelorette party. But now you’re at the last place of the evening, and everything is suddenly barring down like an avalanche.

Riot Room blares the pink neon sign. It’s loud, and the very edges of your consciousness ache from how bright it is. You’re not even standing that close.

Below the sign is an archway with an open gate. A tall man in all-black stands off to the side of it checking IDs and handing out wristbands. From the open gate comes a pounding, shredding beat that you’re not sure is heavy metal, electronic, or a combination of the two.

Riot Room is completely different from the other places you’ve visited tonight. The four places before this were all quaint pubs with odd names and a nostalgic sense of comfort. Riot Room is a club. There is nothing quaint or nostalgic about it.

Two scantily clad women in black leather wearing large coats trot by, their heads bent close as they talk to each other. Their lips are painted a dark purple that resembles bruising as if they’ve been kissed roughly.

To your right, Sam’s gaze drops to span the length of one of the women. She looks on in appreciation, her pink-painted lips pursing with interest. Her dark skin is speckled with gold dust and her tight curls are bundled up on the top of her head in two big buns.

Sam’s gaze draws away from the woman’s bare legs. Her gaze falls on you, and you grin widely, knowing she’s been caught. The corner of her mouth quirks with a hint of smile.

She leans in until your shoulders touch. “It’s not like you weren’t looking.”

You lean in a bit more until your noses are close to brushing. “But I wasn’t the one who got caught.”

Sam laughs and pulls away, the sound of it bright and airy. She waves her hand as if trying to ward off evil.

Once she’s caught her breath, Sam leans around you, addressing the two women standing to your left. “Ready, ladies?”

Jade tilts her head, her blue ponytail shifting to fall over her right shoulder. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Did you pick this place, Sam? Seems like a ‘you’ kind of place.”

Sam nods toward Evie with one of her buns. “The bride-to-be agreed to this.”

You and Jade turn in unison. Evie shrugs. “I did.”

Jade snorts and holds out an outstretched hand toward the club. “You hate these kinds of places.”

“Oh my god,” mutters Sam throwing her arms up in the air, her gold bangles clacking against each other.

Evie laughs softly, and the sound is sweet enough to rot your teeth. That’s the thing about Evelyn Green. She is the nicest, most kind-hearted, selfless person you’ll ever meet. Rarely does this woman do anything for herself, and putting this evening together for her was a struggle. Not because she’s difficult, but because she wanted tonight to be about everyone, not just herself.

Evie’s button-nose scrunches slightly. “I told Sam I wanted to come. When am I ever going to go to a place like this after I marry Archie?”

Jade’s lips form into a thin line and she shakes her head. “Archie is the most un-pretentious rich boy I’ve ever met in my life. He’d love you even if you were a plastic bag. And he hates all those events the two of you go to anyway.”

“Yes,” agrees Evie. “But he’s required to go, and once we’re married, I will have to attend as well.” Her face falls slightly, and it’s understandable.

Evie’s fiancée comes from wealth—the old money kind. Archie’s great grandfather is of British nobility, and while Archie isn’t titled, that doesn’t really seem to matter. He is well-educated, and many of his closest friends and colleagues all run in the same circles.

Evie is not from that life. She grew up a poor coal miner’s daughter in southern Missouri. She managed to scrounge up enough money to move to Columbia to attend Mizzou and met Archie during an exchange program. She was in a park, and Archie was playing soccer with friends. Knocked her in the side of the head with the ball. Archie sat with her in the ambulance and the two went on a date the next day.

They’re in love, and it’s a gorgeous, beautiful thing. But not all of Archie’s family is supportive of their marriage. Many look down on her for her background. Evie acts like it doesn’t bother her, but you know different. Those events they attend together cut deep, tear into her until there is nothing left but her forced smile.

Jade sighs loudly and then turns toward Sam, pointing at her. “If I find out you forced her—”

Sam groans and then grabs Jade’s outstretched forearm, tucking Jade against her side as the two of them walk arm-in-arm towards the club. “Oh shove it, Jade,” mutters Sam.

Evie giggles and holds out her hand to you, wiggling her fingers. Grinning, you entwine your fingers with Evie’s and follow the bickering duo.

They argue all the way to the door. IDs are checked. Wristbands are handed out. A cover is paid. And then you’re walking through the gate, under the archway, and into an open courtyard.

That heaviness returns, and your boots feel like lead. Something about this place is different from the rest, and you cannot put a finger on what you’re sensing. It’s a change in the direction of the wind. It’s a falling autumn leaf. There is a shift happening, and you’re not aware of where it might come from.

The night sky is directly above your head, and you can see every star in the sky. To your immediate right—just inside the gate—is a coat check. Next to it is a stage where a man in a Jason Voorhees mask stands behind a DJ booth. He is shirtless, well-muscled, and covered in fake blood. Though both feet are on the ground, the rest of his body shakes and writhes with the intensity of the music. The bass is the loudest aspect, rattling around in your body until you start to feel dizzy.

On stage with DJ Voorhees are several other masked men. They too wear hockey masks, but they are all painted a different color. They don’t wear shirts either and they jump around on the stage, pushing and shoving each other, occasionally dropping down into the crowd to do the same before running to the stage.

The crowd is thick but mostly near the front of the stage. Beyond them on the far side of the courtyard is the bar. It’s long, spanning nearly the entire wall, with several bartenders and barbacks working along it. Next to the bar near the stage is a set of stairs that leads up into a building. People enter and exit through the door. There are windows but they’re entirely blacked out and you have no idea what might be back there.

You scan the length of the bar and find another set of stairs on the other end. This one descends and next to it is another gate—this one much smaller than the entrance—guarded by security. The back wall of the courtyard—the one facing the stage—is lined with people, but there is walking space between them and the crowd near the stage.

Evie’s smile widens, and you suddenly don’t care anymore. This is for her, even if you feel uneasy. Her happiness is the most important thing right now.

“I’m grabbing us drinks,” yells Sam over the music. She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder before she heads that way.

Evie steps a bit closer to you. She’s nervous but eager as she squeezes your hand.

One of the masked men jumps off the stage and into the crowd. They all yell and then he pops up, throwing himself in people’s faces. You instinctually step forward to block Evie as he darts around a club-goer and appears directly in front of you.

“Fuck off,” you yell when he pushes himself into your face. All you see is the purple-painted hockey mask and he won’t fucking move. He just stands there like an ill omen that won’t allow you to look away.

You’re about to speak, your lips and tongue forming the shape of what you want to say. Then, he disappears, as if knowing your intention.

Jade snags your upper arm and leans in, her gaze fixed on the point the guy slipped away to. “I’ll stay with Evie. Go check on Sam. Make sure she isn’t just buying us tequila shots.”

Evie reluctantly gives up your hand as you navigate the congested dancefloor. You have to twist your upper body to avoid collisions. Just through the crowd, you can just make out Sam’s buns. A man steps into your path. He isn’t looking—likely too drunk to even notice that you’re right behind him—and you step out of the way to avoid is wayward swagger.

But there are too many goddamn people, and you can’t avoid them all. Instead of him, you bump into someone else.

“Shit. Sorry. I—” You glance up. “Oh fuck.”

A wraith stands before you, all cold shadow and violent foreboding. Dark eyes surrounded by pale eyelashes observe you from behind a black balaclava. Around the mouth are skeleton teeth but they’re a tad faded which only adds to the ominous presence of this strange man. He is tall, and you have to bend your neck to see directly into his face, and that doesn’t even take into account how broad his shoulders are.

Space is non-existent. The only thing you understand about your surroundings is him. This man is a being out of hell, a creature of fire and blood, and yet you’re drawn to him. You are a pale moth, a gentle creature, and he is the pyre in which you will burn.

He takes hold of your upper arm, and his grip is strong. His strength is both a threat and a comfort. He could snap you in two, but it’s placement and how firmly he holds on to you tells you otherwise. This man is dangerous, and yet through the hardness is a softness in the brow that you recognize as concern. His dark eyes narrow, and as he pulls you closer to him, he leans in before his gaze moves to a stop over your right shoulder.

“You okay?”

It isn’t the wraith gripping your upper arm who’s addressing you. You glance over your left shoulder and meet a softer expression. Black hair cut short, tanned skin, and kind eyes. This man is completely different from the one that still holds onto your arm.

“Fine,” you murmur but realize he can’t hear you over the music. “I’m fine.” This time you project, and he nods.

“Gaz!” He turns away, and a different man holds out a plastic cup full of beer to him.

Gaz takes it and then this newcomer turns in your direction. You want to leave, to walk away, but that’s difficult when your upper arm is still in a vice grip. You shake it, trying to throw the stranger’s grasp, and make no ground. His hand stays put.

“Who’s this?” asks the newcomer, and you recognize the accent as a Scottish one.

“Some wanker ran into her. Knocked her right into Ghost.”

“Fucking hell. You good, Lt?”

Ghost doesn��t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear him over the music. Shaking your arm again, you attempt to free yourself for a second time. Ghost still doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs you a little closer until you feel his body heat.

You hate being told what to do, and you especially hate men who cannot take a fucking hint. You try again, ready to smack the balaclava right off Ghost’s face if he doesn’t release you. But he does, and his grip is gone so suddenly that you nearly topple backward.

Acting bolder than you feel, you give Ghost your best scowl before turning toward Gaz, your mouth forming into a smile. “Thank you,” you say, excusing yourself quickly and heading toward the bar.

“What kind of a name is Ghost?” you mutter to yourself just as Sam turns around from the bar. She cradles six drinks in her arms like a newborn baby.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You reach for them, grabbing one before it tips over to spill across the floor.

“Jade sent you, didn’t she?” laughs Sam, handing you another plastic cup. “Can’t trust me after that tequila incident.”

“No comment,” you answer, making sure the drinks you’re holding are secure and won’t slip out of your grasp.

When you return to Jade and Evie, the two women have their arms wrapped around each other, swaying in a little circle, giggling hysterically. The moment you and Sam appear, Evie is pulling away from Jade, reaching for the gin and tonic you hold out to her. When the drinks are distributed, Sam and Jade have one in each hand while you and Evie only hold one.

Before this, the four of you visited four different pubs, and had plenty of drinks at each establishment. While it’s nearing the end of the night, there isn’t any reason for you to go overboard. Slowing down might be best, especially if Sam and Jade are going to double-fist drinks the rest of the night. Tomorrow—technically today at this hour—is supposed to be a spa day with some of the women from Archie’s family. Hungover is the last think you want to be while dealing with them.

As your lips suction around the head of the straw, you feel a pull, a tug toward the back wall of the courtyard. You resist the urge, refuse to look because you know who you’ll find. Instead, you suck on the straw, focus on the bite of the gin, sway your hips until the pounding beat is all you know in your veins.

But the pull won’t release. It won’t slacken. And the more and more you resist, the more it aches to not look, because no matter how startling his appearance is, it intrigues you, makes you think about how long it’s been and how you wish to be touched.

Would he keep the balaclava on? Would he take it off? And why does that intrigue you?

You start to turn, to surrender to the tug, and then snap back to reality, nearly knocking into Jade as you force yourself away from looking. The drink in your plastic cup sloshes harshly against the side but doesn’t spill over.

Evie leans in, her lips close to your ear, and she nods in the direction of the tug. “That guy won’t stop staring at you.”

“Who?” you ask innocently, knowing exactly who Evie is referring to.

“Mystery masked man.” Evie grins, her straw caught between her upper and lower teeth.

This time you look. There he is. Ghost, as his friends called him. He leans against the wall, the same small group of people surrounding him from earlier. They’re all talking, but Ghost is staring in your direction, and his gaze is locked in on you.

You quickly glance away and shrug even as a dull heat warms your limbs. “Looks like trouble.”

“Looks like a good time if you ask me.”

“Evie,” you gasp, bumping her shoulder.

“What?” she laughs, sucking up the last bit of her drink.

Jade goes up on her toes, her head swiveling back and forth. “Who are we looking at?”

Sam catches on and twists, glancing in the same direction. She’s successful first. “Oh my god.” Sam leans in until her cheek is pressed against your own. “That man is staring at you.”

“I know!” You pull back a bit, but Sam doesn’t let you go far.

She bumps your shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Hello. Have anyone waiting on you? No? Great. Let’s get out of here. You can even keep the mask on.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m not doing that.” You reach out and snag Evie’s arm. “And it’s her night. Why would I leave y’all for a hook-up?”

Sam finishes one of her drinks. She removes the straw and pops it into the other cup, doubling it up by putting the full plastic cup into the empty one. “Listen, if you won’t. I will. The guy next to him with the dark hair is an absolute snack. Even the older guy with the weird mustache is making my daddy issues purr.”

Jade’s eyes widen slightly. She nods enthusiastically. “Oh he is quite nice.”

“Right? Girl. I could take him and not in a fight.”

“Fine!” you exclaim. “I’ll go talk to him.” You turn toward Evie. “If you’re okay with it?”

Evie grins around her straw. You know what it means. Evie wants you to go because she wants to see everyone happy, but you wouldn’t call yourself excited. That heavy feeling is back, the one that feels like a new beginning.

The issue is that fresh starts are a cleansing. They are often a renewal. You think of cold water, of a slate wiped clean, but there are other markers for such things. Fire destroys but it also creates the opportunity for new life. Controlled burnings are a thing, and this man—this Ghost—can only be fire.

“I need a refill anyway,” you mutter, turning toward the bar, some of your confidence slipping.

You take a deep breath, the alcohol in your blood singing, giving you a feeling of lightness that makes your feet move of their own accord even as they want to drag. It is confounding. You don’t know what you want.

Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, moving ever closer to your wraith. He watches you the entire time. As you draw nearer, and your gazes lock, he straightens. Ghost pushes off from the wall like he’s expecting you to come to him. You notice the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his right hand clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

The gesture is so surprising, you lose all your nerve, walking right past him and to the bar. You don’t have to see him to know that he’s watching. His gaze is a drill, and you sense the bite of it at your back. Your palms are sweaty, and you discard your empty drink in the nearest trash bin.

You order another gin and tonic, handing over a crumpled pound note to the bartender. As you turn around, you notice that Ghost is gone. He isn’t leaning against the wall or even lingering with his friends. They’re still there, chatting away, but Ghost is missing.

Your heartrate kicks up and it’s suddenly so loud you don’t hear the thunderous pulsing beat of the music. It’s like you’re standing in a dark train tunnel, and everything is narrowing down to a single point. The crowd near the bar has grown in the last few minutes. People walk up and down the stairs next to the bar, and now that you’re actually focused on the building, you can some of the interior lights.

Evie, Sam, and Jade are out of sight, but you know they’re probably rolling their eyes, ready to question you about why you didn’t approach him. Better to accept your defeat and move on. Yes, there is a tug, a tether attached to this stranger that you cannot seem to shed, but you don’t know this person. There is no harm in not pushing this further, in moving on, and pretending you never met him in the first place.

“Whatever,” you mutter to yourself, as the roar of the music comes rushing back.

As you squeeze between two people, one of the mask-wearing men from the stage appears from nowhere. It’s the same guy from earlier. The one with the purple hockey mask who threw himself at you and Evie. You step back and bump into someone. That momentum only pushes you closer to him.

Purple-mask cages you in, lunges repeatedly like he’s going to grab you or hit you. It’s intimidating. Awful. You want to tell him to leave you alone, but the music is so loud you’d have to scream.

You step to the left to try and move around him, but he only puts himself back in your path. This time, you form the shape of a bite, ready to sting with your words, but all conscious thought leaves you the moment his hand makes contact.

He does touch. And it is not gentle.

He tugs on your jacket, then your top, then your jacket again. You bat is hand away, try to move out of range, but he is so much faster. His arm goes around you, and then he drags you in like you asked to dance.

“Let go!” You yank your arm free, but the guy still holds firm, guiding you deeper into the crowd.

Everything is hot. Tight. Overwhelming. Stealing all breath.

You pull again. “Let go!”

This time he does. This time, he disappears.

Ghost looms like a dark shadow, his hand around the guy’s neck. His palm is large to the point that Ghost’s hand easily encases the man’s throat.

“Touching a woman without her consent isn’t polite. In fact, I’ve killed men over less. How about you apologize to her, yeah?”

It’s the first time you’ve heard Ghost speak. Even over the music, you easily hear the rough, gruff timbre of his voice. It’s harsh like liquor and yet entirely smooth when it washes over your body and floods your senses.

Ghost drops the guy and he immediately bolts, darting through the crowd and pushing people out of his way. Ghost does not run after him.

Instead, he turns toward you and lowers himself enough to get close. All you see are his eyes which at first seemed dark, but now look like how light shines through a whiskey bottle.

“Did he hurt you?” The concern in his voice is genuine, and somehow that pleases you. There is a small trace of anger, but it’s fleeting, and not worthy of attention. Ghost isn’t worried about your purple-masked assailant. He’s worried about you.

You shake your head. “No.” Lick your lips. Breathe deep. “No. I’m fine.”

His pale eyelashes look like little halos. Is the hair on his head the same? Is it darker?

“You sure?” he asks, this time starting to straighten a bit.

“Yes. I just—I need some air.”

Ghost nods. “Come with me.” His hand gently rests against your elbow, and you accept it. This touch is not a threat, and you surrender to him, allowing him to lead you away from the crowd. They part easily as if on instinct. Maybe Ghost is truly that intimidating.

Ghost leads you to the far edge of the bar near the secondary set of stairs. He does not escort you down the stairs but to the other archway you noticed earlier. The security guard nods at the two of you and then you step down onto damp pavement in a little alleyway.

Your rescuer immediately pulls out a pack of smokes from the inside of his leather jacket. He selects one and then holds the pack out to you. You reach for one. It’s a reflex. You tend to smoke when you drink because it prevents you from drinking more than you need, but sometimes all you do is chain smoke and then you can’t talk the next day. It’s a terrible habit but one you haven’t been able to kick.

“Thank you,” you murmur once your cigarette is lit. He simply nods and pushes up his balaclava to suck on his own.

You try not to stare but you catch the faint hint of a long scar along the edge of his jaw. Beneath that, his entire neck is a solid black tattoo. You’ve seen them before, where people blackout parts of their body in ink. His stretches across the muscles in his neck, and when he inhales, you take note of every ripple of muscle. The strength there is astounding.

Glancing away quickly, pretending you weren’t admiring him, you clear your throat. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Ghost cannot be his name. There’s no way.

He exhales, the smoke drifting up into the air. “That important to you?”

“Yes.”

He stares at you for a moment. “Ghost.”

Fuck. Why’d you think he’d say anything different from a man wearing a balaclava out in public. It’s not his real name. That’s obvious, but you’re not sure if you want to push the matter. Yet it does make you wonder why he didn’t give you his real name.

You decide not to push it, giving him your name instead. As he exhales, the smoke fans upward to crown his head like a pair of horns before twisting off into the night sky.

“Why’d you scowl at me?” he asks, ashing his cigarette.

You run your tongue over your front teeth before speaking the lie. “I didn’t scowl.”

“But you were angry,” says Ghost, pointing his cigarette in your direction before he takes a drag.

“You wouldn’t let me go,” you counter, growing annoyed with this line of questioning.

“Someone knocked you down. You didn’t speak or look at me. And I’m the one you ran into. I was concerned.”

“For a complete stranger?”

“I’m a compassionate person.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “And yet you threatened to kill the man who touched me.”

Ghost points toward the gate, emphasizing each word with a light thrust of his hand. “The threat was deserved.”

