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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here. This is like. You remember that one game, Mercy? The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous. Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares? It’s child’s play. It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person. You never have been. It’s just not part of your nature. If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else. You just… do you. You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good. And if it’s bad, it’s good. Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit? Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open. “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron. What are we doing? Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up.

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl. You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench. “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today? Thursday? Friday? Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day. Thursday, then. …Thursday?” You shake your head. “Ugh, see? Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.” He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers. It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now. Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that. Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it. “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation. To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small. Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here. “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap. You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are. “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink. “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron. First and last word, that’s all it takes. And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?” He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel. “ Easy credits. Just begging for it. Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust. As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly. Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him. “You just turned my money into a sex object. It was vile. I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging. You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it. “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now. Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?” You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them. Withdrawal stage, ha. “Of course it’s all that bad. It’s horrible. It’s the fucking worst. And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this? Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to. “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you. “I did not. When the fuck did I cheat? I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more. He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire. “Okay, first of all? Rude. I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright? I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him. And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good. He smells… unbelievably fucking good. Always. Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on. It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit. No such luck so far.

“Whatever. The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want. In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming. “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is. “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?” He goes on, completely ignoring you. “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen? You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm? No snorgasms? Hmmm? No happy naps? No captain midnights? No mattress fracking? Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked. “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again. You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one. “Anyways. Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!” You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting. And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills. Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems. “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!” You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation. “There it is! You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself! Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both. Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum? This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused. He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath. “Sorry. But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal. And descriptive. “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right. Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh? I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me. Not right now. Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh. Something occurs to you, something… sinister. Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long. It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before. You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan. You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away. A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?” You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?” Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more. “Now many times did you cum in your sleep? Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?” He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time. “It was involuntary.”

You shrug. “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious. “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?” You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with. Instead, your voice is soft, questioning. Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait. You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape. The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,” he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought. Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this. The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous. “It’s your room, too. Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there. You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?” You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number. You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them. “Red-Six. Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder. “Or, wait… Neah. No—it was… Nalal. Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest. “It was starting to get obnoxious. Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is. “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should. Lower than it should. You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls? Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel. “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head. “Sometimes a sabbatical is good. I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment. “I’m sorry? And… you’re welcome. I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long. The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable. At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together. I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block. He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus. You have to control yourself. You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless. It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this. Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever. One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option. “This isn’t a good idea. It’s… not healthy. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him. “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing. It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit. “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection. “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp. “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—” You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?” Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky. Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding. Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast? This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself? “Finish it. Sooner, rather than later. Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident. Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive. Fuck. Dameron, and you, in bed. It could be mean. It could be rough. A fight for dominance more than anything. He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now. Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning. Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?” Are the first recognizable words that can be heard. “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips. “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance. It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working. Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before. Of course. Stupid. Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air. You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed? A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet. You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think. Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences. You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off. This is different. This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable. A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…” Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you. There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him. Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal. You don’t like it. You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead. The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong. “I mean, y’know. Theoretically speaking, and all. If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before. Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something. This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you. Shit. You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin. You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done. What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation. You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it. Stop it. Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation. How dare he? How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses? You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him. Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier. “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet. No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright? Don’t talk to me. You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight. And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it. It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has. Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least. You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it. You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving. It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds. A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons. Mainly, the nerve of him. The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,” You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space. You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare. “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge. “You’re… plotting. Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship. “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it. Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty. Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it. “Something that you like, that gets you going. Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further. “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should. It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not. This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable. The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?” You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same. “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart. “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks. Default to normal, default to normal. “Your fucking attitude. Your demeanor. The way you talk down to me. You don’t listen. You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen. You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?” He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second. This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here. He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on. “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back. “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it. There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity. Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed. “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily. “Have since the moment we met. And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it. You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?” You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak. “Pop the top on this bitch. Put me out of my fucking misery, right now. You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait. And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up. You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way. He deserved that. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake. Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you. Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders. It’s not sexual. It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating. He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline. His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter. They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret. “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need. Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words. To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit. You feel like you’re literally burning up with it. You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire. “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone. “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember. Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it. How long’s it been? Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless. Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?” You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes. Oh fuck, be cool, be cool. “You think this is gonna work? Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek. The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs. How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard. “Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second. Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow. “Beard or no beard, makes no difference. Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere. You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone. “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious. Maker, how long until your shift is over? You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league. “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?” Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder. “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself. Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going. “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next. “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me. But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist. Resist . You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios. Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting. “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you. Go nice and slow. I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away. I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it. How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker. This is a trick. It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it. You can’t fucking fall for it. It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all. He’s lying to get your guard down. He laughed at your flirting. He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him. You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback. You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say. Your room. It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now. Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register. “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see. I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to. Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out. And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm. Your bed,” he eventually decides. “I want you comfortable. You shower at night. Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep. That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point. And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while. However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening. Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through. Maker, it’s fucking painful. You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?” You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time. Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body. “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in. Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before. Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other. Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies. Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy. It hurts to lose a first name. But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design. He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it. Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now. It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No�� stars, no touching yourself is rule number two. You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea. Nothing about it comes out right. The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself. Oh Maker, can you imagine? How fucking proud of himself he’d be? You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it. Where’d it go? Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it. Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false…