I’ve killed men over less.

His words rattle around in your head. What normal person says something like that? The fact that he said it without fear makes you question what line of work he’s in.

Ghost drops his arm and takes another drag on his cigarette.

You should be afraid. You should walk back inside to your friends. That’s the safe thing to do. It’s the smart thing. But you’re feeling a bit bold—and a little annoyed. You want to know where this goes or if it’ll lead nowhere at all.

Straightening your shoulders, you drop your cigarette and put it out with the toe of your boot. “My friends think I should fuck you.”

It’s out of your mouth before you have the chance to think twice. Ghost’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth.

His head tilts slightly, and then turns in your direction. “What?”

You hate repeating yourself, but you’ve already said the words. You cannot take them back.

“My friends noticed you staring at me. Told me to talk to you. If I didn’t, one of them would have.”

Ghost fully shifts in your direction. He takes one step toward you. Another. There is a dark swagger there, and he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“You want to have it off?”

Yes.

“Thanks for the offer but I really should leave.” You start to step backward as if to return to the club.

Ghost must realize this because he moves like a bullet, blocking your path, planting one hand against the brick wall behind you. Your gaze falls on his hand and you notice all the tattoos. They cover his fingers and the back of his hand, disappearing under the sleeve of his black leather jacket.

“You’re taking the piss.” Ghost is smiling now but it’s not nefarious or cruel. He’s politely amused, and that is somehow worse. He leans in until you can smell the rich scent of his cologne. “You want to fuck or not?”

You swallow, desperately wanting to say yes. “I have to stay here. Can’t leave my friends.”

Ghost shakes his head and lowers his voice. “We don’t need to leave.”

The thick lust in his tone worms its way into your bones. From there, it oozes from the marrow, sinking into your blood and nerves, consuming every piece of you until your autonomy is nearly snatched from your control.

“You’re being awfully bold,” you murmur.

“You suggested it. I’m simply finishing it.”

“Don’t play games.”

“I’m not.” Ghost straightens a bit. “But I don’t want to unless you’re willing.”

He is sensing you hesitation, and it’s not that you don’t want to. It’s that you’re making excuses because that’s what you do. You step around things, shimmy by issues, and try to avoid as much as you can.

You cross your arms and pop a hip. “I am willing. But I don’t believe you when you say we don’t have to leave.”

He smirks. “So I can’t bend you over that box?” Ghost nods his head at a point behind you but you don’t even look.

“Very funny,” you deadpan.

Ghost straightens his back and his hand falls away from the wall. “This place has an underground area. Mostly employee only but there are a few back rooms where the…musical guests stay.”

“You know an awful lot about this place. Take women down there often?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Never. I like to scope a place out first.”

I’ve killed men over less.

What does he do for a living that he wears a fucking balaclava out in public and wants to “scope a place out” first? Every possibility flows in and then directly out of your head. Any of them could be possible.

“You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

He shrugs. “Up to you. Come with me or don’t.”

Ghost’s word and tone are casual, but you see the tension in every muscle and in the way he carries himself. There is a hesitation in him. A fear that you might say no. But the gin in your veins is strong, and it’s singing, convincing you to go with him.

When do you ever take risks?

“Okay,” you murmur. Then, more loudly. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Two

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@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

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writingjourney · 7 months ago

Text

Of Lemon Tarts and Tiny White Rabbits

Secondo, Earl of Griftwood, cannot believe his eyes when a tiny white rabbit scampers into his study. He is stunned even more when he meets the lovely owner of the pet – and promptly falls in love.

pairing: secondo x female!reader // regency AU

content: 4.6k words, regency AU (not 100% historically accurate but I tried), pov third person, forbidden romance, age gap, first kisses, social hierarchies, mildly suggestive at times, soft!secondo, pining and yearning etc., wingman terzo

This is a birthday present for the lovely @tasty-ribz , also special thanks to @angellayercake for encouraging me to bring Snowbell into this story ✨🐰

Masterlist – Ao3 link

The curtains sway gently in the soft breeze that carries a fragrant spring air into his study. Secondo lifts his gaze to take in the lovely view through the open double doors which lead to a balcony and the well-kept gardens of Emeritus Manor. Lush rose bushes climb up the stone walls and wrap around the railings, dark green speckled with the pink of countless flowers. Somewhere in the trees the birds break out in song, their melodic chirping a pleasant background noise that accompanies him as he maintains his correspondence.

After this short reprieve for his eyes, he dips the quill back into the black pot of ink on his bureau. A few more letters and he can settle outside in the shade for his afternoon tea, perhaps even indulge and allow himself a lemon tart to go with it. He can’t remember hiring a new cook and yet he swears the smell of freshly baked pastries has filled the halls of the estate more frequently as of late, their taste tempting even him who is usually not one for desserts.

A movement in his peripheral vision distracts him momentarily but when he looks up there is nothing unusual to be seen. Secondo watches the curtains, assuring himself that it must have been the wind playing tricks on him. With a frown on his face, he focuses back on his letters. After a moment, however, he glances back up, suddenly sensing a presence in the room. When he still cannot detect anything out of the ordinary, he assumes that it must have been a ghost wandering the old halls of the manor – it would not be the first time.

Over the scratching sounds of his quill he almost misses the tiny squeak that passes his ears only a moment later. A mouse? No ghosts that haunt him after all. He lets his eyes roam the walls that are lined with bookshelves, trying to spot any scurrying movements on the elaborately patterned rug that muffles the sound. At last, he glances down to his feet and surprise takes over his stern features.

A white baby rabbit sits next to his shoe, its tiny pink nostrils moving rapidly as it sniffs the leather with utmost interest. The creature cannot be bigger than his palm. Where could it possibly come from? As far as he is aware, they do not keep any rabbits, let alone breed them.

“Snowbell?” The voice that suddenly sounds from the balcony is soft and melodic, a young woman he cannot quite place. “Snowbell, where did you go?”

Her figure appears in the frame a mere moment later and she flinches back when she spots Secondo at his desk through the open doors. She immediately averts her eyes, her hair falling into her face and covering her features.

“Please, forgive me for the disturbance, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he replies. “I understand you are looking for this little troublemaker here?”

Secondo leans down to pick up the rabbit. Indeed it fits neatly into his gloved palm and he regrets that he cannot feel the soft fur against his fingers. The bunny breathes rapidly, its small body excited or scared, he cannot quite tell.

“Oh, you found her! Thank the lord, I thought she was lost forever.”

“Will you relieve me of her, then? She seems quite restless.”

The young woman who he cannot remember seeing before cautiously enters and with a lowered gaze approaches his desk. Secondo admires her for a moment, her striking complexion and the mesmerising way with which hair shimmers in the golden sunlight. Young and innocent, the daughter of a servant perhaps if the state of her dress is any indication. Yet it does not diminish her beauty nor her youthful radiance; he can tell that she is perhaps five-and-twenty.

She reaches for the bunny and he hands it over the desk, feeling her fingers brushing against his. Again he regrets the barrier between his skin and the world around him but even so he can tell that the heat has risen to her cheeks. She does not seem to be used to the presence of her superiors. He’s well aware of his reputation as a rather reserved and intimidating employer.

“I am not certain that I know your name,” he says before she can scurry off, skittish like the tiny animal that appears a little taller now in her smaller hands.

She replies with her name and a curtsy, not quite lady-like in practice but Secondo can tell that she must have enjoyed a good upbringing. Perhaps she has experience working for nobility.

“Where do you belong to, my girl?”

“I am François’s daughter, my lord.”

“Ah, sì, the new gardener?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He nods, watching her pet the rabbit with her slender fingers as if to calm herself. “And how do you like it here?”

“It is extraordinarily beautiful, my lord. The estate is magnificent and I quite enjoy the work in the kitchens.”

“The kitchens? So it is you who prepares these scrumptious lemon tarts?”

She nods, smiling a bit shyly. “It is a French recipe, my lord. My mother taught me how to make it when I was a wee girl and she worked for the Earl of Carlisle.”

“Are there any lemon tarts today, per chance?”

“I made a fresh batch just this morning, my lord.”

“Wonderful. Now, bring your Snowbell to safety before she scuttles away again.”

“Thank you most kindly, my lord. I promise to be more careful when I take her outside.”

He watches the young woman’s retreating form, reminding himself not to covet what he should not have. It is quite hard at the sight of such a sublime creature, though he rarely allows himself to indulge in thoughts of his carnal desires. The way she takes care of the animal tells him that she has a kind soul and how he could he ever taint it with his rotten hands?

Secondo stands to take his afternoon tea, looking forward to a generous serving of the fresh lemon tarts. He closes the balcony doors before he departs, his correspondence quite forgotten.

✦ ✧ ✦

He is too absorbed in his brother’s letter to notice the music at first.

When he finally does Secondo stops in the middle of the hallway. Rarely does he hear such sweet sounds these days, busy with politics and finances as he is. Ever since inheriting his father’s title as the Earl of Griftwood he is subjected to ball music, loud opera pieces and the talentless daughters of the other lords of the ton.

This subdued private concert is much more to his liking.

He folds the letter and pockets it before investigating the source of the music. Primo has written to him from Italy where his clerical duties keep him occupied. Secondo is relieved to learn that his brother is in good health and filling his new role as the leader of their secret church for which he has forsaken his role as the head of their family. A title that has now fallen to Secondo.

Following the trail of the music carries him further down the hall until he stops in front of a double door that stands slightly ajar. The sitting room beyond is abandoned safe for the person who has taken up residence behind the pianoforte and is now delighting the house with their pleasant tunes. Secondo is not one to swoon but when he discovers the gardener’s daughter, watching as her fingers glide over the keys in an elegant dance, he is quite taken with the sight of her.

It is only after quite some time that he spots the rabbit in her lap.

The piece ends all too soon but Secondo cannot bring himself to reveal his position. He watches on as she lifts Snowbell and places her tiny paws on the keys, playing an easy melody as she giggles and compliments her pet’s musical talent. He thinks that the snow white rabbit is an emblem of her most becoming properties – her soft and lovely presence, her gentle disposition and ethereal beauty. Two creatures that heaven must have forged together. Not for a moment does he think he could ever be worthy of her, no matter if his nobility raises him above her in this strict society. She transcends the rules of birthright and social rank, rules that he has always rejected, if not openly. Perhaps this is why he feels so drawn to her – she represents all that he has ever longed for, all that they strive to achieve with their church of Lucifer.

“I did not know we had a musician in the house,” he finally comments. “Or need I say two musicians?”

She jumps, again, startled by his domineering presence that takes over the room the moment he steps inside. After a few deep breaths she recovers and offers a polite greeting. Snowbell sits in her hand now, no bigger than a baby chick and just as restless. Her head rises as if to greet him as well, tiny button eyes shimmering not without mischief.

“Your brother told me it was alright for me to practice in here and that it is his instrument–”

“I am sorry, my dove, I did not mean to accuse you of anything untoward. Of course you may practice your music in here. We have been deprived of such beautiful sounds for way too long with no ladies in the house.”

Her shoulders sink in relief, the tension finally leaving her. “I hear that his lordship is quite a gifted musician himself. As are his brothers.”

“Ah, sì, sì, if only there was more time for it. I find that without pleasant company I cannot persuade myself to dedicate the time.” He steps further inside the room and takes a seat on one of the velvet settees, moderately close to where she’s now lowering herself back on her stool. His black breeches strain over his thighs and he adjusts his emerald green waistcoat that has ridden up, rights the knot in his cravat. “You play well, piccina. How did you come to master the pianoforte?”

“I may not be of noble upbringing, my lord, but my parents used all their means to ensure that I was educated, perhaps more than befits my station.” Her voice is sharp, not unfriendly but defensive nonetheless. “A person’s rank in society does not determine their talent for musical play.”

“I apologise if I offended your sensibilities, my dove. I did not mean to imply that your origin should have anything to do with your capability of learning an instrument.”

“No apologies are needed, my lord. It is true that such opportunities are not provided to many of my status. I cherish my privileges every day.”

Her eloquence and quick wit impress him, the dignified countenance with which she holds herself even in the face of an older man much above her in station. It would be easy to think that she is a noble lady, if it weren’t for her lack of fine clothing and jewellery. He fights off the urge to accoutre her, to dress her in the finest garments he can find in all of London and Paris or Rome. How lovely she would look with her hair done up, her slender neck exposed for his eyes alone.

And not just for his eyes.

Before he can inquire any further, Snowbell suddenly leaps from her lap. The rabbit lands on the soft carpet and scampers over towards the settee on her tiny legs.

“Oh, not again Snowbell,” the girl laments, but then she notices the rabbit’s direction and smiles softly. “I suppose she has taken a liking to you, my lord.”

“I hope she is not the only one,” he counters, allowing himself this moment of reverie.

Flustered, she averts her gaze, reacting in much the same way that he hoped she would. “Who could not be taken with him when his lordship is so very generous and kind of heart?”

Secondo smiles to himself as he leans down to pick up the cheeky rabbit, removing one of his dark leather gloves to finally feel the softness of her fur. “How did you come in possession of such an animal?” he finds himself asking. “She is quite unusual, no?”

“Oh, my father was engaged to work for another noble house in the city just before we came here and he found a nest in their garden. Snowbell was the only white rabbit of the litter. While the children of the house were allowed to keep the other rabbits they thought her cursed and wanted to kill her. I begged him to let me save her and bring her here.”

How charitable, he thinks, saving those who are unwanted, those who are abandoned by God, not differentiating between human or beast. How perfectly she would fit into his family whose ideals and values would have them shunned from society if they lived them openly. Perhaps it was not God who sent her but Lucifer himself. For him to love, to cherish, to worship.

He is aware that he is getting ahead of himself.

Snowbell allows him to pet her but he eventually stands to place the rabbit back in her saviour’s hands. This time, her fingers brush against the bare skin of his palm. A shiver runs through him, tingling down his spine before settling warmly in his lower belly.

Her heated cheeks are evidence that she feels the same way.

“Do you enjoy reading, my girl?” he asks, only now noticing the book she must have placed on the instrument. A romance novel, he notes, not without a hint of disappointment. He could not be any more different from the heroes of such tales if he tried.

“I do, my lord.” She cradles Snowbell gently against her bosom, almost protectively, and he has to tear is his eyes away from the soft skin there. “I am an avid reader when I do find the time.”

“Please, feel free to use my personal library at your convenience. I am sure that you are in want of new reading material. This book appears to be… well-loved.”

“Are you quite certain, my lord? I would not want to impose–”

“Oh, nonsense. Many of the books have been collecting dust for way too long.”

Perhaps this suggestion stems from him wanting her to frequent his spaces and not those of his brother, if only to raise his chances of running into her. If Terzo offered her his instrument then he is sure that his eyes are not the only ones that she has caught. Secondo shares many a thing with his brother, but he will not share her.

“Thank you, my lord,” she says. “I am not sure what I have done to deserve your generosity but I shall cherish it forever.”

“Hm, your services are well-appreciated, my dove. I merely wish to make your life here a little more pleasant.”

She giggles. “His lordship must really like the lemon tarts.”

Her laughter shakes him to his very core. He is tempted to smile, or to tell her that it is not the tarts that have captivated him, but all this foolish impulse does is distort his stern features into a grimace. Before her eyes can linger on him, he departs with quick steps and a racing heart, making sure to leave the door open.

A few moments later the soft tunes of her music accompany him back to his study.

✦ ✧ ✦

The rustling of the page is a steady noise in the background as he works away at the desk he strategically positioned in his library. The expense reports of the estate are all in order and yet he goes over them once more – if only to stretch out the time in her presence.

He looks up to find Snowbell happily munching on a carrot in her little crate on the floor. His true heart’s desire, however, is reading a romance novel that he so graciously stocked the library with. Not that anyone will ever see a report of this particular expense.

“Are the new books to your liking, my dove?” he finds himself asking.

“They are quite enjoyable, my lord.” She looks up, marking her page before she closes the book. “And yet… I find that I do not want a love like these books promise. It sounds rather boring to me.”

“How so?”

“The true appeal of a person lies in his or her imperfections, my lord. Not even the finest, most handsome young man could tempt me when there is no flaw in his character that captures my interest. If I should ever fall in love it should be with a man much older who has been shaped by the hardships of life, with rough edges but a core that still carries a soft heart that he only shows to those he holds dear. I should like to uncover this heart and have it beat only for me.”

Secondo pauses for a moment. Could it be true? Could a beautiful young woman like her truly fall for an old man such as himself? Accept that their love would be flawed and rejected by society and love him all the more for it? If it is true what she implies then does he dare hope–

“You are quite different from what I expected, my lord,” she says before his thoughts can carry him away. “I have heard many things that I now know to be untrue.”

“And how so?”

“Everyone told me that you were quiet and rather cold, polite but not in the habit of keeping anyone’s company and while generous with your staff they said it is rare to see you outside of your study. And yet… I have only ever sensed your warmth, your generosity, and while you are a private man I feel as though I got to know you merely by being in the same room and striking up idle conversation. You have requested my presence almost daily as of late and I must admit that I find great comfort in spending my time with you, so much so that I feel sad when a day goes by and I cannot see you.”

Secondo stands abruptly, overwhelmed by the sudden sparks of emotion that ignite the fire in a heart he has long since thought to be withered. His long legs carry him to where she is sitting on a plush settee, the golden sun from the window illuminating her like an angel incarnate. She is a dream he finds himself caught in, and not of his own volition.

“My dove,” he says as he kneels down in front of her, grasping her hand tightly in his. “Your companionship is the greatest gift that I have ever received.”

He presses a fervent kiss to her knuckles, quite overcome with his desires. How he longs to pull her into his embrace, to kiss her plump cheeks and soft lips, to keep her trapped against his chest and stroke her hair for hours.

When he meets her eyes, she seems surprised by his sudden outburst, but not at all repelled like he had feared. “My dear lord, how I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

Secondo releases a shuddering breath and buries his face in her lap. When she begins to caress his head, running her soft fingers along the sharp lines of his cheekbones, he feels like he wants to weep.

✦ ✧ ✦

The delivery goes smoothly – until his brother appears in the doorway.

“A new instrument?” Terzo asks. “Whatever for? You could have asked to use mine, fratello.”

Secondo grumbles in reply, wishing his brother would finally leave. He is dressed smartly – a dark purple brocade waistcoat with a matching tailcoat, black breeches, a white cravat, high leather boots and a brand new top hat – ready to leave for a picnic or whatever social event he is planning to attend in pursuit of his latest sweetheart. He has always mirrored Secondo’s expensive taste in clothing but decided that his colour was purple instead of green. If it weren’t for Secondo’s lack of hair and Terzo’s thick black locks their brotherly relation would be uncanny, if not a little ridiculous.

“Do you not have to make an appearance somewhere else?” Secondo asks when his brother lingers while they set up the pianoforte under his watchful eyes.

“Oh, I still have enough time to observe my brother’s folly. Tell me, did she bewitch you so that you are wasting the family’s funds now? How exactly do you plan on introducing the gardener’s daughter to polite society, fratello?”

A deep breath. Secondo cannot strangulate him in front of the suppliers. “I do not know what you are talking about. I merely wish to possess an instrument of my own.”

“Mhm and the ornate rabbits carved into the wood? Are those to your taste as well?”

“I am very fond of animals. I quite enjoy the design, do you not find it endearing?”