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear. You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you. Like… teakwood, maybe? Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind. What the fuck does teakwood even smell like? “Maybe it’s just what I need. You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low. It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls? Just a little bit? That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad. That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…” You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now. “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it. “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato. It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low. “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs. “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage. “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this. Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be. You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want. And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move. Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body. You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder. “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you. He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side. “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—” Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down. But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second. As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise. The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use. Fuck , it’s been so long . You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now. It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks. “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs. “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion. The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone. Fuck, he almost made you cum. He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide. You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again. You have to close your eyes. You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more. “Shhhit. I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it. Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless. “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck. Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back. They start… moving slightly. Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize. He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm. Dameron might cum in his pants like this. Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum. You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight. You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving. “One… one more. If you want. You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you. “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.” You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether. His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb. The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure. Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger. He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time. He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat. Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief. Genuine, not embellished. He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go. You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this. You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again. It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?” Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that. He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly. “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you. Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet. Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much. You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes. It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it? You could. You could cum right now. What’s two weeks of pay? You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence. Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear. “Be nice. I’m being nice.”

You should bite him. Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now. Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again. Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying. You need air. Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this. If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all. Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore. “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit. Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half. He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that. Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good. Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good. Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in. Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?” He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them. “How clearly do you remember the rules? What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt. No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer. “Tell me. No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind. But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore. There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement. The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it. “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends. Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—” The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out. “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine. “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does. The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it. You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout. You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it. You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves. The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest. “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens. Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you? Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck. “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order. “Right now. Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it. “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally. The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm. You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it. Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day. First names hurt. You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence. Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks. A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

#poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #SMUTTTT #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #the formatting on this one is downright horrendous but im so mad that i cant even fix it right now so thatll have to come later im sorry

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miraculouscontent · 3 years

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Alright, so apparently certain love square shippers felt the need to go into the Lukanette tag to celebrate/mock that Lukanette is “over” (Marinette broke up with him to keep him safe but go off I guess) and that officially crosses all my lines of not dealing with the fandom’s garbage.

The sheer pettiness is astounding to me, to take joy in the end of what was a lot of people’s comfort ship (people don’t choose comfort ships, by the way) because of “toxic Luka/Lukanette stans,” essentially lumping chunks of the fandom together and letting the opinion of those fans shape their own opinion on a character/ship. The sheer sensitivity on display to have so much spite and disdain for a ship that appeared in less than 10% of all episodes in the show. The sheer vindictiveness to feel smug and self-righteous while also being panicked over a non-endgame ship that’s as temporary as their claim of positivity and condemning of salt until they’re presented with something they don’t like.

Goliath really be beating up on David over here because he's bigger and thinks his opinion is more valid. For the record, no, opinions are not more valid due to shipping an endgame ship or presenting oneself as a beacon of positivity.

And it just goes to show how ship-blind these people are, to care about nothing more than the fact that Lukanette has broken up. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’ve seen people who openly admit to caring more about the love square’s security than Marinette’s happiness, which is just part of the issue here.

These people did not care how Lukanette broke up, only that it happened. Marinette’s crush backpedaling (because of the show feeling the need to cater to these exact people, who are so worried about their obviously endgame ship being “in danger”) and Marinette ending the episode in literal tears because she wanted to date Luka but couldn’t are both things that didn’t matter to them because it’s all about their ship in the end. Marinette’s life has been made more and more miserable due to her crush on Adrien while straining her relationships with various characters (see: Alya’s claim of jealousy as a reason for why Marinette “must be lying” about Lila), but so long as these people feel secure in their endgame ship, that’s all that matters.

They didn’t care if it was a clean break where both sides came out satisfied (or at least content). If anything, they wanted Lukanette to end as shoddily/dirtily as possible with zero care into how it affected Marinette, whether because they just don’t like the ship or because they actively desire for the suffering of the people who found comfort/happiness in the ship. Adrien had literally nothing to do with the break-up itself and him being mentioned served nothing for the story, but it’ll be completely overlooked or outright praised because god forbid Marinette spend an episode not talking about Adrien since that would imply that her life doesn’t revolve around him and that would be an apparent detriment to the love square.

By the way, newsflash: Luka was not an obstacle to the love square. He sent Marinette away in “Frozer” to go talk to Adrien. He told her that there was no pressure and that he’d be happy for her no matter what. Had Luka not existed, the love square would still be as stagnant as it is now, and it’s pathetic to complain about Marinette liking/dating another boy when she’s not only allowed to do so, but when “Oblivio” and “Chat Blanc” both exist as little more than tools to hold the supposedly “starved” love square shippers over.