Terzo merely chuckles in reply, the words altogether unfamiliar from his bother’s tongue, and pats his shoulder with a heavy hand. “I will make sure that the pamphlets are filled with someone else’s transgressions, should you decide that a diversion of the ton’s attention is needed in light of your imminent marriage to a commoner.”

Secondo refuses to argue with him, Terzo is too smart for that. Instead he waits until they are alone again and his brother further inspects the pianoforte. The tunes he lures from the keys are splendid, much richer in sound than any he has heard before. A good investment, Secondo decides.

“What a splendid instrument,” his brother says. “I shall hope that your little rabbit plays it for you on many an occasion.”

“I plan to have her play it for me every day for as long as I live.”

Terzo raises a brow. “So you do intend to propose? My, my! I did not expect you to ever let go of your determination to stay alone for the rest of your days. What has changed?”

“I met the loveliest creature to walk this earthly plane, fratello, I have been touched by her angelic hands and saw the true meaning of paradise. I do not care much what polite society has to say about our union. I am quite ready to be selfish after I sacrificed my freedom for this family.”

“And politics, your favourite subject?”

“I do not plan to advertise this marriage, fratello. I shall be ready to face all the consequences, for her love will carry me through the worst of it.”

“Oh, how you have changed!” Terzo snickers but not unkindly. “I am very happy for you, brother mine. She will make a lovely wife for an old grump such as yourself.”

“You are just as old,” Secondo says dismissively. “And yet you act like a bachelor in the prime of his youth.”

“And I shall continue to do so for as long as I can. If you will excuse me now, I have a rendezvous to attend and I am already late.”

The moment Terzo departs, Secondo allows his own hands to explore the pianoforte. He is quite out of practice but the finely tuned instruments sounds wonderful even under his stiff fingers. An old song finds its way into his head and he allows his memory to do the rest of the work.

When he finally finishes, he is pulled from his trance by the loveliest of voices.

“My lord, you asked for me,” she says timidly as she approaches him. “I do not wish to interrupt when you play such lovely songs.”

“You are not interrupting, my dove. Please, come here, sit down in my stead. This is yours now.”

“Oh, but my lord–” She trails off, her pupils widening at the sight of the brand new instrument.

He is not certain what he did to upset her. “If you would rather play a harp or a lyre–”

“No, no, that is not what I mean, my lord. I just… I am not worthy of such an expensive gift.”

“Oh, but my dove, you are more than worthy. And it is not entirely selfless. I hope I will be hearing your sweet music more often while I am working in here.”

She smiles affectionately. “I shall play for his lordship whenever he wishes. I shall… I shall play until my fingers hurt!”

“I would never allow for this to happen,” he decides, reaching for her hands and massaging them gently in his. “No pain may befall my dearest for as long as I am here to prevent it.”

She holds his gaze, hope shimmering in her irises. “I shall play with caution then, I would not want my lord to be in distress on my behalf. Would you hold Snowbell for me, please?”

Before she sits, she pulls the rabbit from the pocket of her dress where the she must have napped for she perks up sleepily when she is set down in his broad hands. Secondo does not make a move to stand.

“My lord–”

He uses his free hand to pull her into his lap and she gasps before her fingers find the keys. He can feel her shivering against his chest, her breathing as rapid as his heartbeat.

“I am not sure that I can play under his lordship’s scrutiny,” she whispers.

“I am quite certain that you can.”

With another shaky breath she begins to play. Heavenly tunes fill the room, her hands working their magic on the keys of the fine instrument. It is a song he has not heard before, slow and rather quiet but all the more powerful on his emotions. Her confidence soon returns and she plays in the same carefree way that he has grown to enjoy, only this time she is in his space, where she belongs. She is in his arms, breathes the very same air that flows through his lungs, and he can sense that he made the right choice.

The moment her hands come to a stop, he places Snowbell back in her palms and turns her sideways over his lap. Flustered by the proximity she glances down to her hands, only to notice that the rabbit has a white ribbon loosely tied around her body.

“I will ask your father for your hand,” Secondo says bluntly and her eyes widen.

“My lord, that is… it is impossible.”

“It will be possible, if it is your wish as well.”

“But, I am just–”

He stops her, taking her chin between his fingers to force her eyes to meet his. “My dove, I need a clear answer.”

“Yes.”

Overcome with relief he closes the distance and devours her lips in a passionate kiss. She presses against him with the same fervour, though careful not to squash the rabbit in her hand. Her body feels heated underneath the thin fabric of her cheap dress and he vows to have the modiste come the very next day to take her measurements. His hands roam her curves without shame now while he ravishes her, kissing her with a passion that threatens to make his heart burst, unused as it is to such feral emotion. She tugs at his cravat then, and he relents, allowing them both to break away for air.

Her forehead falls against his, their noses brushing as their heavy breaths mingle in the space in between. Suddenly Snowbell squeals in her palm and when they both look down the rabbit leaps from her hand onto the keyboard. As the off-key notes penetrate the room, they both smile. Perhaps they have to hire a different musician for the wedding after all.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

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marlynnofmany · 24 days ago

Text

Digital Billboards and Bumper Stickers

I handed another can of food to Eggskin, thinking idle thoughts about skin and scale color. Neither of us were what I considered kindergarten-crayon colors, though I was somewhere in the white-brown-pink area while they were a yellow-green-white. Someday I’d ask them if they knew their scales were the color of human boogers (no I wouldn’t).

Really I was thinking about that to avoid reading the labels of the food, since most of them had my alien crewmates in mind, and looked profoundly unappealing to me. This stack was mostly bug paste. Some cans were shelled, and some unshelled. Flavored with the highest quality algae. Bluh.

“That’s the last of these,” I said happily, handing it over.

Eggskin placed it on the shelf and looked thoughtfully down at the counter still strewn with shelf-stable food. “Let’s do the seed paste next. Leave the herb stalks out; I’ll want to use them sooner than the rest.”

Following their pointing claw, I located the jars of peanut-butter-adjacent food, and the narrow boxes that I’d thought were spaghetti. “Got it.” I shoved the boxes aside and started passing the jars to Eggskin for placement. Reorganizing the shelves was a lot of work. I could see why they’d asked for assistance. At the very least, it would have gotten boring after a while.

Eggskin asked, “So what was the captain grumbling about just now?”

I thought back to when Eggskin had recruited my help from outside the cockpit. I’d only been there to bring Wio the water bottle she’d left in the lounge, but it had been long enough to pick up the gist of the conversation. “All the ships in this area have extra information on their ID’s, and they keep popping up as images overlaying the map, making it hard to see where everything is.”

Eggskin turned with the speed of a striking snake. “What area? Where are we going? I knew I should have checked the schedule.”

“I didn’t catch the name,” I said, but Eggskin was already racing for the door.

“Put away the jars, please; I’ll get the rest later!”

I paused for a moment, then hurried to put all the seed paste jars next to the cans of bug paste, labels forward and in neat rows. Then I ran after Eggskin.

When I arrived at the cockpit, I found our ship’s cook/medic with a hand on Wio’s chair, pointing something out to the captain.

Captain Sunlight sat in the copilot’s seat, frowning at the screen. Many colors reflected off her bright yellow scales, glowing from the mishmash of light that was normally a dark starfield. “If we make that much of a detour, we won’t be able to make the delivery on time. We’ll just have to go dark on communications until we get there.”

Eggskin made a concerned noise as Wio tapped several buttons with her tentacles. The room was suddenly darker as all the company logos and custom images blinked out of sight. The screen now held the usual blackness of space, speckled with stars — one close enough to be called a sun — and a variety of ships mostly heading to or from a distant space station shaped like a tube. There were also far more asteroids hanging around than I was entirely comfortable with.

But before I could ask about that, the music started.

I think it was music. “What is that?” I asked at the jumble of sound. It sounded like several radio stations at once, some playing recognizable instruments, some talking, and others making what sounded like rude noises.

In a tone of defeat, Eggskin said, “The ads and taunts can detect visual sensors. Some ships target outsiders in exactly our position: no time or money to buy a blocker.”

Wio made a rude sound of her own and turned the volume down.

Captain Sunlight was still frowning. “I don’t want to speak ill of anyone else’s way of life, but this is terrible.”

Eggskin gripped both chairs, eyes trained on the screen. “It’s one of many reasons why I left. You’ll want to keep that big ship between us and the station for as long as you can.” They pointed briefly. “Or else we’ll have a Core on our tail wanting to fine us for flying blind.”

“Terrible,” the captain repeated. But she instructed Wio to do as they said, while aiming for one specific asteroid that hadn’t come onscreen yet.

This seemed like a good time to ask. “Why are there so many asteroids this close to the station?”

Captain Sunlight flicked a glance at me, possibly only now noticing I was there in the doorway.

Eggskin answered without turning. “It was meant to be a tourist attraction, but the company got bought out and the project abandoned. Now half of the gravity engines are failing, and reputable businesses are leaving the area.”

Wio said, “It still looks awfully busy.”

“That would be the disreputable sorts. If you see a triangle where the stars disappear for a moment, fly at max speed in the other direction, never mind the delivery time.”

Captain Sunlight turned her frown on Eggskin. “It’s that extreme of a danger?”

The hands on both chairs tightened. “Yes.”

I studied the screen for any sign of disappearing stars. Black ships in the blackness of space were uncommon back in familiar territory, for the simple reason that they risked having someone crash into them and atomize both ships. But it sounded like someone here considered that a risk worth taking so they could sneak up on others. I didn’t ask what they did when they succeeded.

We spent a tense few minutes flying in silence, with no sign of invisible ships and only a few pop-ups. Apparently even flying blind couldn’t block all of them out. At least these were mostly informational things on the asteroids themselves, defunct notifications about events and attractions that had never been finalized.

One ship that looked cobbled together from spare parts had a blank panel above the thrusters that drew my eyes with how bright white it was. Eggskin stared at it intently. “This could be nothing,” they said, “But it could be important. Use a tight-beam scan for that panel.”

Wio did. As if the ship was just waiting for someone to look, it accelerated away and produced an image that glowed on our screen after it was long gone. The stylized pair of shapes were vaguely familiar.

While Eggskin made a disappointed grumble, I asked, “What is that? I’ve seen that symbol on the back of a racing ship.”

“I believe,” said Captain Sunlight, “It is an insult. A view of the bottoms of the pilot’s feet as they swim or fly away from you.”

“Oh,” I said. “Huh. I guess it’s like mooning someone. Or an ‘Eat my dust’ bumper sticker.”

Before anyone could ask what human nonsense I was talking about, Wio spotted the meeting location. “This one, right?” she asked the captain. “The mid-sized flat one?”

Captain Sunlight consulted a smaller screen. “That is where they said to meet. But they also said they would be here before us, ready to rush off as soon as they got our delivery.”

Wio and Captain Sunlight inspected the surrounding area for other ships, which all seemed to have left. I kept watching the stars, sparing a glance for Eggskin, who looked more intense than ever.

“Scan the landing area,” they said suddenly.

The message that popped up this time was a simple text one, in a language I didn’t recognize.

But Eggskin did. “Thought so. Send a tight-beam message back to open the drop box. This message.” They rattled off a string of numbers that Wio dutifully copied down and sent. I saw the captain also copy it onto her notepad with an expression that suggested she had some questions for Eggskin later.

Lo and behold, the flat part of the asteroid rolled back into an empty space that could have fit a ship larger than ours. The light of the distant sun showed it to be empty.

Captain Sunlight sat back, exasperated. “Where did they go?”

Wio said, “There’s a ship over there. Is that them?” She turned our view to show a speedy little junker careening between the asteroids toward us.

“I don’t think so,” the captain said. “Unless they had to use a different ship.”

A patch of stars behind it winked out. I pointed. “Invisible ship!”

Before Wio could hit the thrusters, Eggskin commanded, “Get in the drop box!”

Wio threw a glance at Captain Sunlight, who nodded. Wio sent our little courier ship diving into the secret hidey-hole, folding the solar sails and transmitting the other message Eggskin gave her to close the hatch.

It was very dark inside that drop box. I thought briefly about the rest of the crew, who had no idea how much danger they were in. I didn’t even know how much danger we were in. But I suspected it was a lot.

Eggskin said, “We should be safe after a few minutes. Given their trajectory, they were chasing that other ship. Even if they saw us, they’ll be busy.”

Wio asked, “These aren’t the people who will fine us, are they?”

“No,” Eggskin said firmly. “The Core will fine you, because they’re what passes for a police force out here. Spherical ships, like a planet’s core. That,” they said, pointing emphatically, “Was a Lancer. They will dismantle your ship, sell it for scrap, and sell you to a work camp. No, the Core won’t stop them. Yes, it’s terrible.”

The captain nodded. “One of the many reasons why you left.”

“Yes.”

“Well, we very much appreciate your expertise today!”

“I’m just glad I realized where we are,” Eggskin said. “I’ll make a point of checking the schedule more regularly.”

“And I will make a point of not accepting deliveries for this part of space, no matter how much they pay,” the captain said wryly.

We sat there a little while longer, until Eggskin said it was safe to open the hatch. All the stars were in place as we ventured out. Nothing moved, not even any drifting bits of dismantled ship. Good news.

But also bad news, since we still didn’t know where our client was.

“I will be extremely disappointed if all this risk was for nothing,” Captain Sunlight said. “Eggskin, are there likely to be other drop boxes nearby that they could have hidden in?”

Eggskin let out a breath. “If there are, I won’t know the codes for them.”

The captain made another note to herself, and told Wio to search the area for other likely asteroids. I did my part by continuing to watch the stars, just in case.

Wio said, “Most of these have a flat enough area to land on.”

Eggskin put in, “By design.”

“Should I turn the communications back on, to look for markers?” Wio asked. “There are no other ships over here to jam our screen.”

Eggskin muttered, “Optimistic.”

Captain Sunlight said, “Do it.”

The drifting space rocks were suddenly festooned with logos. It wasn’t as bad as before, but it wasn’t great. They were all old and glitchy.

Wio turned the volume up slightly, just enough to hear that any audio messages had dissolved into static. “If anybody spots something promising, sing out.”

We all watched the screen as Wio slowly toured the area. A couple of asteroids had newer pop-ups, but these were clearly graffiti: messages about how somebody was the envy of this half of the galaxy, or how whoever was reading the message should go stick their tail in a thruster.

“What species made most of this?” Wio asked.

“The original owners were Frillians,” said Eggskin. “Though that graffiti clearly wasn’t.”

“And what species is our client?” Wio asked the captain. “Or is it a mixed ship?”

Captain Sunlight glanced down at her notes, then up at me. “Human.”

Oh. No pressure. “I haven’t seen anything yet that looks particularly human-ish,” I said. “But I’ll look.” I gave up on the stars for now, and stared at the asteroids. “Are those two just extra flat, or do they have panels like that one ship did?”

Wio dutifully moved closer and scanned the two that I pointed out. One was a political slogan about something Waterwill-related from several years ago.

The other one was music. The volume was still quiet, but I recognized it. As Wio turned up the sound of synthetic drumbeats, I grinned at the old Earth anthem.

This asteroid was equipped with a rickroll.

“That’s a human thing,” I said. “Check that one.”

Wio took us closer, then she sent a short-range communication ping, the equivalent of knocking on the door.

And lo and behold, something pinged back and the door opened. A ship floated out that was sleek and aerodynamic, and painted in a camouflage pattern that did absolutely nothing to disguise it against the rock. I burst out laughing as Captain Sunlight hailed them to confirm that they were indeed the people we’d come to meet. I tried to laugh quietly.

With the drop box closed again, there was space for both small ships to land side by side. Theirs even had an extendable airlock that matched up with ours, saving everyone the inconvenience of getting into exo suits and doing the handoff in whatever atmosphere still clung in the artificial gravity.

I got to do the honors, with Captain Sunlight at hand close behind. I suspect she would have preferred to do it herself, but her little lizardy arms weren’t up to carrying a box this size, and there wasn’t space in the airlock for a hover sled. Simpler to just let the tall human do it.

The airlock opened to show a guy who looked malnourished, stressed, and very relieved to see me. “So glad you found us,” he said in an unfamiliar accent, grabbing the payment tablet before I could offer it. “It’s just one thing after another these days.”

“I bet,” I said. “Have you considered leaving? I have it on good authority that life is terrible around here.”

He handed the tablet back. “Thought about it. Dunno what we’d do for a living.”

I gave him the box, which according to the manifest included fresh chicken eggs, kosher salt, and a selection of media from Earth. “Have you considered a career as a courier?”

He smiled. “I’ll mention it to the crew.”

As he stepped back onto his own ship, I called, “Feel free to follow us out! We probably won’t get caught by anybody horrible on the way!”

I heard a chuckle as the door closed.

Once the airlocks were sorted away and everybody was back in position, Wio took us up from the asteroid, and back toward civilized space. I watched from the doorway while Eggskin kept an eye out for dangers. We made it out of the asteroid zone safely.

And so did the other ship, following close behind us.

~~~

Thanks to everybody who joined in the discussion of spaceship bumper stickers and related things, particularly @lillyjen and @voodootortoise!

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#while last week's story was slapstick shenanigans #this one involves real danger #but don't worry; everybody makes it out okay #this just takes place in a region we haven't been to yet #with inspiration taken from The Murderbot Diaries #and also from a couple great ideas from a thread a few weeks back #bumper stickers #and related things #science fiction #my writing #The Token Human #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #and of course there's that one thing I'd like to tag for #but it would give it away #and we can't have that #enjoy!

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stargazedwinchester · 8 months ago

Text

And You Are? | Dean

Summary: You enjoy a night at the bar with your friend, who is certain someone’s trying to flirt with you.

Based on this request here! Thank you! :)

Y/F/N: Your friends name

Y/D/N: Your dogs name

Word count: 1,161

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

It's not unusual for you to go out with your friends once in a while. The occasion this time is because you've holed yourself up in your house for 'far too long' according to Y/F/N, who has basically forced you out of the house for some fresh air.

Leading up to the bar, you could tell it was a dingy, cheap place just from how rowdy the men are, and the sound of glasses smashing and people cheering. What's up with that?

"You wanna sit at the bar?" Your friend says, scanning the whole place for somewhere to sit. "If it's best, yeah, it's quite full," You say. The place was packed full of sweaty boisterous bodies, you make your way over to the bar, finding a single stool to sit on. Your friend stood next to you. The both of you ordered your drinks and eventually someone moved, so your friend sat opposite you.

"Hey," She says, nodding at something behind you. "There's a guy, 6 o'clock, has really keen eyes," She says, and you turn around, scanning the room for said 'guy'. "Honestly, I wouldn't even know who you're talking about. There's that many people in here it's almost impossible. Plus, Y/F/N, I am blind." You chuckle, and she facepalms. She reaches down and pets Y/D/N. "Sorry, Y/N. I forget." A smile creeps on your face as you take another drink.

"No, but seriously, this guy is checking you out. If you don't want him, I'll have him." She laughs, showing him a quick smile before taking a sip. You take one last search around, feeling the contact like there are eyes burning right through the back of your skull. "Oh my God, he's coming over." She panics, darting her eyes from you to the handsome 6 foot something guy making his way over. She picks up her drink and downs the rest of it, waving for another round to be sent over.

"Hey, ladies, can I buy either of you a drink?" A deep voice appears from the heavy sounds of the bar. He looks down at you, showing you a warm, friendly smile. His hair short and dark, wearing a dark green unbuttoned over-shirt and a light blue/grey t-shirt underneath paired with some black jeans. His eyes are dreamy, a lovely shade of shiny green, speckles of sunny hazel compliments his dark exterior. Whether his appearance matches his personality, you're almost eager to find out.

"We're fine, thanks. Y/F/N has just ordered a couple more," You start, pointing to the empty glasses in front of you. He holds a glass half full of what seems to be beer, which wouldn't be to your surprise. "There's no harm in ordering more!" Y/F/N laughs, accepting the round of drinks from the bartender, sliding yours across to you. "Here, Y/N. That ones yours." She says, taking a sip of hers. "Oh, Y/N, right? It's nice to meet you, I'm Dean." He holds his hand out, and you grant him a pleasant smile, shuffling in your seat. "Nice to meet you, Dean."

He awkwardly moves his hand away, placing it back in his pocket. "It's nice to meet you too, Y/F/N. I hope I'm not intruding..." He trails, hoping to hear 'no' as an answer. "No, Dean, don't worry about it. We're only out for a couple of drinks then heading back home. She forced me out of my own house." You chuckle, and Y/F/N rolls her eyes. "She's refusing to leave her bed, so I've had to practically drag her by the ears to get her here."

Dean laughs, bringing his drink to his lips. "To be honest, it's not a great place here. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to get out and go someplace else?" He suggests, and you snort. "There's no way in Hell I'm leaving this place with some guy I've met 5 minutes ago, I'll pass." You say, waving your hand at him. Dean holds his hand to his heart, scrunching his shirt. "Some guy? Most ladies are dying to take me home after 5 minutes!" He jokes, and it doesn't fly too well with you.

"Okay, wow, and now he's assuming." You feel a smile creep up, unable to keep it under wraps. "Hate to say it, but I'm not like other girls," You state, silently laughing to yourself.

"I can tell you are," He says, and you tilt your head. "What?"

"I said I can tell you are." He speaks louder, moving closer to your ear. You get a whiff of his cologne, woodsy, musky and sexy. Your eyes lit up as if something inside you has awoken, you've never smelt anything like it. Now you have to know who this man is and what he's about.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

After a small while of talking, Y/F/N found a different guy she could keep her eyes on and left both you and Dean alone. "To be honest, I'm done. Now Y/F/N has disappeared I feel like I don't have to force these drinks down me," You laugh, "You wanna go sit outside?" You ask Dean, and he nods "Yeah, let's go." He says, he shuffles out of the way to make room for you to get off of the stool. You pull out your cane and take Y/D/N leash, and Dean looks shocked. "Y/N, sorry for not noticing, but you're blind?" He questions, a confused look on his face. "Yeah, you didn't see?"

"Honestly? No, I didn't." He says, and you fold your cane back up. "Well, good, cause that means I can do this," You say, gently placing your hand in his. "Lead the way."

You head outside onto a bench out by the doorway, and you both sit down.

“I cannot believe you kept so quiet about this,” he starts, looking at you with a warm grin. His sudden interest in still wanting to get to know you really makes you wonder if he’s actually worth spending your time with. Dean seems like a really lovely guy, even with all the micro-flirting that’s been happening all night. Not that you’d complain, though, it’s nice to have recognition from such a charming, handsome man.

“I felt like it wasn’t something to mention,” you nod, “plus, I thought Y/D/N hi-vis vest was enough.” You laugh, and Dean nods. “That’s true, I guess I just had my eyes set on someone else.” He rasps, taking the last swig of his drink, before setting the glass on the patio floor. You grew tired, the night getting darker and longer made you crave your own comfort in your own home. Dean isn’t keeping you, yet he gets the hint. The conversation slowly grew quiet, as you both sat and and enjoyed each others company for a while longer.

“You know, I’d thought I’d change and be a gentleman for tonight, but screw it. You wanna come home with me?” He asks, seriousness in his voice.

“Thank God, I thought you’d never ask.”

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader

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mikareo · 11 months ago

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“ ࣭⸰ ★ WHEN SPRING COMES . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀呪術廻戦 ; megumi fushiguro x fem reader

⊹ ⠀⠀ your love for megumi can be compared to a snowflake; delicate and beautiful, stunning and unique. however, spring is coming— and eventually, all snowflakes have to melt. (1.2k)

contains; hanahaki au, rejection, angst, implied death author's note; this is 2 years old pls forgive me,, n hanahaki used to be my favorite trope IM SORRY I POST IT SM ajskl

it’s been over a decade, fifteen years really, of the never-ending winter that you’ve grown so accustomed to. the settled snow has been your comfort zone, a weighted blanket tying you down to his presence since primary school, freezing the ribbon that tied your heart to his for eternity— though only now, you realize that ribbon is a chain, shackling you to a hopeless series of unrequited feelings that could never be returned. you’ve imprisoned yourself to an idea of love that never was. love that you viewed as your personal one-of-a kind snowflake between the two of you; something special and passionate with no barriers or boundaries, which softly flurried around you for your entire lives...

...but snowflakes melt when they touch the ground.

the soft powder is nothing but water now; dirtied water on the blood-ridden pavement, speckled with pink petals of a flower that you used to love. the snowflake is dying. it’s dead. and spring has come.

“tilt your head up,” megumi murmurs with the softest, most lovely voice you’ve ever heard. “you’ve still got some on your chin.”

he’s being generous with his words. you know your skin is stained red, dripping with blood and broken leaves that refuse to be wiped away. luckily for you, he tells you that red is his favorite color— that the scarlet shade compliments your complexion and makes you look beautiful— but you know he’s lying.

the deep clots and black chunks would send anyone into a nauseous fit, he’s too kind to you.

you wish he would be horrible. that he’d hurdle insulting comments, awful remarks, and unforgivable curses— but he’d never.

— and you love him for that.

it’s too bad that he doesn’t feel the same.

he never has.

he never will.

“does that feel alright?” his washcloth is cold and damp. it’s a muddied mahogany after previously being a gorgeous forrest green. “it’s still warm, right?”

you nod, believing that one more lie won’t hurt your already dreadful situation. “i think you’ve got it all,” the reflection before you is one you recognize, a person of the past that you can’t seem to let go of no matter how many hours you spend wishing them away. “thank you, really.”

despite the normal appearance you now display, with rose-tinted cheeks and swollen eyes, there’s a garden growing in the sink. vines slithering their way down the drain as the water stream attempts to rid them from view. torn tulip petals are strewn across the bathroom floor, and in another life perhaps it would have been romantic to see a flower petal pathway leading towards the bedroom— that’s not your life though. you’ve been left with emptiness and a void of feelings with no return.

“i’m always here to hold your hair back, i hope you know that.” he smiles with kindness, a genuine goodness that can only be portrayed by him. he’s the best person you know. there’s no mystery as to why you fell for him all those years ago, and why that love has followed you through adulthood. “it’s almost pretty…y’know, in a morbid way.”

hm, funny. morbidly beautiful.

“yeah,” you reply in a snap. “maybe they can be my funeral flowers.”

you've made him angry.

“don’t even joke about that, what the hell?” megumi always gets upset when you say those type of things. his vision turns red and he’s blinded by his own sadness that he forgets that he’s the cause— he’s the calamity that uprooted your formally blissful life. he’s the one who fell in love with someone new.

winter could’ve lasted forever had he not gone to class that day.

it could raged onwards had he not met her.

you could’ve been hand-in-hand dancing beneath the moonlight on a snowy eve if she hadn’t asked for directions to the library. his kisses could’ve been peppering your face rather than hers if only you’d been more fun, more outgoing, more persuasive, more everything, then maybe he would’ve stayed.

but megumi didn’t stay...

...he left.

he left as the leaves grew on the barren trees and pollen drifted through the breeze. he said his brief goodbyes to your heart while his chased her’s in yearning. he didn’t so much as glance your way as the hanahaki roots planted themselves in your heart— only choosing to show concern after they’d already grown terminal. he disappeared from your point of view before you could even acknowledge his absence— which was and continues to be unfair.

megumi was yours and now he isn’t. it’s as simple as that. as awful and simple as that.

“we both know i’m dying.” you murmur, hands folded together as if they're the only things you have left to hang onto. you wish one of those hands could find their place in his warm palm, but the black marker ink etched onto his skin in the shapes of mini hearts and smiley faces are more than enough to drive you away. “there’s no point in denying it anymore. i can barely breathe.”

he shakes his head, backing away from you despite your obvious need for physical comfort.

you thought he knew you better than that. you thought he’d know exactly how to ease your pain, but he doesn’t. he’s very clearly not your soulmate, but for some reason your heart tells you otherwise.

“you’d be able to if you’d just get the surgery,” he says. “please.”

he's begging for something he could solve.

megumi's eyes look dark under the overhead light. “please don’t make me have to see you in a casket.”

the surgery in which the roots are removed from your heart is a tricky one. a procedure that many endure and survive, where they get to continue living their lives healthy and happy— though, are they truly living if they’re void of the love that once consumed them?

“i wouldn’t be able to live with myself, you know that.” your voice is firm, after having had this conversation many times before, “i’d know a part of me was missing. you’re too important for me to just…erase.”

if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you’d rather remain in your eternal winter for the rest of your soul’s existence. yes, it’s cold and dreary, with little to no sunlight and hope of a new love or progression in your relationship with him— but it’s familiar. you find it comfortable and there’s no fear in the feelings that you’re already so accustomed to living with everyday. the thought of spring is terrifying. the season following your beloved winter that represents rebirth and new blossoming love is one that you’ll never come to know— which is completely by choice. there’s no point in limping yourself towards spring when there’s no one you’d rather love than megumi.

these hanahaki tulips won’t see the sunshine they yearn for when the grass regains its color. they’ll simply wither away with you and the lock that refuses to fall, holding your feelings for him in an eternal slumber that will never be woken.

“i love you.” you say, whilst knowing that that’s the last thing he wants to hear. “i love you so much.”

your confessions of love are a reminder of your little time left, and he hates it.

he wishes it would all stop; but it can’t and it won’t.

perhaps he should’ve given you a chance when the opportunity arose. then you may have been happy. however, he knows that there’s no forcing love.

you’ve been doomed since the moment you’d laid eyes on him.

love isn't your happiness.

“i’ve only ever loved you.”

it's your demise.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

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useless-moss · 8 months ago

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Back with the dragon headcanons.

This episode: The Night Fury

Buckle up, this is a long one.

Color variations! Their whole body is usually a dark color. Shades of black/dark grey, dark blue, dark purple are the most common. However, they also have lighter colored patterns on the underside of their wings. Blurred together scales and marks that resemble the northern lights and/or a galaxy type design. It started as a mutation meant for better camouflage, but eventually turned into a mating thing like with peacocks. A night fury has really pretty patterns/designs on the underside of their wings? They have a better chance of getting a mate.

Patterns. They have darker markings and patterns. Think of a black jaguar or a tabby cat for reference. Also, accompanying the previously mentioned designs on the underside of their wings, white speckles that look like stars and can even extend to their underbelly.

Toothless has melanism, hense his more solidly black design, and is actually considered even more rare because of his coloration alone.

They have the widest eye color variation among dragons. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, even shades that look purple are possible.

They usually live in large packs led by a female alpha/queen. If you find one Night Fury, there's usually at least ten more nearby.

Night Fury's in a pack are able to fight the control of dragons like the Red Death and Bewilderbeast more easily since, well, they already have an alpha they're following. Solo Night Furys are still strong willed and can break out with enough trying, but it's significantly harder.

Night Furys are one of if not the most intelligent dragon species. They're able to adapt to different environments, learn from observation to mimic other animal, dragon, and even human behavior, can recognize human weapons, and are smart enough to strategize hunting plans.

Building onto that last point, they don't hunt anywhere near where they nest. They'll fly miles away to hunt for, usually, fish. At least half of the pack will leave at a time while the other half stays back to guard the hatchling, eggs, and nesting area in general. This behavior was learned and adopted after being hunted to near extinction.

Their favorite nesting places are areas that humans can't easily get to. Large cliffs with rocky/rushing water below and in areas prone to storms. Again, a learned behavior from being hunted.

More nesting info, they use a combination of their plasma blasts and claws to dig/carve out caves into said cliffs, which is where they'll nest. Cliff side in an area you can't get too close to on boat with a bunch of holes in the side? Congrats! You probably just found a Night Fury nesting ground and should turn back quickly.

Night Furys aren't inherently aggressive or hostile at all, really. They're wary of humans for obvious reasons, and will defend themselves and their pack/territory, but otherwise they're pretty laid back. Big cats, essentially. Don't be a threat, give them space, and you get to live. This is partly due to them being smart enough to recognize via body language, tone, and even supplies if someone or something is a threat or not.

You want to tame a Night Fury? No weapons, bring food, and again give space. Let them come to you, because they will eventually. Will begin to realize you're not a threat, then realize you bring snacks, then accept that you're pretty alright and begin allowing more physical contact/affection and eventually be okay riding/flying with you. It's a slow process built entirely on trust and mutual respect. If you start getting pushy with a Night Fury, especially too soon in the process, they'll push you away and you have to start from scratch.

Night Fury's are very, very, very protective and loyal. Arguably one of the best dragons to tame purely off of the fact they'll stick with you until the very end and do everything possible to keep you safe.

Once you've tamed or generally befriended a Night Fury you're considered part of the pack. Dynamic from there depends on the type of Night Fury you're dealing with. An adult/older male or female with a history of hatchlings? They'll likely consider you as one of their own babies. A juvenile/younger male or female? They'll likely see you more as a sibling. A hatchling? Hope you're ready to be a parent cause that's what they'll likely see you as.

Cuddle piles. They'll usually sleep cuddled up with littlermates and parents in a pile of sort for warmth and security. This is a behavior that persists into adulthood, since it's a source of comfort and stability as well as a bonding experience.

You know the smaller nubs on a Night Fury's head? Hatchlings tend to suckle on those for comfort. There's literally no other reason. It's like a baby with a pacifier, essentially.

My personal favorite now, SCRUFF! Hatchlings have looser yet tougher skin on the back of their neck that acts as a scruff, allowing adults to pick them up and carry them around easily. As they age it stretches and thins and, eventually, that pressure point we saw in httyd 2 becomes 'exposed.' At that point a parent or other adult Night Fury will nudge the spot with their snout or claws to activate it. This whole process usually occurs around early juvenile/teen stages, since that's when a night fury will begin actively joining hunting parties and need to fly with more speed and agility.

#httyd #httyd rtte #httyd headcanon #httyd dragons #night fury #night fury headcanon

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mouwrites · 8 months ago

Note

oo that morro one HIT. thank you thank you

if you dont mind, can we get a part 2 with a premise of the day of departed lil short special?

for comfort i mean

Ofc dear!! Sorry this came out sorta long ^^”

Word count: 1.2k

Ninjago - Waiting for Your Morro

Part I here!

When Wu told you that today was all about remembering, there was no doubt that you’d come here. It was somewhere that reminded you of your old love; you spent your early years flying kites with him in this quiet meadow, and in later years he’d impress you with his wind powers by making the long grass flop this way and that.

You slowly tread through the grass, cool and soft in the night air, breathing in familiar scents of grass and wildflowers. You were used to the sky being a vibrant blue, but today it was black and speckled with stars. Still, you could remember everything vividly.

“Y/n, Y/n, are you watching?”

“I’m watching, Morro!”

“Okay, look at—that!”

“Oh wow! Did Wu teach you that?”

“Yup! My training’s going pretty well, eh?”

“Yeah… you’re gonna be a master in no time…”

The innocent dark head of hair flopped to one side quizzically, a sad look coming into those dark eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You won’t forget me when you’re all great and powerful, will you?”

“Y/n, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s you and me, forever and ever! No matter what!”

“I know, but…”

“Shh!” His hands grabbed your face, forcing your gaze up from your feet to his eyes. “When I’m the most powerful ninja, you’re going to be right there beside me. And if you’re not, I’m going to hunt you down and force you to be with me!”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you at that. “Okay then. But I’d never say no to you.”

“And I’d never let you go anyway.”

You picked a flower bud, still green as it had not bloomed yet, and twisted it between your fingers. You let out a shivering breath and tucked it behind your ear. It stung to remember, but you knew that this was what today was all about.

I refuse to forget you, Morro. Even if it hurts to remember.

You managed to dry the steady flow of tears that came from your eyes on your way back to the museum. You sniffed sharply when you realized you were the last one coming back; the other ninjas were already talking among themselves at the top of the steps.

As you hurried up to meet them, you noticed an air of trouble emulating from their serious faces and grim voices.

You were planning to ask what was wrong, but the looks they gave you when they saw you approaching silenced you before that could happen. They were first surprised to see you, then they each adopted a unique impression of awkwardness. They exchanged knowing looks and grimaced, and Kai kept glancing over behind them.

The way they were standing seemed to be shielding someone, and you guessed that whoever this person was, they were the reason that the ninjas were acting so awkward.

Jay was the first to say something. “Uh, we should be on our way, guys…”

He was met with (almost too eager) responses.

“Yup! Lots to do!”

“We’ll explain later, Y/n. See ya!”

“Bye bye now!”

“Have fun, you kids!”

That last response, which had come from Kai, caught you off guard. You turned to watch the ninjas as they scurried past you, quizzically quirking up your brow.

Suddenly it was all obvious. The final clue had come in the form of a voice, a voice you could never forget, the voice that played in your head whenever there was a second of silence.