These are the same people who will say they dislike/hate Luka, then do a 180 and claim that they “just feel so bad for him” and how he “deserves better than Marinette” (the sudden sympathy of which conveniently serves to hate on a ship that interferes with their own, further proven by equally convenient and appreciation/liking of Luka when he’s not a “threat” to the love square) while simultaneously shipping her with their sunshine boy because Ladybug is who Adrien wants and what Adrien wants is what matters.

These are the same people who will say that Luka is unnecessary and unneeded, then use him as a prop and stepping stone for love square fanfics and fanart, or suggest that Kagami is fine because she makes Adrien feel good about himself (when Luka does the same for Marinette but sure).

These are the same people who say that “Marinette can’t date Luka because she’s busy with hero stuff” while making fics about the love square getting together mid-”hero stuff” and then giving complete radio silence during “Chat Blanc” outside of how good they thought the episode was.

These are the same people who will tell others not to denounce Adrien for “a few mistakes” and then preemptively denounce Luka’s behavior based on a written synopsis for an episode that hadn’t even come out yet (and also after complaining that Luka was “too perfect,” I might add).

These are the same people who will say that Luka/Lukanette makes them feel “uncomfortable” (usually without offering any tangible reasons or being vague about Luka giving off “bad vibes” when he’s done nothing less than support and respect Marinette's agency) while the show’s endgame ship features the “m’lady” hand kissing Chat Noir who Ladybug has pulled away from multiple times yet he keeps persisting (which is apparently considered okay because Adrien is Chat Noir as if that discredits her discomfort/disdain for the gestures).

These are the same people who will say that Luka is “barely there” or “hardly exists” and then complain about how much screentime is dedicated to Lukanette, the utter greed on display going right over their heads when they have the actual endgame ship.

These are the same people who will absolutely reach for anything about Luka to complain about (again, after saying that he’s “too perfect,” then claiming he “tricked” Marinette into kissing him, claiming that he tried to force her into telling him her secret, or criticizing him for teasing her for her stuttering despite him immediately apologizing) and then either defend or turn a blind eye to Chat Noir (who tried to kiss her mid-battle instead of helping, made Ladybug feel bad for keeping secrets that weren’t hers to tell plus threatening his kwami that he’d quit if he didn’t get let in on said secrets, and mocked her instead of apologizing when she told him to stop calling her by a nickname she doesn’t like and has told him before to stop calling her) at every opportunity.

These are the same people who will say that Lukanette is “forced,” then proceed to ship Luka (regardless of if they like him or not) with literally anyone else for the sake of taking him out of the romance equation (because he has to be taken out via already dating as they couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason for Marinette to not want him otherwise), and the only requirement for this person he’s shipped with is that they breathe and aren’t Marinette.

These are the same people who act bothered by Marinette “””treating Luka poorly””” because of her crush on Adrien (by the by, Adrien’s crush on Ladybug has hurt Kagami as well), inadvertently admitting that Marinette’s crush is a problem, then continue shipping her with Adrien in its canon form anyway.

These are the same people who will say that they hate salt fics (specifically ones that target Adrien) and how they “bash characters,” then write fanfics or draw fanart that intentionally make Luka out of character for the sake of having him look bad or giving Marinette an excuse to run to Adrien (because Luka apparently needs to be made worse so that Adrien can look good instead of Adrien being able to stand on his own merits as a good love interest for Marinette).

These are the same people who will slam Luka when he’s Marinette’s support, then go off and ship him with other characters so that he can support them instead (fun fact that this is usually either Adrien - thus leaving Marinette completely alone and miserable when Luka canonically likes her - or characters that Marinette is actively against, such as Chloe or Lila).

These are the same people who will complain about how salty the fandom is (even when the salt is for catharsis/getting out anger from an episode in a productive way) and then laugh when a simple side ship ends because they’ve been letting said ship live rent free in their heads and couldn’t stop anticipating the episode that declares them “over.”

These are the same people who tell or suggest that people should “just leave” if they don’t like the main ship, unapologetically implying that the main ship is either all the show is about, all that they personally care about (bringing us right back to that little “not caring how torn apart Marinette is about the break-up” thing), or that people aren’t allowed to watch/like the show for other reasons (like Marinette herself, the miraculouses, other characters who may appear intermittently but nevertheless bring them joy to see, etcetera).

These are the same people who get on other people’s case for being spiteful while they themselves ride their high horse into the sunset, playing victim when people call them out for intentionally provoking others or purposefully mistagging to avoid people’s blacklist (tagging is not for the comfort of the tagger so they can “””avoid the toxic stans,””” for the record; it’s for the comfort of the people who don’t want to see that content).

And these are the same people who will go on and on about the toxicity of the stans who ship something they don’t like and then either ignore or downplay the stans who ship what they do like because they personally don’t have to experience it. This isn’t even about ship wars, it’s about the hypocrisy and lack of self-awareness.

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about how cruel the Luka fans or Lukanette shippers are when these people are celebrating Marinette’s misery because it means the end of a ship that they don’t like and certain people find comfort in. I don’t want to hear about people cross-tagging/mistagging when the Luka/Lukanette tag has been flooded with people who talk trash about the ship without any additional tags to filter it away, getting so bad to the point where some Luka/Lukanette fans had to find workarounds and/or avoid the tag entirely. I don’t want to hear about how certain shippers are worse because [x] [y] [z] when everyone has different experiences, showing a severe case of close-mindedness or at least ignorance on these people’s parts.

And, with how this season is heading, if something bad happens to the love square by the end of Season 4, I most definitely do not want to hear these same people decry the people who will do the exact thing that they’re doing now.

#category: salt #category: fandom #category: long post #((Mind you--this doesn't apply ONLY to the people who cross-tagged to ''celebrate'' Lukanette ending or mock Luka/Lukanette))#((so... if the shoe fits.))#((I literally don't care if people want to salt.))#((I think the whole situation is gross but like--whatever.))#((But we shouldn't be forced to deal with it because salty clowns want to make sure the people they're salty over see it.))#((And I don't want to hear ''oh it'd be different if people cheered the love square getting a wedge driven in it because it's endgame!''))#((as if mockery is okay if done by endgame shippers.))

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djarinsbeskar · 4 years

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PREQUEL ARC: PART 3 - THE BOUNTY

A/N: Part 3 of Stitches has arrived! This chapter was difficult to write, I'll be honest. And I'd really appreciate any feedback if it doesn't read as well as the first two chapters or doesn't make sense or is boring etc. etc.

This is the penultimate prologue chapter, with the story very much shifting to surround the dynamic and growth of the readers relationship with Din so if you can hold out for me just a bit longer, I promise, I'll make it worth the wait. You know what I'm talking about friends.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: None

Summary: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

9 ABY, on the Hydian Way.

Din prided himself on the strength of his principles. An unwavering certainty in everything he did that gave him a modicum of peace as he wandered throughout the galaxy amidst wars, rebellions and the chaos that ensued in their aftermath.

He was certain when he took the Creed, when he sacrificed a future for himself in service of the covert; something he had never regretted to this day. He had never regretted any bounty taken; unmoved by pleas, promises or threats. Neither tears nor anger could sway his resolve.

Truly, he could count on one hand the things he regretted in life; the job on Alzoc III, challenging a fully grown Mandalorian to a fight while still a hot blooded, angry teenager, and not trying to pull his parents into the bunker where they had hidden him from Separatist droids as Aq Vertina was invaded.

In his line of work, there was seldom room for self-doubt. Inner conflict led to hesitation, which could be a death sentence for a bounty hunter.

And yet, as he came out of hyperspace, that unfamiliar gnawing presence in the pit of his stomach began to rear its’ head again. The job he had accepted was… dubious, to say the least.

Din snorted in self-deprecation; most of his jobs were dubious in nature.

What brought on this unnatural doubt, however, was that this was a job for Imperial remnants. Din wasn’t a fool; he knew half the jobs he had taken in the past could have been traced to the Imps if he cared enough to look, but taking a job from them personally… well, he didn’t know how to feel about that just yet.

He pondered the feeling in his stomach again and frowned. Was it doubt… or instinct? Instinct was his most trusted companion as he travelled through space alone. A tickle at the back of his neck, a wary step forward, even a flash of electricity down his spine; those were only some of the ways that instinct spoke to him. And he always listened.

An uncomfortable feeling in his stomach though? Never that.

If it was instinct, then he was going against his very nature in ignoring it. If it was doubt, based on some misguided sense of morality in dealing with the empire… that he could deal with. He could smother doubt with control and consistency; going through the motions of a job brought security and familiarity. Sooner or later, that doubt would make way for a stoic acceptance, a state that had gotten Din through some of his roughest years.

His eyes were drawn to his shoulder, where the glint of newly crafted beskar shone in the gentle lights of the cockpit.

A down-payment…

“Makers Helmet…” he groaned, running a gloved thumb and forefinger across his tired eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on as the pressure at the back of his skull increased due to the loop his thoughts were going in.

A job was a job. He circled back to his original thought that had led him to accept the clients offer. A job with a bounty greater than anything he could have ever hoped to receive in his lifetime, let alone in one go. It was mere sentimentality and conscience getting in the way of good business. That beskar could not only provide him with armor to reaffirm his loyalty to the covert, but assistance and support to the foundlings and those who raised them.