“Y/n..?”

You whirled around, eyes huge. And there he was.

Your arms were around each other before either of you could even remember moving, and there was the sound of laughing sobs muffled in cloth as you buried your faces in each other.

“I knew—” you hiccuped, squeezing tighter, “I knew I’d see you again.”

“So did I. Nothing can keep us separated,” he mused, pulling away to give you a mischievous look. It was as if you never spent a day apart.

There was a moment of breathless silence. Morro was looking you over, his eyes shining with pure affection. “You’re beautiful.”

You smiled. “You said that before.”

“I’ll say it again. And again. And again, until the end of time. You’re beautiful,” he squeezed your hand.

You looked down at your interlocked fingers, a twinge of sadness tainting your joy.

“I waited for you, you know. Every day. Every night.”

He blinked at you; you weren’t quite sure if it was because he hadn’t expected such devotion, or if he just hadn’t expected the change in mood.

“I tried to come back. I… I wanted to see you, too.”

“Did you?” Your eyes were teary when they met his, and you looked away shamefully when you saw the same pain in his eyes.

“I did. But… there are rules. Rules that not even I can break. And you know how I like to break rules.”

You let out a weak laugh. “…I understand.”

You felt his fingers under your chin, and you were gently guided back to his gaze.

“Y/n, remember what I said? It’s you and me, forever and ever.”

You laughed again, more genuinely this time, but with tears trickling down your cheeks. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything I promised to you. And I live by those promises. Well, maybe not live anymore,” he smirked, but shook his head to dismiss the little jest. “We may be in different realms, but we’re still tied to each other. And one day, that long cord that separates us will grow shorter, and you’ll be at my side again. We just have to be patient.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you gave the slightest of nods.

“I knew you’d understand… you were always the reasonable one.”

You embraced again, limbs tight around each other. You breathed unsteadily into his shoulder for a long time, trying to collect yourself before facing him again, and at the same time basking in his touch.

When you came apart again you held on to each other’s forearms, your stomachs still pressed together with your faces fervently close.

“You’ve waited for me,” Morro whispered, his dark eyes dripping with wist and admiration, “but this is the last time I can come to you.”

You closed your eyes, your head dropping. Your forehead hit his, and he continued:

“Now it’s my turn to wait for you. And don’t you rush to get to me,” he chided, pressing his forehead firmly into yours in a show of affection. “Just try to live happily, okay?”

“Okay.” The word came out in a quivering rasp that was really not much more than a whisper.

You opened your eyes, finding a profound smile on Morro’s lips that somehow caught on your own face.

You knew it was time to say goodbye, but despite this your tears chose to stop flowing at this moment.

“Hey,” Morro said, clearly as an afterthought that would be the last thing he said to you in a long time, “guess what?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

You found yourself laughing, giving his shoulder a hardy punch as the attitude of old friends once more overtook your demeanor. “You’re an idiot.”

But just as he went to leave, you had to shout: “Hey!”

You knew that there would be no more tears; his promises put a new hope in your heart that far overpowered any sorrow you had. You knew you’d be together again someday, but now you were sure of it. And so you spoke with the voice of someone saying goodbye to a lover they’d see later that same day when you said:

“I love you too.”

Thanks so much for this request! And thanks for reading, take care sweet duckies!! <33

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #morro #morro ninjago #morro x reader #morro wu #ninjago fanfiction

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caapsiizzereads · 1 year ago

Note

Would you write a soft Jamie fic where he and his girlfriend have a paint night to decompress after a stressful week and they get into a paint fight?

Whenever i think of a paint fight, i always think about that one scene from skam france… iykyk

“That’s… colorful,” you regard Jamie’s work of art with a glass of wine in your hand.

Surprisingly, it was Jamie’s idea to have a “paint night”, although it was heavily inspired by the expressionism exhibition you dragged him to last weekend. You’re more of an art admirer than a creator.

It’s a nice warm evening, which Jamie declared to be perfect for a painting session in your backyard. You had bought a bunch of paints and a canvas in advance earlier this week, and instead of an easel, you set up a chair propped on a box.

Jamie appeared to be very enthusiastic and clearly had something in mind, so you gladly settled in the garden chair with some wine and let him go at it. Like you said, an admirer.

When he was done, he beckoned you to join him in front of the canvas. “It’s like a pitch, see? Green is grass, obviously, and red and blue is for Richmond, and that tiny black dot is for Roy.”

“Alright, Jackson Pollock, I see,” you chuckle.

“You wanna add something?” he offers you a brush.

“Want me to draw you like one of my French girls?”

“Always want to get me naked…”

“I was thinking something more theme related, but if you’re offering…” you smile suggestively at him. “Okay, let’s see.” You put down the glass and pick up the brush.

You add some speckles of white to the painting. “It’s like the movement of the ball, you know. Also can be for the marking on the grass and the white in your kits.”

“I like this,” he smiles fondly at you, and then there’s a weird glint in his eyes.

“What?”

“I think you have paint on your face. Here, let me…”

He swipes his thumb against your cheek, leaving behind a greasy trail of paint while looking at you with a shit-eating grin.

If looks could kill, Jamie would be dead right now. You glare at him, and then without breaking eye contact, you stick your hand into the paint and bring your open palm right on Jamie’s face, smearing it all around.

You can see him dipping his hand in the paint behind him, and then he’s bringing his hand up to your face, but you catch his wrist before it can reach its target. Not ready to give up just yet, he goes for a kiss instead, pressing his paint-covered face against yours.

You’re still holding Jamie’s paint soaked hand in yours, and now it’s being squished between you two, staining both your t-shirts with blue paint.

You let go of his hand, and he puts it on your arm, while yours goes up to his jaw and then down his neck, leaving a trail of paint all the way down to the collar of his t-shirt. You both laugh into your kiss.

The paint starts to slowly dry out on your skin, and the uncomfortable feeling brings Jamie back to reality. “How hard is this to get out?”

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

“Race you to the shower,” he grins at you.

“Who wants to get who naked now?”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt imagine

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calico-heart · 2 months ago

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2. Horizon

There was no horizon in the Black Shroud - only layers and layers of old roots and tall branches. It seemed just as deep, or deeper, even, than it could possibly be wide, and as a child Nahte had thought falling from one of the high limbs of the grandmother trees could send you so far down into the dark that you'd land in the Hell of Earth itself.

Now that he had reached the ripe old age of 15, he doubted it to be quite so severe… but wasn't eager to test the assumption.

Ears flicking, he crouched on a mossy bough, then leapt with all his muster. Claws caught the spindly branch above as his tail swung out to counterbalance, and in a smooth motion Nahte scaled another level higher.

Day began to gradient the leaves as he climbed the canopy, dark blues melting into grey greens, and then warmer yellows. The scent in the air changed. Wind ruffled the thinning limbs, and he couldn't hold back a smile at the feel of it, soft across his face.

Nearby, his pair of loyal arbor buzzards chittered mixed warbles of excitement and fear. These were not their hunting grounds. But Nahte was undeterred. As he reached ever-closer the crest of the tree, others around it tapered off. Night-sensitive eyes narrowed to slits when he found himself in open air at last.

Warmth bathed dark skin. He bristled, unused to the sheer presence of it — not mottled speckles or brief narrow beams, but all over, unending, bathing him in light. Keepers of the Moon weren't meant for such things. But Azeyma, too, held some claim on his blood, and it was as if she called to him, now.

Come out, come and see!

"Wow." He breathed. Over the rolling waves of mighty treetops, Nahte could gaze for miles until the distant northwesterly mountains broke the horizon line. So far off, it was difficult to understand their shape. But passing caravans described them as grey slopes of treeless stone and eternal snow, where no Elementals slept. Cold, even below the goddess's sun. Could it be true?

Far south, grass stood tenthousandfold in place of every tree, and further still, he'd been told there was a desert. A place of stones-like-soil, baked red by a rainless sky. Worms big as morbols swam in the glittering dunes. Azeyma's Seekers hunted such beasts beneath her blazing eye, and grew fat on the bounty.

Somewhere East, an ocean lay beyond his view. Water you couldn't see the end of, slick with salt and still teeming with life of all sizes. With no roots to protect you, wind there might toss waves five-hundred fulms into the air, and swallow ships whole.

And beyond those? Places he'd never seen. People he'd never met. Endless wonders far beyond the scope of the Shroud that had hidden him his whole life. His mother and sisters had no need of such things. They lived content in the eye of the Moon and out of the eye of all others.

But it called to him. Wanderlust was in his blood, and he asked questions more and more often now that those dear to him could not answer. Even the strangers on the road, wild as their stories, could not sate the curiosity burning inside.

Someday, he'd see it all.

(FFxivWrite 2024 - Prompt 2)

#ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #nate #nate ffxiv #my fic #fic

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miasmaghoul · 1 year ago

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Any HCs about ghoul Halloween costumes??

OH YES HERE THEY ARE

Swiss is the one who insists on the costumes. Used to be that the abbey would have their usual Hallow's Eve bash, and that was that. Once Swiss discovered the concept of costumes on tour, though, and the idea absolutely tickled him. So now, the ghouls have their own gathering.

Swiss goes all out every year. This time, he's a picture perfect representation of Dr. Frank-n-furter. The hair, the heels, the lingerie - all of it. Even shaved his mustache so he could get the makeup just right; Dew and Aurora are FURIOUS. Swiss does a full on performance of Sweet Transvestite that brings down the house (aka Mountain claps and Rain records it to make gifs for the ghroupchat.)

Speaking of Rain, he usually doesn't put a whole lot of effort into his costumes. He doesn't want to detract from his natural beauty. This year he's been especially lazy, choosing simply to drop enough of his glamour for his skin to be the most stunning shade of shimmering blue. Speckled with scales, rippling fins along his limbs and back, strong tail swishing languidly behind him. Black eyes and pearly fangs. Perfectly unearthly.

But where Rain is lazy, Aeon puts in Maximum Effort. He got Cumulus and Mountsan's help in hand stitching a period-accurate Dracula costume. Frilly sleeves, tight pants, a vest that threatens to crush the life out of him. The boots he wears nearly reach his knees, borrowed from Cirrus' closet. The fangs are his own, specifically unglamoured so only his canines appear elongated. He floats around the party with a cloak billowing behind him for extra drama, and Dew tells him he looks like a gayer Lestat.

Dew, meanwhile, isn't usually one for costumes. Prefers wearing his civvies and taking it easy, saying he's dressed as a metalhead if anyone asks. This year, though, Swiss had dared him into something a bit more...challenging. Never one to back down, Dew accepted before Swiss had even brought out the outfit, and as he stands behind the snack table he has Regrets. He's in a blood red bodycon dress, one that doesn't even reach the middle of his thighs. A strapless number that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. The lingerie beneath it had been it's own struggle; a lacy black strapless bra stuffed with socks, black satin panties covering his tucked-back cock, meticulously torn fishnets. He's trying not to move too much, the four-inch heels he's been shoved into more of a hazard than anything else. Dew wishes he wasn't so jealous of how easily Swiss walks in his own pair. His hair and makeup are done too, golden locks pulled into an intricate updo and lips red as his dress. It exposes the long line of his neck, and it's work to keep Aeon's fangs away from his throat.

The real work for Dew, though, comes when Aether strolls in from an impromptu shift in the infirmary. Still dressed in his smart slacks, pale purple button down and slightly too tight white coat. A stethoscope looped around his neck and a pair of silver-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Dew really has to fight not to pop the world's most obvious boner while he talks about something with Mountain that he's long since lost track of.

Mountain, for the record, has been spending the last ten minutes or so staring at Rain, so he's not all that bothered. His own costume is similar to Rain's, but as opposed to "I'm a water ghoul" Mountain tells everyone he's Poison Ivy. Magickal plants cover him from tits to toes, creeping vines hugging him like a second skin. There are flowers dispersed throughout, bursts of color in the vibrant green, and a braided crown of something definitely poisonous settled between his antlers. Aurora keeps sneaking blossoms for herself, and she knows Mountain won't notice.

She couldn't NOT go as Princess Aurora. It was too perfect to pass up! Complete with flowing blonde hair, a perfectly fitted pink gown that color shifts to blue in the right light, and a little golden crown. She floats around the room on weightless feet, helped along by just enough air magick to make her look angelic and ethereal. The flowers she squirrels away from Mountain's bounty get handed out to her dance partners - Cirrus has the most so far.

Cirrus, who has gone low-effort but in an effective way. She's in her old Era IV uniform, black fabric settling over her curves like it belongs there. Severe in a way that demands attention. She's wearing a mask, but not the one that usually comes with this outfit. No shiny silver or stylized curls. This mask is simple, white, curved and molded over her right eye, cheek and part of her forehead. She spends the early part of the evening at the common room piano, playing the overture from Phantom of the Opera so the others will stop asking what she is.

Sunshine is a clown, but in like a clown-core way. Baggy clothes in mismatched colors and patterns, white face paint with exaggerated red lips and blue triangles around her eyes. She has a whole host of silly little party tricks up her sleeve too; the look of disdain she gets from Rain when she soaks him with the flower on her lapel is absolutely worth whatever he'll to do her later.

Cumulus and Ifrit end up committing a bit of a costume faux pas - they both arrive dressed as Elvira. Skintight black gown with plunging neckline? Check. Massive black wig? Check. Dagger-like nails? Check. They share a good natured laugh before they find themselves being ogled into oblivion by Aeon, who can't decide whose tits he'd rather fuck.

Copia is a sheet ghost.

#miasma's work #the band ghost headcanons #ive been thinking about this for WEEKS YOU GUYS #nameless ghouls #theyre all here im not tagging everybody

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libraryofmoths · 1 year ago

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Moth of the Week

Peppered Moth

Biston betularia

The peppered moth is a part of the family geometridae. It was first described in 1758 by Charles Linnaeus. This moth gains its name from its speckled coloration, which has been studied as an example of natural selection and population evolution.

Description This species has a short body with narrow forewings. The body and wings are the same white base peppered with black dots and irregular black lines. This speckled pattern may vary with some moths having very few spots and others having so many that they look as if they are black with white spots as opposed to white with black. In rare cases, the black on the wings and body is replaced with gray or brown and in even rarer cases the spots are a combination of brown and black/gray. These spots help the moth camouflage against lichen on trees.

The evolution of this moth had been studied extensively during the last two hundred years, which created the term “industrial melanism.” During the Industrial Revolution, air pollution killed off lichen and covered trees in soot. This caused moths with a black spots on white base (typica) coloration to lose their camouflage and die off due to predators. This caused a spike in population for moths with a darker coloration (carbonaria) because they had the camouflage advantage. Once environmental conditions improved, the lighter colored moths once again became the dominant coloration.

The male’s antennae are bipectinate, meaning it has two rows of rami going down either side of a singular flagellum.

Wingspan Range: 45 - 62 mm (≈1.77 - 2.44 in)

Diet and Habitat The caterpillar of this moth eats many trees, shrubs, and small plants such as Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa), Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna), Downy (Betula pubescens) and Silver Birch (Betula pendula), limes, sallows, poplars, oaks, Sweet Chestnut (Castanae sativa), Beech (Fagus sylvatica), Bramble (Rubus fruiticosus), Broom (Cytisus scoparius), Black Currant (Ribes nigrum) and Hop (Humulus lupulus).

They have a wide range, being found in China (Heilongjiang, Jilin, Inner Mongolia, Beijing, Hebei, Shanxi, Shandong, Henan, Shaanxi, Ningxia, Gansu, Qinghai, Xinjiang, Fujian, Sichuan, Yunnan, Tibet), Russia, Mongolia, Japan, North Korea, South Korea, Nepal, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Armenia, Europe and North America. They prefer habitats of woodland, scrub, hedgerows, parks and gardens.

Mating Depending on its location, this moth can have one or two generations per year. In Great Britain and Ireland, the peppered moth has one generation per year, whilst in south-eastern North America it has two generations per year. They emerge from the pupea in late May to August.

The females attract males with pheromones, which are carried by the wind. Males follow the concentration gradient to find the female. The male guards the female from other males until she lays the eggs. The female lays about 2,000 pale-green ovoid eggs about 1 mm in length into crevices in bark with her ovipositor.

Predators This species is a night-flying moth, making the vulnerable to bats. The males in particular fly every night to search for a female while females fly only the first night.

To protect themselves from birds during the day, this species rests on lichen covered trees to camouflage themselves.

The day time resting positions of this moth have been recorded and studied. This study shows that the peppered moth prefers resting spots that are covered such as below where the trunk and a branch meet, the underside of branches, and leafy twigs.

Additionally, the study found peppered moths with a lighter coloration (typica) blend in better against crustose lichens rather than foliose lichens because birds can see ultraviolet light. The peppered moth reflects UV light while crustose lichens don’t, making them easier to pick out.

Fun Fact The caterpillars of the peppered moth resemble things in both color and size. An experiment published in 2019 done on the caterpillars of the peppered moth showed that the larva (even when blindfolded) could sense the color of the tree they live on and change their body color to match and/or would move to a different twig that was closest in color to their own body.

(Source: Wikipedia, Butterfly Conservation, Max Planck Institute)

#Biston betularia #libraryofmoths #animals #bugs #facts #insects #moth #lepidoptera #mothoftheweek #Geometridae #peppered moth

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mostlycompetentwriter · 1 year ago

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Star Lost

F/M Pairing: Fem! Reader x Changbin (SKZ)

Genre: Science Fiction; Star Wars AU

Word Count: 13K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Alcohol Consumption, and Language; Changbin as a Brooding Mandalorian

Summary: They found you, a speck among millions of stars, and they gave you a home in their ranks. But how will your ragtag family of bounty hunters fare against a former storm trooper who offers you a compelling reward in exchange for your services?

A/N: if you see any mistakes, no you don’t...

Tag List: @luminouskalopsia @straykissss @charreddonuts @pandinha-puff @mrs-grim-reaper @elkel @lamerchesan @idek-at-this-point-lol @poutypoutybin @lavenderbang @adaamazing

“Do you have the target in sight?”

The question, heavily modulated, hummed through the dusty speakers along with a fresh wave of static.

“I see him,” you replied, tapping your fingers against the screen in the hopes of deterring those annoying purple and black bars from moving like electrified waves across your line of vision.

If you did your job well, then it would be easy for the rest of your group to catch your next bounty. But that meant keeping a close watch on his movements, which was rather hard to do with outdated equipment that had seen better days. Still, your last-ditch efforts to clear the screen seemed to work, and you could see the target speaking to one of the competitors who was adjusting his helmet next to his speed cruiser.

“Chan?” you called into your headset. “Are you set at the starting line?”

“I am,” your leader returned, and your eyes were immediately drawn to a flash of blonde hair walking across the sand, trailed by a familiar Twi’lek and Togruta hot on his heels.

“Get ready,” you said, watching the three imposing figures attract a fair amount of attention from the surrounding competition. Not that you blamed them. Elegant, tall, and graceful, Hyunjin’s stunning countenance had once been attached to an incredible price tag when he had been imprisoned under the infamous Jabba the Hutt on the desert planet Tatooine.

His species, the Twi’lek, were coveted because of their colorful features, beautiful head tails, and gorgeous facial pigments. Yet, beneath Hyunjin’s speckled green skin was a powerful warrior who had spent years mastering the martial arts in order to secure his freedom.

Next to him walked Minho, a Togruta who fled his home planet Ryloth to seek a better life. Unlike Hyunjin’s two prehensile head-tails that grew from the crown of his skull, Minho had three of them, spreading over his shoulders and another emerging from the rear base of his skull. His bright orange skin almost made him blend against the backdrop of the sand, but his white and blue-tinted head-tails disrupted the camouflage and cast a unique halo around the crown of his head.

“We’re starting,” Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you took a deep breath as he mounted his cruiser, switching on the ignition and looking nothing short of fearless with his blonde hair swept back by a headband and his blue eyes sharp and calculating.

Minho and Hyunjin exchanged a few words with Chan before they walked over to stand at the side of the arena, glaring at anyone who ventured too close. “If looks could kill,” you quipped, earning yourself a tight-lipped smile from Hyunjin.