His resolved steeled. He had never regretted putting the covert before himself, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Turning his attention back to the navicomputer, he scanned the co-ordinates that his most recent lead had pointed to. He had hunted the trail of his latest bounty to the general direction of a vast area of space that straddled the outer reaches of the Outer Rim and halted as it reached Wild Space. There was nothing to stop the bounty from being in those unexplored parts of the galaxy, and if the tracking beacon led him that far, he would have to be ready. With no spaceport on any of the planets he had seen dotting the area on the navicomputer, he thought it wise to refuel and gather provisions should he be there for any prolonged period.

As he lazily assessed which planet to land on, his eyes were drawn to a familiar name. A memory brushed against his thoughts. Not necessarily a pleasant one, but not entirely unpleasant either. For the sake of fairness, Din scanned the planets surrounding the one he pondered; some were equally as well equipped for his needs but the majority he had not been on in years if ever. Somewhere he knew, even briefly, gave him more comfort than the unknown.

At least, that was what Din told himself as he punched in the co-ordinates of Dandoran, the flicker of warmth the memory brought him was something equally as unnatural as the doubt coiled in his stomach.

Bantha balls, maybe he had been poisoned again...

Din tossed a few credits to the human female who received the Razor Crest into the hanger she was managing.

“She needs to be refueled.” Was all he said as he made his way out of the hanger and into the not unfamiliar streets of Mynock. It didn’t look like much had changed in the several months since he was here last; the place was still crawling with a mixture of criminals, bounty hunters and people who just didn’t want to be found. All in all, a good example of most Outer Rim cities.

Mynock had two main pedestrian streets that ran for over two klicks and intersected at the middle. From what he could tell, all legitimate business ran from those two streets, the further into the alleyways and twisted lanes that branched off those two streets one ventured, the seedier the business.

From what he knew, the practice you worked at was on one of these main streets. He paused, causing a few disgruntled pedestrians to have to jerk to a halt and make their way around his imposing frame. He was not here socially. He was never anywhere socially. He shook his head; between self-doubt and sentimentality, the tight leash he usually kept himself on was looser than he remembered and he had no idea just when it had started to slack.

That could not continue. But being aware of a problem allowed him to deal with it. So, with a greater sense of fortitude, he mentally choked any distracting feelings beyond the determination to collect this bounty. That included the somewhat interesting possibility of seeing you again.

Thankfully, Din only needed to stick to the main streets. The road was flanked by stall upon stall of foodstuffs, clothing, trinkets, ammunition and what looked to be a husbandry of Massiff dogs. The large, reflective eyes turned to the Mandalorian; all bared fangs and hostile snarls. An understandable response by most non-sentients when a Mandalorian had no real physical cues they could read, being as covered as they were. Until he lifted his hand for the one closest to sniff, they could only assume he was a threat.

A sniff was usually all it took however, before the snarling stopped. Din brushed a hand over the scaly head as he continued on his way to collect what he came here for.

An hour later, and Din was feeling much more at ease as he picked up the last of the supplies he thought he may need; ration packs, bactapads, generic ammunition that he liked to keep well stocked on the ship and so on. He was once more mentally compiling the information he had gathered on the location of the bounty, running through various routes in his mind that would cover the most planets in the parsec in the shortest amount of time.

He nodded his thanks at the change the Rhodian merchant returned to him and began to make his way back to the Razor Crest. If it hadn’t been for the long flick of your hair in the tie you kept it up in when you turned your head to look at someone at a stall across the central walkway of the street, Din was certain he’d have walked on none the wiser. But alas, that same higher power that had gifted him with a keep perception of his surroundings cursed him in the same fell swoop as the movement attracted his attention.

He came up short, running a mental check on himself immediately. No, no injuries. His shoulder still ached on occasion from being dislocated six months earlier, but it was a phantom pain at most these days. He was fit as a mythosaur and he wasn’t about to have that good streak ruined by getting injured in your presence… again.

Din wondered if he could escape to his ship without you noticing; he didn’t want to tempt fate anymore than he already had. Plus, awkward interactions that left him feeling frustrated both mentally and physically were not high on the list of things he enjoyed, thank you very much.

As a Mandalorian, Din expected attention wherever he went. It was just something he chalked down to being a necessary evil to live by his Creed but he had never wanted to be more invisible than he did in that moment, thinking that at any moment he would be trip into a sarlacc pit or something equally unpleasant.

But you hadn’t seen him, thankfully; much more invested in the choices at the fishmonger’s stall.

Despite his better judgement however, he paused from slipping back to his ship silently.

He was taken by the slight pink flush that rose to your cheeks at something the woman behind the stall said, intrigued by the color and what caused it. Din tilted his head slightly. He had noticed you getting flushed in frustration or annoyance both times you had treated him. It was fascinating to see your cheeks flush for a reason other than irritation and anger.

That particular thought touched a dangerous part of Din’s mind, a part that made him wander into the realm of curiosity to ponder what else might make you blush like that.