“Racers, take your marks!” the drone flying overhead announced, and the arena was filled with the reverberating sound of various engines being revved as riders prepared to race for the grand prize: a mountain of gold that you had seen with your own eyes, disbelief rendering you speechless. But it wasn’t the money that you and your partners were after...your crew sought something far more valuable, and it meant that weeks of careful planning were riding on this one moment.

This is the part where you held your breath, muscles tensed as you watched the traffic light change from red to yellow and then, finally, green. Cuing the start of the race, and a huge, dusting of sand reared up in the background, spreading across the arena as the cruisers took off, speeding into the distance where they would attempt to conquer the course as quick as possible without wrecking or, worst case scenario, dying.

You knew during the planning stage that Chan’s part in this was nothing short of dangerous, but that didn’t mean you accepted it without stressing over every possible piece of the puzzle that could go wrong. Even as you watched Chan’s heat signature on the screen, tracking him across the vast expanse of sand and open dunes that populated the small dessert planet you had landed on for this mission, your mind was whirring. All you could do was keep an eye on things as the real trouble happened at the end, especially if Chan managed to win the race.

In actuality, a first-place win wasn’t necessary; the most he really had to do was finish in the top 3, and Chan was notorious for being an excellent racer. It had been a no-brainer to choose him for this part, even if the risks meant that something could easily happen to deter your entire mission, leaving you back at square one.

But it was your best plan, and that meant waiting. Long, agonizing minutes of stationary monitoring. Chewing on the ends of your fingernails as you watched Chan pass the second-place cruiser, building a lead that still didn’t offer you reprieve. What if an Ackley spotted him from a distance and decided to make him its next meal? What if his cruiser malfunctioned...although, that was highly unlikely considering the man who built it from scratch.

And just the thought of him made you shiver unexpectedly despite the heat penetrating your ship. “Focus,” you whispered as thoughts of him could certainly derail your focus if you weren’t careful.

“They’re coming in for the finish!”

Your eyes were burning from forcing yourself not to blink, laser-focused on the screen in front of you as the racers rounded the final stretch, and you could feel the tension ready to snap at a moments notice.

Riding at the front of the pack was Chan, flanked on either side by second and third place. It was tight. Too tight.

And you winced at the moment of impact, when all three cruisers collided over the finish line.

Every ounce of oxygen left your lungs, body seizing in a catatonic state when Chan lurched forward off his cruiser, flying through the air to land with an audible thud against the unforgiving track. Nothing but an unmoving heap amidst wreckage of metal parts and loose pieces.

“No!” you whispered, fingers trembling against your headset as Hyunjin and Minho ran across the arena, falling next to Chan with clear urgency in their movements.

Your heart thundered in your chest at the sight, chills running down your spine. What would your crew accomplish without your leader? Could any of you live with the guilt and regret if he didn’t make it back on the ship?

Yet, just as those intrusive thoughts entered your head, you noticed one of Chan’s hands gripping tight to Minho’s forearm. It was the first sign of life, and you let out an incomprehensible noise when Hyunjin and Minho managed to help muscle Chan into a sitting position, cleaning the dust and debris from his racing suit.

“He’s okay.” You breathed a sigh of relief as Chan stood from the wreckage, brushing aside Hyunjin and Minho.

He had done it.

Chan had won the race.

Not without a few bumps and bruises, and maybe something worse as you noticed his legs wobbling beneath him. He started for the bleachers lining the sides of the track, gritting his teeth against obvious pain, when the crackling of reverb from the overhead speakers disrupted the chaotic aftermath.

“To the victor goes the spoils,” a booming voice rang from across the track, attracting every pair of eyes in the arena to the tall, lanky figure emerging from the shaded tunnel. Even from afar you could recognize him as your target, dressed in wealth and cloaked in a gold cape that swept the ground and churned up a faint cloud of dust.

“He’s coming,” you spoke in the headset to warn Hyunjin and Minho, who held just that extra bit tighter to Chan, helping him stand prouder in spite of his obvious pain.

“Well, we certainly weren’t expecting this,” your target spoke, hands moving in the air. “An outsider from another planet. Winning against all odds.”

“Impressed?” Minho dared to venture, ignoring Hyunjin’s sharp eye.

“Indeed,” your target agreed. “But where are my manners? My name is Raphael. I’m the owner of this track.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Chan forced out between clenched teeth. “I’m Chan and these are my crew members, Hyunjin and Minho.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Raphael smiled, something grand and well-practiced. “Are there more of you?”

“A few of us,” Chan replied vaguely in turn.

Raphael nodded, glancing between your three crew mates with obvious interest. “You’ll join me, of course?” he asked with a smile. “We must celebrate our new champion. Bring all of your friends!”

Bingo. It was the opening your team had been hoping for, and Chan ducked his head in agreement, following behind Raphael as he turned around to lead the way. “Meet Jeongin outside the stadium,” Chan murmured into the mic, speaking directly to you. “Tell the guards that you’re with us.”

You perked up in interest, surprised that Chan wanted you and Jeongin to join him. Usually, you and your team’s medic remained behind, tucked away on the ship while the others did the heavy lifting.

Unless Chan was desperate for trusted medical assistance. Or, he was keeping information from you. Either way, something bad was churning in the settling dust, the remnants of the race disappearing in the wind.

You tossed aside your headset, moving through the ship to find Jeongin in his small laboratory. He was hunched over his desk, eyes squinting from behind eyeglasses that had long ago went out of a current prescription. “Jeongin,” you said, and he offered a muted hum of acknowledgment. “Chan wants us to meet him.”

Jeongin frowned at that, but agreed nonetheless, tossing on his lab coat as you led the way off the ship, ensuring that the cloaking shield was on before you started in the direction of the dusky, dilapidated buildings that populated the infamous desert city. “What does he want with us?” Jeongin huffed, struggling to keep pace with your longer strides.

If you didn’t know any better, you might think Jeongin was allergic to fresh air, preferring the indoors and the comforts of his lab equipment and potions. “I don’t know,” you replied, and the two of you fell into terse silence as you followed the tracking beacon that Chan had attached to his suit before leaving the ship, guiding your way through the streets lined with merchants and patrons alike, hustling and moving, as you fought your way through the crowds.

Up ahead in the distance, you identified a taller building, standing out from the rest. Far more elegant, a picture of wealth, made entirely of the nicest stone masonry and supported on four tall columns. The roof was slanted in the shape of a cylinder, and the adjoining towers seemed to vanish into the clouds above.

“They’re inside?” Jeongin asked.

You nodded, braving the steps leading to the large, mahogany-colored doors where two Gamorreans stood guard, holding double-axes between their clawed hands. “Halt!” one of them called, taking a step forward.

“We’re with Bang Chan,” you said, bowing his head. “He asked us to meet him here.”

The Gamorrean grunted, turning to his friend who merely stood aside, opening the doors to reveal a long, narrow hallway, marble floors shimmering with the reflection of the flames held on wall scones. “Thanks,” you muttered, pulling Jeongin behind you with a hand on his shoulder.

Once inside, you weren’t surprised to see a tall, formally dressed man immediately come to greet you, bowing low at the waist and requesting that you follow him to the main room. “Of course,” you agreed, and there a skip in the butler’s step that had you rolling your eyes, taking in the gruesome war scenes hanging from the walls in graphic detail.

As if you needed confirmation of Raphael’s preoccupation with violence. “Right this way,” the butler directed you down another corridor, walking you to the end to open another set of doors, and your stomach settled a little at the sight of Chan, Minho, and Hyunjin.

“Ah!” Raphael clapped his hands together in delight. “You weren’t lying.”

You frowned at that, but chose not to comment, and you and Jeongin joined Chan, taking two flutes of champagne from one of the waiters making rounds through the room. “This is Y/N,” Chan said. “And Jeongin.”

“Excellent,” Raphael said. “And the girl...”

“Untouched,” Chan agreed, which you knew was a blatant lie, so why was Chan saying such things?

“Then you can stand with me,” Raphael said, and you forced yourself to move, casting Chan a confused look which was merely met with a nod.

You forced down your disgust, letting Raphael tuck your arm into his as he continued chatting away about the room’s décor. What was Chan’s goal here? To make Raphael think you were a virgin? What good would that do?

Maybe something had happened to force a change of plans. But you didn’t like it one bit, being in the dark and holding your tongue as Raphael continued to drink glass after glass of champagne. Perhaps Chan’s plan was to get him drunk enough to pass out.

“Now, what about your other guest-”

The doors opened again to interrupt Raphael, and you could feel the room’s temperature drop. Your stomach was flipping in somersaults, twisting and churning, as your Mandalorian walked closer, flanked by Han and Seungmin, the final members of your ragtag crew of hunters. “What do we have here?” Raphael laughed, seemingly delighted. “Can it really be a Mandalorian?”

“Does it surprise you?�� Chan asked, tone cool and collected.

“In beskar?” Raphael hummed. “I can’t say I’m not intrigued.”

You shivered at the blatant interest in Raphael’s gaze. “Does it have a name?”

“He does,” Changbin finally spoke, voice modulated through his helmet. “But not for your ears.”

“Ah, yes, the code,” Raphael smirked, tone dripping with disrespect. You bristled at the insult, knowing firsthand just how important names were considered in Mandalorian culture. Their secrecy equated to their survival. Even within your team, Changbin’s name remained a mystery.

Well, except to you, of course, since he had willingly whispered it to you one night, breath hot against the skin of your thighs from where he had laid between them.

You blushed at the memory, shaking your head clear of any thoughts of your Mandalorian and the lust his presence spiked in your blood.

“This day just keeps getting better,” Raphael said, jostling you a bit with his over-eager motions.

It was then that you could feel Changbin’s gaze on you, even through his reflective visor. Did he know about this change in plan? Or, was he just as confused?

“How much then?” Raphael asked and Chan cocked one brow.

“How much?”

“For your Mandalorian!” Raphael said. “He’d make a fine warrior!”

“Not for sale,” came Changbin’s dead-panned response.

“Well, what about the lady?” you grimaced at his breath on your face, seeing Han clasp a tight hand on Changbin’s shoulder before he could react.

“100,” Chan replied, and you forced down your urge to flinch. “But it must be done on my ship. I don’t allow her out of my sight.”

“So, you’ll be watching?” Raphael quipped.

You rolled your eyes, stopping on Chan’s form. Was this really his plan? To pretend to sell you out to get Raphael on the ship?

“How can I trust you?” Raphael asked, and you noticed one of his guards entering the room.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Chan asked, and that’s when all civility ended, watching the guard lift his blaster from the corner of his eye.

He was down before you could blink, Minho aiming his blaster just right, and that’s when you knew to hide, breaking Raphael’s hold to dive under one of the refreshment tables. Jeongin fleeing next to you.

Maybe Chan had anticipated this as a last resort. If you didn’t work, coming on to Raphael, then there would be a fight. Then, they would need Jeongin if anyone was injured.

Your hands closed over your ears to drown out the sounds of blasters and screams, whispering a prayer under your breath that none of your crew would feel the stinging edge of a blaster’s rays. You hated this. The violence inflicted against the people you cherished.

But in the blink of an eye, it was over, and silence reigned. Then, you felt a familiar gloved hand wrap around your arm, and you forced your eyes open, relief washing over you at the sight of Changbin.

“We’re fine,” he said, the only two words you needed to hear for your shoulders to drop and your heart to return to an even pace.

You let Changbin help you out from under the table, swallowing hard at the carnage around you. Thankfully, you were quick to tally the ones that mattered: Chan, with a smear of blood under his eye, Minho, Hyunjin, looking put-off as always, Seungmin, and Han.

“Let me see,” you heard Jeongin speak, eyes following him as he moved in closer to examine Chan’s wound.

You felt no remorse studying Raphael’s crumpled body on the floor, leaving nothing but a sea of dead bodies surrounding you. But a tiny shiver did fall down your spine when you felt Changbin’s hand caress your own from behind - a barely-there brushing of appendages. Yet, you had never felt so lightheaded. It was his silent way of comforting you.

“Sorry,” Chan grumbled into the silence, holstering his blaster with a sigh. “He wasn’t coming in hot.” You grimaced as Jeongin applied a salve to Chan’s eye, spreading some of the blood.

“No,” Minho agreed in that assessing way he had about him, finishing a sweep of the room with calculating eyes. “Not that it matters.”

“Let’s get out of here before the rest of his guards come,” Changbin said, and you jumped a little at the sound of his voice, so close behind you, that it almost felt like a gentle hug.

The others murmured their assent, and Chan was the first to start for the big, oval-shaped window at the back of the room, using a chair to smash through the glass. It rained down on the floor, joining the bodies and blood, reflecting colorful light at different angles. “We’ll head back to Tatooine, hand over the rest of the bounties.”

There were no objections, and you let Changbin coddle you, even if you often insisted on trying to maintain a strong image in public. “You did good, kitten,” he mumbled to you. “Even if I didn’t like that slimy bastard’s hands all over you.”

You preened at the his obvious jealousy, holding your tongue to prevent yourself from saying anything that might tease him too much. Instead, you focused on following the others, keeping to the shadows of the clay-lined buildings until your ship came into focus in the foreground, growing larger and larger as you approached.

“Everyone on board,” Chan said, brushing aside Jeongin’s worried hands. “It’s fine.”

“It could get infected!”

“Just check on the others,” Chan insisted, nodding at Minho as the two of them walked onboard and immediately started up the ladder to the cockpit above, flipping switches and turning dials to bring the ship to life.

You watched Jeongin deflate, but he did move about the room, making sure everyone else was fine. “Y/N?”

“I’m okay,” you assured him, turning your head to the side to track Changbin’s movements with your gaze as he disappeared below deck. It was obvious to you where he was going, as you remembered that Han, Seungmin, and Changbin had been tasked with bringing back the remains of the cruiser before joining everyone else in Raphael’s hideout.

“You might have to finish with Chan when he falls asleep,” you whispered, pleased at Jeongin’s smile.

Satisfied that the others were safe, and Jeongin in better spirits, you took a familiar path to your room, deciding to wash up before searching for Changbin later, deciding he needed an appropriate reward for always looking out for you.

It had only been a few hours since you made the jump to hyper speed, and you observed the flashing stars from your window for a while before deciding to find Changbin. Your first instinct was to check the lower deck, as you knew Changbin’s mind was a machine that often worked itself up in battle only to take far too long to return to normal again.

Of course, you weren’t the slightest bit surprised, when all was said and done, to find him tending to the remnants of Chan’s cruiser on the floor beneath the main deck. In the room where you kept weapons and other machines. In fact, you found yourself smiling at his predictability despite his claims otherwise.

“What are you doing?” you asked to break the silence, coming into the room before closing the door behind you.

Immediately, a familiar black visor was searing your gaze. “The better question is...why are you awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you lied, tip-toeing closer to where he stood, still clad in his beskar armor, arms folded over his chest.

“Really?” the modulated voice purred, and you were delighted by the sound. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You shivered at the prospect. “Maybe...”

He grunted, dropping his helmet back down to look at the sad remains of the cruiser. “Chan promised he would be careful.”

You snorted at the comment. “When is he ever?”

He didn’t respond right away, walking along the melted edges of the cruiser as if looking for potential. Even though you only saw a pile of junk, you knew that he was a master when it came to engineering.

An intellect who also happened to be a highly skilled warrior, trained in battle under the guidance of an ancient civilization. But more than that, he was your Mandalorian, and you found him irresistible.

From under the fluorescent lights of the workshop, you admired his powerful presence. Even clad in beskar, from his shiny gray helmet to his black chest plate, Changbin was a sight to behold. You shivered when your eyes landed on his fingers flexed inside his gloves, knowing firsthand just how they felt curled inside of you.

For a moment, silence persisted between you both, and you thought that you might just watch Changbin work on the cruiser. But then he started for the big, worn leather chair tucked away at the workbench in the furthest corner of the room, spreading his legs apart. “Come here,” he husked, crooking a finger in your direction.

You swallowed hard, feeling yourself grow wet at the mere sound of his commanding tone. You were helpless to obey, forcing your legs to work as you managed the short walk to stand in between Changbin’s legs wrapped loose in leather pants. His head fell to the side, looking at you from that annoying visor that kept his gaze from locking on your own. You could only hope that he didn’t notice the way you were trembling like a delicate leaf in a windstorm.

“Kitten,” Changbin said, and you nearly gasped at the seductive sound of his nickname for you. “Turn off the lights.”

You nodded so hard you thought you might get whiplash, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste to flip the light switch, bathing the workshop in a dark blanket of black.

A deep exhale filtered through your lips, heart thundering against your chest, as you used your hands to help guide your way back over to Changbin. Once you stood in front of him again, trapped between the reassuring weight of his legs, you heard the familiar hiss of air that released whenever he removed his helmet.

According to Mandalorian tradition, a Mandalorian could not reveal their identities to anyone. They wore their protective beskar, including the helmet, to hide themselves from the world.

Not once, in the years that you had known Changbin, had he ever revealed himself to you. Even in intimate moments like this, you could only touch him when there was darkness to keep himself hidden.

“Kitten,” Changbin growled, and you realized you had been tuning him out. “Sit.”

Like a well-trained animal, you straddled his thighs, perching yourself on his lap as his hands flew to grip your waist.

“Pretty thing,” Changbin murmured in a tone much softer than you had anticipated. One that slowed your heart rather than speeding it up.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, delighted when he was quick to acquiesce, clearly in no mood for teasing. Instead of his usual, teasing pecks, these kisses were deep and sensual, capable of warming you all the way down to the tips of your toes.

You sighed into the kiss, feeling that his breath was hot against your lips, and you couldn’t get enough of his taste. Of the rough sensation of the five o’clock shadow that dusted his face and chin. Fingers moving against the texture like it was raised braille that you could read and learn. Memorize to recall later when you might touch yourself in bed to thoughts of him.

“Eager,” Changbin grunted when you took his lower lip between your teeth to give it a nip. “Asking for trouble.”

Your hands moved to his shoulders, fingers wrapping in the curls that grew from around his ears. “Can you blame me?” you grinned, letting out a little whine when his hips jerked up from under your own, grinding himself perfectly against the tight seam of your shorts.

“What do you want?” Changbin asked, grip tightening and letting you know that he would give you what you wanted, but under his full discretion.

“I want to cum,” you whispered, gasping when one of his hands moved to grip a handful of your ass, squeezing with a strong hold.

“Then you’ll do it right here,” he said, and you understood his intention immediately, feeling his thigh clench under you. “Ride me.”

You nodded fiercely, foreheads meeting in the hot middle, sharing precious oxygen between your hungry lips as you started to move yourself against him, friction building as the burning sensation of his leather pants rubbed against the loose shorts that barely kept you hidden.

“Move like this, kitten,” Changbin instructed, and you nearly choked around a hoarse moan when he started rocking you back and forth against his thigh, grip impossibly strong. You could sense yourself growing even wetter, a familiar tightening building in your core, demanding release.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his armor to keep yourself anchored. At this point, you were desperate, hips grinding against his muscled thigh with as much strength as you could muster, chasing that delicious release as he simply looked on with a growl, cologne thick in the air between you.

“That’s it,” he encouraged you, both hands landing on your ass to move you even closer. You bent your head to hide yourself in his shoulder, shivering each time the tight bulge of his cock knocked against your sensitive pussy, giving your clit just enough pressure to push you right over the edge.

“Pretty,” Changbin declared, still perfectly put-together as if he hadn’t just brought you to an earth-shattering orgasm while still rock-hard in his leather pants.

“Changbin,” you trembled, giving a few weak grinds to ride out the rest of your high, breathing hard with sweat dripping down the back of your neck.

“My turn,” Changbin grunted, and there was no room to collect yourself before he was grabbing you again, parting his legs to give you enough room to slink down between his thighs.

You felt firm hands at your shoulders, pushing you the rest of the way into the floor. Then, there was the familiar sound of his zipper, the shuffling of fabric, before the wet tip of his cock prodded against your lips. “Suck,” Changbin growled, and you were helpless to disobey.

You took Changbin’s dick in one hand, testing the dry tug before thumbing at the slit. Changbin tensed, letting out a low groan which only served to give you more confidence, knowing exactly what he liked.