Oh, but it was a delightful color on you, and he watched longer than he ought to, a small quirk lifting the corner of his lips. The image of domesticity as you adjusted the parcels of food already in your arms to accept the fish was so foreign to his eyes and certainly not one he ever associated with you until now. It spoke to a part of him that still slumbered but began to fidget in its sleep, on the verge of consciousness.

That tentative smile that he had unwittingly been giving into as he indulged his senses by watching you, dropped the moment three males approached you. The Twi’lek was standing too close for you to be comfortable and by the rigidity of your spine, he knew you were not.

You had taken a step away from the men easily, your body language read cautious but not fearful and he knew better than to underestimate your abilities to wrangle men into whatever position you wanted them in. He had first-hand experience in that department and honestly, it wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded in his head.

Din relaxed the grip he had unknowingly tightened on the blaster at his hip when you made to leave the stall, away from the three. He shook his head at himself; you had lived here for years. You knew how to handle yourself perfectly fine.

Letting out a breath, he was about to continue back to the ship when that same cursed perception caught the Twi’leks arm shoot out to grip your upper arm tightly, preventing your exit.

Din was behind you before he even realized he had moved.

You examined the range of fish on offer, eyes skeptically crossing off anything that looked like it had been sitting out too long or anything with more than four eyes. You weren’t squeamish by nature, but the fewer dead eyes that were staring at you while you prepared dinner, the better.

One of the few perks of Mynock, was its proximity to the Great Basin of Dandoran that opened out to one of the many oceans to cover the planet. Fresh seafood was a staple in the city and after years of ration packs between the Rebellion and Klatooine, eating fresh was a luxury you would never take for granted again. Your own home planet was mostly covered in water too; the greater population spread over countless clusters of islands where seafood was also the meal of choice for most. It was a tenuous connection but being able to cook dishes somewhat like the ones your mother made when you and your brothers were younger made it feel like you weren’t so far away.

You smiled to yourself at the thought as you pointed to the light blue colored Berbersian crabs, knowing the trawlers had come in only this morning that carried them. The claws were meaty with the slightest sweetness to their flavor that complimented most dishes. Not to mention that when cooked, they turned the most vibrant blue that their shells alone could be used for decoration and craft.

You chatted aimlessly with the fishmonger as she cleaned and prepared the translucent peachy pink fish you had also chosen for good measure.

“Busy at Biran’s?”

“When are we not busy?”

“It’s all them fights between the gangs. Folk say since the Hutts were chased out that things are better but it’s even more dangerous with the others tryin’ to take their place.”

You only gave a non-committal hum to that; you didn’t get involved in politics of any kind. Gang or otherwise.

The mindless chatter continued on nonetheless to more safe topics.

“Did I tell ye, Drea had her baby not three days ago. Another girl.”

“Poor Nej will have his hands full when they all get older.”

“I’m sure they’re dying for a boy at this point. Great excuse to keep sowin’ the crops though, ain’t it?”

“I’m sure they don’t need any excu—”

“Ever think of havin’ any of yer own? Yer well into that time of yer life, I’d say no?”

You blinked, nearly missing the bag of produce as she handed it across the stall to you. You could feel your face heat up at the direction this conversation had turned, and you definitely never thought you would be discussing your biological clock with a fishmonger over Berbersian crab.

“Well I---”

Movement from the corner of your eye stole your attention from that progressively awkward conversation and the no doubt insufficient answer you would have given as three males came to stand at the same stall, facing you. Your eyes scanned the trio sideways, not prepared to give them your attention unless it became unavoidable. There were two humans and a Twi’lek and given the way the humans flanked the large blue male; you had a fair idea about who was in charge as he sneered at you in what you assumed was meant to be a disarming smile.

The blasters at each of their hips and the emerald green coloring on the right sleeve of their jackets told you they belonged to one of the gangs the fishmonger had been complaining about not a few minutes earlier. This gang in particular, the Quai-Kisu or Emerald Dagger in Basic, were a faction that splintered off from the main Hutt crime syndicate once their influence in Dandoran lessened. Their trademark was spice smuggling but anyone with two braincells knew that they accepted the lesser charge to hide the true wealth of their criminal activity, flesh trafficking.

Suffice to say, you didn’t want anything to do with them and you most certainly didn’t want them to want anything to do with you.

“Can I help you?” You kept your eyes on them as you handed the fishmonger what you owed her when it was clear they weren’t going to leave; the woman wisely remaining quiet as she accepted the credits.

None of them responded immediately, and you wondered if this was a new scare tactic they were employing to make people anxious. The crimson hue of the Twi’leks eyes glinted as he contemplated you, running down your figure lazily before meeting your eyes again when you frowned,

“Ol’ man Biran available for a house call?” He rumbled, the sun catching the points of the filed canines as he spoke.

“I’m afraid Biran doesn’t make house calls anymore. Besides, he’s been under the weather for the last few days unfortunately.”

You reeled the lie off effortlessly, having learned over the years who Biran would tend to and who he would rather see succumb to whatever ailed them. It was a steep and difficult learning curve for you, your initial training taught you that you must do your utmost to save every life. Biran had laughed in derision, saying that that mindset wouldn’t serve you well out here. These were gangs, not the flyboys of Corellia. Saving one of their lives might condemn countless others. So while you struggled, you accepted that it was his practice and he made the rules and after over two years on Dandoran, you had seen enough victims of the gang warfare to not feel any pity when one of them suffered an injury.

“C’mon beautiful. One of our pals was injured in a… terrible, terrible accident.” The taller of the two human males, a lanky man with a neck that looked much too long and eyes that took way too much liberty in running over your body.

“There are other doctors in Mynock.” You replied steadily, “I’m sure one of them can help.”

To humor them any longer would be to encourage trouble, so you cut the conversation short and turned quite deliberately to make the point that the conversation was over, flashing the fishmonger a wan smile before turning back the way you came.

“We weren’t done talkin’ to you.”

Your eyes widened marginally when an iron grip closed around your upper arm, your free hand dropping the items in your arm immediately to click the safety off your blaster and lift it in the time it took for the Twi’lek to yank you into facing him again.

“Did I say you could lay a hand on me?” You hissed, the blaster pointing upward from where you held it close to your body towards the underside of the Twi’lek’s chin.

“Quite the little spitfire, ain’t she lads?” He crowed, amused by your action. His laughter was like shattered glass on your ears, making you want to wince, but you kept your hand steady even as your heart pounded. You received as much training as anyone when they joined the Rebellion, but your experience in actual combat beyond treating people on the front line was limited. You knew your own limitations, and that there was no way you would be able to take on all three of them.

The hand around your arm squeezed painfully and you clocked the blaster, lifting it closer to sit under the Twi’lek’s chin, “Release me. Now.”

And like most men of his ilk, he ignored you in favor of his own voice,

“From what we’ve seen, you work with the good doctor. Shouldn’t be a bother for you to fix him up. Nicer to look at too, eh fellas?” He tossed over his shoulder to the snickers of his lackeys.

“Then you can go back to target practice with your toy gun.” He chuckled darkly, leaning in where the pungent smell of his breath made you turn your head away in distaste, “That is, if we let you go at all.”

You swallowed thickly at the threat, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as your mind scrambled to come up with a solution, a way out, something. You felt the familiar sting of tears at the back of your eyes when each avenue came up blank. You couldn’t think of anything and suddenly, you felt so terribly alone in this shithole of a town on a faraway planet far from anyone who gave a bantha crap who would actually be able to help you.

Their laughter only grated on your already frayed nerves and pissed you off even more. You had fought too hard and suffered too much to let these assholes take the one thing you owned, your freedom. Your eyes flashed with anger and snapped back to the Twi’lek, ready to pull the trigger because if you were going out, it would be on your terms.

Their laughter suddenly ceased then, and you blinked. Had they copped that you planned to take at least one, maybe two of them out with you? Before you could figure it out, your arm was shoved away. You raised your now free hand to steady the blaster as you aimed it at them, but they were backing away, eyes averted.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You growled, hiding the waver in your voice.

They said nothing in reply as the Twi’lek bared his teeth and made towards you again. One of the humans grabbed his arm and hissed something to him. You couldn’t make it all out, but you swore you heard a name you never thought you’d hear again.

Teff.

With one last growl and glare, the Twi’lek conceded to the advice of the humans and all three of them melted back into the crowds of Mynock leaving you to release a heavy breath as you lowered your weapon, replacing the safety with ease as your eyes continued to scan the street. You wanted to be certain they had really left.

“Huh, maybe they were smart after all.” You muttered to yourself, proud that you had dealt with the situation somewhat and holstered your blaster against your hip again, “Still got it girl.” You commended yourself as you stooped to pick up your dropped groceries.

A snorted, “I beg to differ” had you blinking up over your shoulder at the familiar, cocksure figure of the Mandalorian; a hand only grazing the blaster at his hip as he stood casually behind you, his head tilted down to look at you and a resounding sigh leaving his helmet when you smiled.

“Mando?”

An incline of his head was the only greeting you received before he crossed his arms across the wise expanse of his armored chest.

“One sec.”

You got back to your feet and, as if by instinct, ran your eyes over his body, “You didn’t poison yourself again, did you?” You teased lightly, realizing that you were seeing him uninjured for the first time. Well, the second time. But walking into a cantina to do battle with a Houk didn’t could in your estimation.

It gave you pause to notice things about him that you didn’t usually; the way he stood, leaning his weight back on his left foot that gave him an air of lazy arrogance that wouldn’t be misplaced in a loth-wolf relaxing in the winter sun. The strength of his thighs seems to be accentuated by the posture; one hand placed securely at his blaster. If you didn’t know any better, his stance was like an open challenge to every male around him; submit or suffer. But you did know him somewhat, and you knew that he didn’t need to lay down any challenge. He had already won the second he stepped off his ship. The wide breadth of space given to him by passers-by only highlighted that fact.