Propping yourself up on his knees, you gave a teasing lick to the tip of Changbin’s cock, finding that you didn’t mind the slight salty taste. It was different, but not in such a way that made you want to take things slower. You licked along the underside, pleasantly surprised to feel the vein pulsing against your tongue.

Hungrier now, you took the first few inches into your mouth, testing the weight and the stretch of your lips. Once again you found it wasn’t that bad - familiar, but not bad. The sounds that were spilling from Changbin’s pretty mouth definitely fed your arousal as you started bobbing your head.

Changbin’s fingers found your hair but your Mandalorian didn’t attempt to pull, unlike how you had yanked on Changbin’s. Your found yourself wanting Changbin to pull on your hair, but you figured that was something for another day. You could feel spit pooling in your mouth and starting to drip out of the corners of your mouth and down Changbin’s shaft. It was getting messy, but that only made it better.

You knew as soon as the salty taste started to get more intense that Changbin was getting close. Pride filled your chest knowing that you were the one to make someone as lovely as Changbin fall apart. You pulled off, using your hand to continue jerking Changbin off as you pressed kisses to the inside of his bare thigh. You lost against your urges and began sucking marks into the skin there, reveling in how he twitched and moaned at the sensations.

“Kitten, I’m close.” Changbin groaned, and it spurred you into moving your hand faster. You hovered over Changbin’s cock, preparing to drip some spit down to make the slide slicker only to find hot cum splashing you in the face. It hit your cheek, making you close one eye as you worked Changbin through his orgasm.

“Oh...” you breathed, surprised but equally as pleased. You wiped some of the cum off your cheek as you listened to just how disheveled and wrecked Changbin sounded, all because of your ministrations.

Afterward, with your head against the inside of his leg, you were struggling to catch your breath while one of Changbin’s gloved hands gently brushed through your hair.

Tatooine had a formidable reputation, and it was for this reason that you stuck to Changbin like glue when you landed on the desert planet, waiting off to the side as the others unloaded the bounties you had collected, encased in carbonite for the trip.

There was only one lone Aqualish mercenary that survived outside of the carbonite freezing as requested by the one who put the bounty on his head. You watched through narrowed eyes as Chan handed him over to Changbin who wrestled the frightened Aqualish to stand next to him, hands bound behind his back.

“Don’t move,” Changbin growled, a sound that likely terrified the Aqualish but only served to dampen your panties.

“Alright, let’s go,” Chan said, once the last of the bounty had been removed from the ship and handed over to the two Duros who had been sent by the head of the bounty hunters guild to collect your bodies.

This wasn’t your first time being apart of the exchange, and you knew that the next step was to meet Mr. Park inside the cantina to collect payment and personally hand over your Aqualish.

“Stay close,” Changbin muttered to you, and your hands flew to the edges of his whispering, black cloak, head bowed low as you followed the rest of your crew from behind, drawing plenty of attention from the other street goers who had been shopping in the local market.

As it should, perhaps, considering the strange, eclectic mix of hardened, battle-ready men who Chan had recruited and offered a place next to his side. Making a great deal of money while being able to do the one thing all of them were exceptionally talented at. It was a good sign, you supposed, that your reputation preceded you, even if it was hard to endure the harsh stares.

At least the trip wasn’t far from the landing pad, and you were grateful when you could see the familiar sight of the cantina up ahead, standing out as the largest brick and mortar building with a steady influx of patrons walking in and out the double doors.

“Bang Chan!” a masculine voice purred from the crowd, and you weren’t surprised to see Mr. Park, head of the bounty hunter’s guild, approaching with his arms wide open. Dressed to the nines in his best robe and finest silks. A sign of his formidable wealth, accumulated at the behest of those unfortunate enough to garner a bounty on their heads.

“Park,” Chan grumbled, reluctantly accepting the embrace. Not that you blamed him. Park was as scummy as they came.

Who knew where those hands had been.

“No Raphael?” Park hummed, surveying the trail of bounties following the Duros behind the Cantina.

“He wasn’t coming quietly,” Hyunjin remarked in that cold tone that spoke volumes.

“Left him dead in his office,” Minho added with a smile that could scare even the roughest group of galactic starfighters.

“Well,” Park cleared his throat, forcing a smile. “Good to see everyone is in high spirits.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, stepping aside as Park closed the distance between you and Changbin. “You know, Mando, we could really use someone of your skill around here. Especially when the rowdier hunters come in.”

You tried not to look at Changbin, standing next to the Aqualish like he was perfectly at ease. He had the benefit of hiding his wandering gaze behind cold steel, but you did not have the same luxuries. And it would not look professional.

“I’m fine with my team,” came his modulated response, to which Mr. Park merely sighed and brushed it aside.

“Very well, but you know where to find me.”

Chan rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. “We’ll need lodging tonight, then we can talk about new jobs in the morning.”

“I’ll take care of it right away!” Park said, clapping his hands together and giving a loud whistle. “I do have something for you, Mr. Bang, that I think your crew will like very much! And there’s a big price tag attached.”

“Great,” Chan sighed, crossing his arms and looking entirely impatient as two of Park’s men escaped from the cantina, holding an array of golden keys.

“You each have a room waiting,” Park said, and you refused to meet his gaze as you accepted the cold metal between your fingertips. “I’d love for any of you to join me tonight for dinner! Until then, I’ve opened a tab for you at the bar, free of charge!”

That was all Minho and Hyunjin needed to hear, tucking away their keys as they started for the cantina entrance. Park chuckled at their hasty escape, tossing a nonchalant arm around Chan’s shoulders, ignoring the glare from the man in question. “Join me in my quarters, Chan. I have something to discuss with you.”

You watched as Chan’s form was swallowed by the snooping crowd of onlookers, sucking in a sharp breath when a Duro suddenly appeared at your side. “We can take the Aqualish.”

Changbin grunted his assent, roughly forcing the Aqualish in the Duro’s direction. “See to it then,” Changbin said, and the Duro offered his acquiescence, keeping a firm hold on your last prisoner.

“I’m heading further into the city for something better than bar food and sleazy strippers,” Jisung suddenly announced once they were out of earshot. “Anyone interested in tagging along?”

Seungmin and Jeongin agreed, and Jisung arched a brow in your direction. “I’ll just rest,” you said, and Changbin must’ve done something to brush Jisung off, leaving you both alone once they had flagged down a cruiser to speed along the busy streets of Tatooine.

“Thanks,” you said to him to fill the tense quiet. “For letting me stay close to you.”

Changbin nodded, tilting his head to the side as if considering you. You held your breath when he drew closer, leaning down to brush the bottom of his helmet against the top of your head. “You know my room number,” Changbin whispered to you as if you were locked together in your own little world.

His proximity cleared all rational thought from your head, words failing you as you managed a nod, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you watched him disappear into the cantina.

Later that night, lying spread out under his weight, you were glad that you had taken the opportunity to tend to your personal affairs before meeting Changbin.

There were very few thoughts left in your head after being drug into his bed, fingers tangled in his thick locks, keeping him tucked against your neck to decorate dark bruises on your skin as he fucked you with rough thrusts that had your cunt screaming for reprieve.

In the darkened room, breaths knocked from your lungs at every stroke of his cock, you wondered if he would even grow tired. All the energy had been sapped from your limbs, but Changbin was still moving like he planned to stay inside of you all night, using you while you slept, a limp doll to warm his cock and keep him in a tight vice.

Shit, the man knew what he was doing, turning your insides into mush and bringing you on the verge of your second orgasm of the night, even as Changbin showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

The thing was, Changbin could last, keeping you pliant under him for hours as he had his way with you, growling out curses when you clenched around him just right, cock drilling between your walls to shape you just for him.

He always fucked you like he would never get a chance to have another moment like this again. As if it was the last time. Even though you had fucked enough at this point to have practically memorized one another’s bodies, well-versed in your signs and the physical language that expressed when it was on the verge of too much.

It didn’t matter that you had never seen Changbin before, always hidden away in the dark. You felt like you knew him, even without mapping out his features with your eyes. Instead, you relied on touch to understand him, feeling across the defined muscles in his arms and chest, the perfect angular set to his jaw, and the sharp edge of his nose when it brushed against your clit, lips wrapped around the sensitive bud.

“So tight,” Changbin whispered, tongue tracing the line of your collarbone. “Feel so good around me.”

“Please,” you begged, even without knowing what you really wanted from him, stuck between too much and not enough as his fingers dug into your waist, squeezing tight.

“What are you asking me for?” Changbin grunted. You could only shake your head, even if he couldn’t see, unable to manage words when his rough grinding prevented you from speaking.

You could feel the strength in his powerful thighs, encasing you in a strong grip on either side. The smooth, but rough, sensation of his skin, hairs coarse and scars raised like braille. Your hands gripped his biceps, squeezing tight to the muscles working there, a constant reminder that he could break you if he wanted to do so.

And maybe there were times when you wanted him to do just that. To turn you around onto your stomach, one hand clasped tight over your mouth to prevent your screams, and the other arm anchoring both of yours back for him to hold. He’d mount you just like that, guide his cock home without preparing you on his fingers first. You dreamed about that often, of him just taking and taking, even if you were grateful that he often spent his leisurely time opening you up in preparation for the thick erection between his legs.

Changbin could be rough, but it was usually only when he was close to cumming, when that little break in his rhythm meant a total loss of control. When all that mattered was reaching that sweet, sensual high. Thoughts of your well-being briefly forgotten as he chased after what he wanted.

In a fight, Changbin was never careful. The same fingers that worked you open and played gentle music on your clit, could slice a man in half or break a neck in one harsh twist. The same voice that lulled you into a submissive headspace could also growl threats and curses and sully a man’s name. The same muscles that had broken a man’s spine kept you perfectly still under him, in whatever position he wanted, while you cried and begged for him.

“Are you close?” Changbin growled, nipping at your ear to get your attention back on him.

To hold you in the present moment, stomach clenched in preparation for another orgasm, heat building in your abdomen. Each seductive thrust fed the flames licking under your skin, and you whined when he leaned down for a long, explorative kiss, licking into your mouth and tasting your tongue against his own.

“Close,” you gasped, pleasure dancing through every nerve when he sat up on his heels, hands grabbing your thighs for more leverage.

“Come on my cock, kitten,” Changbin hissed into your ear, breath hot against your skin.

You were helpless to obey, mouth parting around a wordless scream, tears falling at their own volition when his fingers pressed rough circles on your clit, drawing out your orgasm with wave after wave of intense pleasure.

He was still moving when you were done, failing to push him away as he pinned your arms to your sides, slamming his hips down harder to force you back into submission.

“You can take it, kitten,” Changbin reminded you, even as you shook your head, even as he started to move a little faster, holding his head back with a groan.

“Please,” you whimpered again, and then Changbin was back on top of you, forehead meeting your own.

“Can I?” Changbin asked, being so careful with you, and you nearly cried at his thoughtfulness.

“Yes,” you practically screamed, and then Changbin was taking hold at the backs of your knees, grip so tight you knew it would leave bruises, to fuck himself harder, jostling you up the mattress with the force of his thrusts.

It was rough and barbaric, and you were burning with overstimulation, but then his hips jostled in place, slowing down to a stop and you could feel his warm cum as it started to leak from the place where you were connected.

“So good,” Changbin said, holding himself above you on his arms, skin shining with a sheen of sweat.

You were both breathing hard, matching inhales when he pulled free, leaving behind a mess you would regret later.

Your heart fluttered inside your chest, eyelids growing heavy when he moved to lay next to you, one arm wrapping around your waist to pull you against his side. It was too hot in that position, but when you tried to pull away, his grip only became stronger.

“Stay,” Changbin said, surprising you with its earnestness.

“But-”

“No arguments,” Changbin interrupted, and you were taken aback by the sweet way he held you closer, keeping you resting against his side, wrapped in strong arms.

“When we wake up...”

“Don’t worry,” he said, as if sensing your fears. What if you saw him in the daytime, with the sun coming up and the room lit with a faint flow? “I’ll get up first.”

You swallowed hard, nodding your head because it was hard to tell him no, especially when you craved his presence like nothing else.

The next morning, Changbin was gone, and you got dressed before heading downstairs to the cantina to meet with everyone.

The first face you recognized was Minho’s, standing against the counter connected to the bar, eyeing Chan and Mr. Park who stood talking together from across the room. You were curious, sliding next to Minho under the guise of ordering a drink. “How long have they been down here?” you asked Minho, raising your hand to signal the bartender.

“Too long,” Minho replied, and you huffed in frustration when the bartender ignored you in favor of a separate group wearing what appeared to be the finest silk money could afford.

“Figures,” you muttered in reference to both Chan and the patrons.

“He’s waiting for the others,” Minho remarked. “Supposedly.”

“Chan indulges him,” you said. “He takes advantage of his patience.”

“One day Chan will snap,” Minho hummed, and you nodded your agreement, glancing around the room with vague interest.

“Here,” Minho said, dragging your attention back to the bar, eyes falling to where Minho was pushing what appeared to be a market pastry in your direction. “Mando left this here for you.”

Your cheeks warmed at the mention of Changbin, reaching down to carefully unravel the food, stomach growling at the idea of breakfast. Your first bite almost drew out a moan, eyes closing to savor the taste.

“Speaking of people who are too indulgent,” Minho said, pointedly looking between your food and a spot over your shoulder.

You swallowed around your bite, glancing back to see Changbin entering the Cantina with Hyunjin and Han behind him. “He’s just looking out for me,” you muttered.

“Is that all?” Minho smirked, but you chose to ignore his teasing, finishing your food as the boys approached where you stood.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Han proclaimed, voice carrying throughout the cantina. Enough so that Chan aimed a glare in your direction before returning his attention to Park.

But Han didn’t care, flagging down the bartender with ease, to which you scowled. He always made things look simple, and it was this thought that distracted you from the Mandalorian who had started to move even closer, pitching his voice for your ears only.

“Sleep well?” the modulated voice husked from next to you.

“I did,” you agreed, trying to hide a smile, thoughts of Han disappearing in an instant. “Tuckered myself out last night.”

“What did you get up to?” Changbin asked, and you could hear the amusement in his tone, working your brain for a good quip, but the sudden appearance of Chan and Mr. Park sent a wave of silence over your group.

“Seungmin and Jeongin are handling some supplies,” Chan said. “Mr. Park will escort the rest of us for a private interview.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bang! I have someone who really wants to meet you,” Park explained. “In the other room.”

“Sounds riveting,” Hyunjin sighed.

Yet, no one protested as Mr. Park led the way to a winding staircase jutting out from the wall, leading upstairs to the second level you seldom noticed. It was quieter up there, the cantina’s music muted, and there was a clear tension in the air as you walked to the end of the hall, pausing outside of a door.

“You have my word that this individual will bring you no harm,” Mr. Park said in an ominous tone that had you frowning.

Why did he feel the need to give such a promise?

Your question was answered in the very next moment, when Mr. Park opened the door to reveal a slightly darkened room. There was a long, wooden table occupying the space, and at the very end, reclined in a metal chair, sat a stormtrooper, helmet placed in front of him as he offered a tentative smile at your group.

You could hear Chan’s sharp inhale, and the firm grip of Changbin as he took your arm in his hand. “What the fuck?” Han cursed, breaking the silence and any of Minho’s restraint as he reached for the blaster holstered at his side.

“Well, this is a sight for sore eyes,” the stormtrooper chuckled, even as you could feel the tension in Changbin, and detect the noticeable strain in the others.

“What is this?” Chan demanded, turning on Park who simply held up his hands in a faux gesture of surrender.

“You know I’d never lead you astray, Bang! The guy is legit. I had my best men look into him.”

“A stormtrooper?” Hyunjin scoffed.

“All I’m asking is for you to hear him out!” Park insisted, wincing when Minho brought the blaster into sight. “Seriously! He has no allegiance to the Empire. Plus, he’s willing to pay good if you finish a job for him!”

“Bang,” Minho growled, shifting between his feet. He said nothing else, but that single syllable spoke a coherent warning.

Chan scowled, gaze lowering as if battling with his own thoughts - urges to fight and protect conflicting with an inherent curiosity pertaining to whatever business an ex-stormtrooper could require. “Sit,” Chan eventually barked, a clear order that he wasn’t in a joking mood.

“Fucking hell,” Minho sighed, re-holstering his blaster as he shoved around Chan, taking the seat closest to the stormtrooper as if determined that he would be the first line of defense.

Chan sat across from him, on the stormtrooper’s other side, and the rest of your crew slowly fell into place, taking the remaining seats. It left you perched on the end, practically shoved against Changbin as he kept a protective arm around your shoulders.

“Talk,” Chan demanded next, startling the stormtrooper who seemed chastened by the reaction he had just witnessed.

“I have a job, and Park said you were the best of the best,” he started. “I guess I should start from the beginning. You see, my old captain bailed when the Empire fell,” the stormtrooper explained. “Not that I expected him to stick around, but he always had eyes for my sister. Used her against me in the beginning when I was recruited.”

He paused here, taking in the room. “My name is Jackson, and I’m asking for you to look past my uniform. To look past an organization I no longer serve, and one I never believed in. I was recruited young, brainwashed into following orders that I didn’t care to follow. Not that you care about that part. The real reason I’m here is because of my sister. She was kidnapped by my old captain, and I’m determined to get her back.”

You exhaled slowly at his story, searching the expressions of your crew to try and decipher their reactions. “She doesn’t deserve it,” Jackson insisted. “To keep suffering because of me.”

“So, you want us to come with you to save your sister...” Chan asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Help me get her back,” Jackson said in a pleading tone. “And I’ll make it worth your while.”

Chan nodded, sitting back in his chair, gaze flitting to Minho who arched one brow. “This could be dangerous for us. We’d have to consider the logistics. Do you even have any idea where this guy is?”

“I’ve tracked him to the edge of the Andromeda galaxy,” Jackson explained, pulling a tracker from his suit pocket to place it down on the table. “All we need to do is board his ship and get rid of his men.”

Hyunjin snorted at the proposal. “You make it sound too easy. Like a Captain of the Empire wouldn’t have security in place to protect him.”

“They’re not loyal,” Jackson said in a firm tone. “They won’t stick around for him. I’ll give you any information you’ll need, I’ve done my fair share of research.”

“Have you?” Hyunjin sneered, but Chan held up a hand in his direction.

“We’ll hear all that you have. If you can answer our questions, and give us time to consider the schematics, we’ll let you know what we decide.”

“That’s all I’m asking for!” Jackson said, a smile contorting his lips. “Just a chance, and I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.”

Chan simply nodded, exchanging a look with Minho, and you moved even closer to Changbin, worried about the dangers that could be waiting on the other side of the galaxy...worried about the safety of your family and whether or not you could take on the wrath of the Empire.

An Empire in decline.

A desperate Empire.

One that had nothing left to lose...

The Stormtrooper had everything mapped out to perfection. It was almost too perfect, in your unconsidered opinion, voicing your concerns aloud to Chan who simply sighed. “He checks out,” Chan had told you. “And he’s paying good money for the job.”

“He’s a stormtrooper!”

“From a fallen Empire,” Chan said, and that was all you needed to hear to roll your eyes and walk away, knowing that he had already made up his mind.

“Chan finds the best of the best,” Changbin tried to reassure you later that night as you helped him load the ship. “His sources are always right.”

“Does it matter when it involves an stormtrooper?”

“Of course it matters,” Changbin replied. “But Chan is smart. You know this. He’d never put any of our lives in unnecessary risk.”

You swallowed down your complaints, keeping silent for the rest of your time together, ignoring the simmering tension in the air - something thick and palpable. Barely able to hold back when your instincts remained on high alert.

There was nothing you could do to change the outcome, so you kept to yourself for the rest of the day, assisting when you were asked to do something. Helping Minho on the ship, or working to ensure that the ship’s weapon system was calibrated correctly. It was dull and unexciting work, made all the worse by the nagging worry constantly diluting your thoughts.

You barely slept that night, in your own room, despite Changbin’s request for you to join him. He would only distract you from your thoughts, and you needed the time alone to work through the heavy burden weighing down on you - the never-ending dread that filled the pit of your stomach when you thought about something bad happening to your crew.

They were all you had. Out of all the lost stars in the galaxy, they chose you. And you felt the crushing hand around your windpipe closing its unforgiving fist thinking about life without them.

But Chan’s mind was made up, and there was no stopping this mission. Whatever he had found out about the stormtrooper - his past, his misgivings - weren’t enough to stop you from moving forward. Changbin had been right about Chan’s sources - they had never been wrong before.

Even if there was always a first time for everything.

“Are you mad at me?” Changbin asked when you met the rest of your crew outside the ship the following morning, glaring daggers at the stormtrooper who spoke with both Park and Chan.

“Not you,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest and ignoring his teasing chuckle.

“Relax,” he purred, leaning in close enough to distract your gaze. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“I know,” you grumbled, letting him take one of your hands before leading you both onto the ship.

Immediately, you headed to the cockpit to check on the ship’s main controls, ensuring that nothing needed to be re-calibrated. Han always called it overkill, since you checked it at least a dozen times before taking off, but you could never be too careful. The ship was an older model that had seen its fair share of gunfire.

“Good to go?” Minho asked when he joined you later on, sitting down in the pilot’s chair.

“Yeah,” you agreed, holding your breath when he started up the ship, guiding the front toward the skyline.

You closed your eyes for this part as the jump to hyperspace always made you feel nauseous. Minho chuckled at the action, but you ignored him, waiting with bated breath until you could feel the ship leaving the cold prism of lightspeed, settling into something calmer.

When you looked up again, you saw nothing but a familiar sea of stars that helped to settle your stomach. “The others decided to play cards downstairs if you want to join them,” Minho suggested, and you nodded, leaving him to mind the controls while you climbed the ladder down the main floor.

You let yourself be guided toward the intermingling sound of voices, exhaling slightly when you noticed Chan and Jackson were not among the ones seated at the little table tucked away at the side of your kitchenette. “Y/N!” Han chirped in greeting, and Jeongin moved over to make an obvious space for you.

“Thought I’d watch,” you said, making yourself comfortable. “Got a keep an eye out for cheaters!”

“Hey!” Han protested, but it was enough to get Seungmmin going, starting one of his all too-common rants about Han’s less than ideal playing habits.

You laughed at their bickering, feeling your shoulders relax at the familiar banter. Until a set of heavy footsteps had you perking up, watching Han’s gaze fall to something over your shoulder.

“Buying in, Mando?” Han grinned, and you could feel him moving in closer, presence hot as he leaned over to address Han.

“100 credits.”

Hyunjin let out a low whistle, cards held up to hide the lower part of his face. “Do you think you’re good enough?”

Changbin chuckled, lowering himself next to you on the bench, and you were hyper-aware of the way your thighs touched.

“Deal me in,” he rasped as a response.

“This is a rare treat,” Han remarked, but he nodded at Seungmin who shuffled the deck of cards without a word of protest.

“You go first,” Han offered as if he was doing Changbin a favor.

Changbin looked down at his cards before pushing a stack of chips to the center of the table. “Already?” Hyunjin chuckled, and there was a calm expression on his face as he pushed his own chips to the middle. “I’ll call.”

“Fold,” Han said, placing his cards facedown in front of him. “You can never tell with Mando.”

But you could, even without seeing the handsome face you could only dream about at night laying next to him. You could tell his signs, subtle as they were. The way a muscle jumped in his thigh or the deeper breath released from his modulated helmet.

Mando was nervous, or at least, less confident about his moves. Unfortunately for him, Hyunjin wasn’t accepting his bluff, calling him every time Seungmin dealt another card.

“Show your hands.”

Hyunjin smirked, revealing a full house. Mando chuckled from next to you, tossing down his own lackluster hand. “Thought so,” Hyunjin smiled, raking in all the chips toward himself.

“Ah, you can’t bluff with Hyunjin,” Han tsked, ignoring the way Changbin had leaned in closer to you.

“We might have some time before we land.”

You swallowed at his heavy implication, ready to grab his hand and lead you both to the back of the ship, when Chan suddenly appeared with Jackson, eyebrows pulled taught together.

“We’re landing soon,” Chan warned, and you felt the light-hearted air grow heavy with something dangerously palpable, knowing you were about to embark on your most dangerous mission yet.

The galactic cruiser was just as you remembered, bringing back memories of the before times when the Empire’s power was solidified. You could feel the palpable concern in your crew, and the anger in Jackson as he glared at an unidentifiable spot through the glass.

You trusted most of the men on your ship with your entire life, and so far, Jackson had not done anything to earn your ire. Maybe you were simply put-out by the inherent dangers of this mission and blamed him for dragging you all into such a precarious situation.

Then again, Chan had agreed. And he had done so wittingly. Without protest or second thought.

You studied your leader, beckoning everyone closer as your ship halted at a safe and undetectable distance from the cruiser. Soon, Chan would have Minho land the ship beneath the cruiser’s hull where security wouldn’t be able to pick up on your signal. From there, you would all disembark through a security door and carry out the mission at hand.

“Let’s remember what we’ve discussed,” Chan said, and he nodded at Minho who started in the direction of the helm.

From behind you, Changbin stepped closer, listening as Chan continued speaking, and you resisted the urge to drown him out and lean back into Chanbin’s steady weight.

Unfortunately, you weren’t able to maintain your façade for long, and your heart dropped to your stomach at a jolt from the ship, signaling that power had been cut. Minho returned shortly thereafter, and your fingers found the worn holes in Changbin’s cape.

“Are we ready?” Chan asked, and you could hear the shared affirmations from your group, even above the thundering race of your pulse.

You swallowed hard as Chan organized everyone into groups, pacing back and forth as your crew stood in formation. “Keep to your assignments,” he ordered. “We must remain invisible.”

You trembled at the short, perfunctory tone behind his words, wondering if everyone else held the same level of unease. It would be all too easy for this mission to go awry, even with the most meticulous of planning, and there was nobody who prepared more for a potential fight than Chan.

It was with bated breath that you watched Chan, Han, and Seungmin move out with the first group, turning around to face Changbin and Felix who had been assigned together with you. You sighed, trying to hold your head high as Changbin finished a muted conversation with Felix before turning to look at you.

“Come with me.”

You followed him at once, re-entering the cargo area of the ship as the others moved about, getting ready for what was to come. “I don’t know what you have planned...” you started when you were safely tucked away with Changbin out of sight, taking the loose leather belt from him that he was struggling to secure around himself.

“Stay on the ship.”

You frowned at Changbin’s words, standing in such close proximity as you helped him adjust his belt, weapons clipped in order.

“Did Chan say that?”

“I’m saying that.”

His sharp words only deepened the scowl you likely wore, your displeasure reading clear and open. “I could be useful if the droids fail...”

“Stay.”

His tone had deepened, gloved hand flying out to grip your chin. “Changbin-”

“Chan gave me the directive to lead my group,” he reminded your sullen form. “I choose to leave you on the ship. Just in case.”

“Fine,” you lied through clenched teeth, determined to do anything you could to help. Even if your help wasn’t wanted.

Changbin hummed at your agreement, and you helped him secure his weapons, standing aside as he started around you. He had always been stubborn and overprotective, but you were short-handed as it was, and there was no reason you couldn’t handle yourself.

But you still waited until Changbin and Felix, the last of the crew, had vanished into the darkened security entrance before hurrying behind them.

You had managed to snag a blaster without Changbin’s notice, and you held it tight to your chest once you dipped through the security door and landed feet first inside the enemy ship, peeking around the corner before taking off for the security room. With the blaster in stun mode, you easily took out the two guards who had been stationed inside, wincing when their heads clunked down against the machinery.

“You can do this, Y/N,” you assured yourself as you surveyed your surroundings, grunting with the exertion of pushing one of the guards to the side, giving you complete access to the security cameras. “I knew it,” you huffed, coming to the rapid realization that the droids had failed to disarm every camera on board - a job which you easily accomplished, making sure that there were no eyes on your men...

“Hey!”

The unexpected sound of an unfamiliar voice had your fingers freezing above the controls.

“Turn around at once, solider!”

You let out a deep breath, doing as the voice commanded, coming face to face with the barrel of a blaster held between two gloved hands. The man in front of you was clearly no stranger to battle, and his uniform marked him as an enemy of the Republic.

“What is your name and identification number?” he asked, scanning over your form and likely wondering if you could be trusted.

You tried to make yourself as small as possible, putting on your best pout. “I was asked to come down,” you lied, palms clammy from holding the blaster behind your back. “There are intruders-”

“I know,” the guard growled over your words. “But that’s not what I asked you.”

“My identification number is not with me,” you said, and this only irritated the guard more.

“You aren’t supposed to be here without proper identification,” the guard said, raising his blaster a little higher as his eyes raked over you - likely wondering whether or not to believe your half-assed story.

“I can bring you my identification-”

“Silence!” he shouted above you, and this time, your eyes had to cross from the close proximity of the blaster as he stepped even closer, invading your space with a snarl. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

You held your tongue, unable to utter a single syllable in the presence of death. You tried not to shake, swallowing hard and searching your mind for something to say, when a shadow crossed your field of vision, and the blaster fell to the floor in front of you.

“Hey!” the guard shouted, and you fell back against the controls, eyes widening when you recognized your Mandalorian in the room, fighting hand to hand with the nasty guard who had threatened you.

You winced when the guard rammed Changbin against the wall, causing him to drop his own blaster. It fell close to your feet, glinting dangerously in the flickering lights of the room.

“The gun, Y/N,” you heard Changbin growl, grunting with the force of taking an elbow to the chest.

It was like you were disembodied, reaching down to wrap your fingers around the cool handle of the blaster. Even while the struggle continued in the background, the sounds of violence echoing in your ears.

“Shoot him!”

The words did little to penetrate the haze surrounding you. But you winced as the guard managed to land another swift blow to Changbin, bringing him down to one knee.

Changbin. In danger!

Your hands trembled, faced with a task you had never accomplished before. You remembered a time, from long ago, standing in an empty shooting range with Changbin. His hands had been warm and firm on your waist, guiding your hands and arms in place. “Hold it like this,” he had instructed you, keeping things steady when you shot for the very first time, a proud smile stretching across your lips...

“You can do this,” he had whispered then, and you savored the sweet words and his tickling breath on the back of your neck.

“Y/N!”

You blinked rapidly to draw yourself back into the room because Changbin in the present was on the ground, struggling against another man’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Focus.

There was a heavy weight sitting on your chest, keeping you from breathing, as you did your best to aim at the guard in front of you before finally allowing your fingers to click the trigger in place.

You heard the defeating sound of the killing blast, having been switched out of stun mode. A sharp breath left your lips as your trembling legs brought you forward to the two bodies on the ground. You stood over your Mandalorian, lowering the blaster with trembling hands.

“Binnie-” you croaked, heart heavy with dread.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, grunting as he struggled to sit up.

“Were you hit-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted, as if he could possibly dismiss your concerns.

But it didn’t look like he was fine, struggling to even move to a sitting position, and there was blood.

So much blood

Everywhere.

You were hyperventilating, completely on the verge of passing out, barely able to focus on your Mandalorian. “I-I hurt you...”

Your heart thudded to a stop, breath caught in your throat when Changbin reached up, grabbing his helmet and slowly raising it above his head.

“Changbin,” you whispered, suddenly unable to focus on anything else but the unexpected sight in front of you: Changbin revealing himself without an ounce of hesitation.

Your eyes widened, growing perceptibly wider, greedily drinking in the face that you could only dream of at night curled against him. In the bleakness of the dark, encased in shadows to hide him from your curious gaze.

“It’s alright, kitten,” he whispered in an unexpectedly deep tone. “It only grazed me. Come here.”

You did as he directed, falling into his arms. Even with your eyes still glued to his handsome countenance, tracing the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow with the tips of your fingers.

Strong nose. Angular jawline. Eyes as black as the deepest parts of space.

You couldn’t stop staring, drinking it in like a Bantha finding water for the first time in days after treading across the desert plains of Tatooine. Unable to keep yourself under control, and unable to stop the impulses telling you to touch everything that your eyes had just been gifted.

He had broken his code. Removed his helmet for you all in the hopes of calming you down.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed into your shoulder. “I lied to you. I disobeyed and left the ship. The guild-”

“None of that matters,” Changbin said, fisting your hair to pull your gaze to his, leaning down to press a careful kiss to your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“You can’t call yourself a Mandalorian anymore.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Changbin said, choosing his words carefully. “Not anymore.”

“Binnie-”

“I’m a bounty hunter,” he interrupted, thumbing his way across your lips. “A friend. A fighter.” His tone dipped into something warm and honeyed. “A lover.”

“Changbin-”

He cut you off with an unexpected kiss, locking you both together with a hand on the back of your head.

“We’re okay, kitten,” he whispered when you parted for air, the words wrapping you in a warm caress. “Everything will be just fine.”

You weren’t so sure about his bold declaration, but it was hard to argue with Changbin when he had presented himself in such earnestness, giving you all of him in every way that he could.

“Let’s get back to the others,” he suggested, helping you stand and keeping a strong arm holding you to him, guiding you both from the security room and toward the light.

It was done, or so you tried to tell yourself. Keeping your arms wrapped across your torso, shivering from the events that took place in the security room. Changbin kept a protective arm around your waist, leading you back to the ship, which at least offered you some consolation that everything had went well before he had been forced to come save you...

Your shoulders dropped when you laid eyes on your crew, counting everyone as present, including Jackson. The collective sounds of your footsteps on the tiled floors halted all conversations, and that’s when every eye in the room flew to you and Changbin.

You cringed at the collective shock in your group at the sight of a helmet-less Changbin. Eight pairs of eyes watching you both, silence growing thick. You held tighter to Changbin’s arm, breathing out in a soft exhale.

“You’re better-looking than I imagined,” Han eventually remarked, which, at the very least, seemed to ease some of the tension.

Changbin snorted. “Thanks.”

“You good?” Chan asked, studying Changbin with an uncertain gaze, seemingly unsure about where to look.

“Everything is fine,” Changbin reassured him, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. “I promise. No damage has been done.”

Chan nodded. “We were worried when you didn’t come back on time. But we figured everything was fine since we were able to finish our jobs.” He took a step to the side, allowing you to see the frightened figure huddled behind Chan, plastered against Jackson’s side with a timid gaze.

“You found her,” Changbin agreed.

“Thanks to all of you,” Jackson added, offering a warm smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho suddenly spoke up, taking a step forward. “Let’s just get out of here before we push our luck.”

Your other crew mates muttered their agreements, and you were relieved to let Changbin practically drag you back on the ship, still keeping you supported in your state of shock. You could feel the effects wearing off, the total freezing up that you had experienced when under the threat of death, but there was still a haziness keeping you from feeling secure on your own feet.

“Come on, kitten,” Changbin encouraged you, leaving the others to tend to the ship.

They were smart enough not to question you, letting Changbin takeover like he had so often done before. Taking you down below the main deck to your little room, helping you sit down on the edge of the bed before he knelt down to remove your shoes.

You shivered at the cold on your bare feet, hearing him chuckle when he glanced back up. “You keep staring.”

Your gaze averted at once, feeling yourself flush. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, reaching out to guide your chin back to facing him. “It’s only natural.”

“Yeah,” you whispered back, swallowing hard when he returned to his full height, removing his shirt and pants before asking you to move over and make some more room.

He was an overpowering warmth next to you, gathering you into his arms and raking gentle fingers through your hair. “It’s not your fault,” he said, eventually, when your eyelids had started to close. “I can’t blame you for wanting to help. Shoulda taken you with me to start with.”

“I disobeyed-”

“Stubborn for good reason,” he interrupted, planting a chaste kiss to your lips. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

You opened your eyes wider, meeting his honest brown orbs in the middle. “It’s surreal...to see you like this.”

He smiled. “A good thing?”

“A selfish part of me thinks so...”

“Not selfish either,” he argued, leaning close to connect your foreheads. “Wanted to show you everything for a while now. Planned on it, actually..”

You let out a little noise, shocked that Changbin would even plan something like this after living his life loyal to the Mandalorian code...

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he chuckled, nosing his way across the bridge of your jaw. “Get some rest. There will be plenty of time to talk.”

You gave a sleepy nod in response, more than eager to succumb to the sleep you needed.

You had never been so glad to lay eyes on the sea of red that defined Tatooine, leaving the ship feeling more rested than you had in years.

The rest of your crew loitered around outside, exchanging your final goodbyes with Jackson and his sister, who finally seemed more at ease far away from that horrible ship, even letting a small smile soften her features.

“Always call on us, yeah?” Chan said, and you rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

Jackson reached out, clasping his forearm to Chan’s. “Thank you. For everything.”

Chan dipped his head, a sign of respect. “You have friends in us.”

“It’s hard to find reliable help like that these days,” Jackson remarked. “Even rarer to call someone a friend.”

Chan smiled, accepting the gesture, and you moved in a little closer to Changbin as your crew offered your last farewells. Whatever your next adventure might become, it would certainly be difficult to forget the events of the past few days. Befriending enemies and becoming allies to forgotten causes. Revealing identities that had always been meant to remain a secret...

With one last salute, Jackson wrapped an arm around the delicate shoulders of his sister, leading her further toward the booming marketplace. You watched as Jackson was swallowed by the familiar crowd of patrons before turning to look at Changbin, lips cracking into a grin because you would never get enough of looking at him. His gaze met yours, as if drawn together, and the black of his irises seemed to glow in the fading sunlight.

“Let’s get back to it,” Chan announced, ushering everyone back in the direction of the ship.

Changbin took your hand, holding on tight as you made your way up the ramp. “Y/N, you want to takeover controls?” Minho asked, and you knew that your face betrayed your excitement.

It was rare for Minho to give up controls to you, even if you were properly trained. He was either in a really good mood or exhausted from your adventures. Likely a combination of both.

But you wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “Sure!”

Changbin chuckled at your enthusiasm, and Minho dismissed you with a wave, following Jisung and Hyunjin down below the deck. “You ready?”

His breath tickled the back of your neck, and you couldn’t fight off a shiver. “Always.”

You hummed in agreement, and you climbed the ladder first, working to get everything functional, nodding at the rumble of the engine. Navigating to the edges of space took time and control, and you carefully lifted the ship from the ground, guiding it up toward the sky.

Once you had breached the atmosphere, and the infiniteness of black onyx beckoned you to make the jump to hyper space, you relaxed on the controls, turning it over to autopilot mode. “Good to go?” Changbin asked, joining you in the cockpit.

You urged him to sit down in the captain’s chair, allowing both legs to separate, straddling his lap as he switched the controls to lower the lights, finding yourself lost in his eyes and his sharply defined features. After so long of being deprived of this very moment, you could only be greedy in drinking all of it in for as long as you could.

As if on instinct, you reached out to trace the swell of his lip, feeling your heart skipping several beats, determined to spend the rest of your life learning every curve and line, to show him that you appreciated every ounce of what you had once been denied.

“Kitten,” Changbin purred, and you gasped when his fingers dug into the hourglass shape of your waist.

“I don’t think anyone will be bothering us anytime soon,” you whispered against his lips, feeling his responding laugh before allowing your lips to fit perfectly together: a match literally made in the Heavens.

#changbin smut #changbin fanfic #changbin oneshot #changbin imagines #stray kids fanfic #changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x y/n #stray kids smut

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