Even with every patch of skin covered, you could feel the raw power rolling off of him, or was it testosterone? Whatever it was, it tugged at a more primal instinct and ignited a slow, steady heat inside of you that made you both embarrassed and intrigued.

Okay, so you were attracted to the way the man stood. That was fine, that was acceptable. You were a warm-blooded woman in her prime who knew her desires and embraced them. Finding how a Mandalorian… stood, was just another interesting thing to add to your list of things you found attractive.

Along with a raspy baritone and penchant for trouble…

You know what, it was probably just a fantastic indication that you hadn’t been laid in a while, so you made a mental note to deal with that particular issue later.

“I never poisoned myself.” That same low, gruff voice rose to your bait so easily and you had to bite your lip not to laugh, his hand fisting at his side before he unclenched it. Probably thinking about strangling you, honestly. Now there was a thought, for later. Nope, it was definitely the recent dry spell that had you like this. And the sun. The sun always had a part to play in these delusions.

Mando seemed to figure out your game of teasing him however, when you couldn’t fully mask your smile and responded in kind,

“You’re welcome, by the way.” His voice rumbled and you were certain that if you were only a few inches closer, you would be able to feel the vibrations brush against you.

“For what?” You laughed in disbelief, “I had everything under control before you decided to strut into the fray.”

You tried to prevent the frown from creasing between your brows when you thought a little more on the situation. You had a blaster literally pointed to the neck of one of those thugs and they didn’t care. It didn’t even seem like Mando had drawn his weapon and all three had scarpered? Was there any fairness in the galaxy? Obviously not.

The unpainted helmet tilted, the impassive T-visor giving away nothing of its wearers feelings beyond the sigh that left him, “What did you plan to do? Shoot the son of a mudscuffer and have an entire gang out for blood in less than an hour? Yeah, that’s smart.” He snorted.

Your mouth fell open in incredulity, “Talk about the Jawa calling the Ewok short, you’d have done the exact same thing!” You cursed your short temper, especially when it came to the stubborn mule of a man in front of you. The fact that his voice never once rose frustrated you. It remained gravelly but soft, like the sound of pebbles and stones being pushed and pulled by the ocean you could hear from your bedroom as a child.

You were a mature person; you were proud of how you dealt with most things. But in this instance, you allowed your immature side to rear her head momentarily as you began to stalk back to the practice. A piss poor option since the Mandalorian scoffed and kept up with you easily, obviously not content with you having the last word.

“But I wouldn’t be so reckless to not think it through before shooting them.” He tipped his helmet back a little, as if he dared to look down his nose at you. Frustration simmered in your blood as your eyes narrowed at him sideways.

“I was wrong, you obviously are injured. A blow to the head this time was it, Mando? Must be hidden under that kettle you call a helmet” You let out an exasperated breath, shaking your head, “I’ve no cure for that unfortunately.”

You could have sworn you heard a soft noise that sounded remarkably like a chuckle, but it was so quiet and the streets so noisy that you were certain you were wrong.

When the door to the practice-come-living quarters for yourself and Biran came into view, you stopped short. How did you get back here so quickly? Looking over your shoulder, you realized you had led the Mandalorian on a merry chase to nowhere he needed to be. He didn’t look particularly fazed, but the small voice of guilt that sounded an awful lot like your mother had you opening your mouth before you could think twice,

“Do you want to come in?”

What possessed you to invite him in?

It was obvious from both the stilted way you asked and the drawn out, deeply awkward silence that followed. You were about to tuck tail and run inside, slam the door, and pretend you weren’t as mortified as you knew you were when he cocked his head. The movement made you pause in your escape, opening your mouth to tell him to forget about it before the words got lodged in your throat.

“Sure.” Was all he said, and that was how you found yourself staring at a fully armed Mandalorian taking up two thirds of the small settee in the living room to the back of the practice, his hands placed on each thigh as they spread a bit when he sat.

Biran, bless him, took up the last third of the same settee, unfazed by the type of man in his living room and chatting merrily about the last Mandalorian he had met over fifteen years ago.

“And that wasn’t you?”

“No.”

“Ah maybe someone you know then!”

“Maybe.”

Mando’s conversation skills were abysmal.

You didn’t have very high expectations in the first place, but watching it without being a participant, was downright comical. You hid your smile behind the glass of water you had fetched for yourself but the slight tilt of his helmet in your direction told you he had caught your amusement. For someone whose face you couldn’t see, you could practically feel his eyes narrow at you. It made the giddiness from being equal parts anxious and entertained from watching Mando try make nice with the elderly Mirialan rise again and you had to physically bite your lip to stop.

Mando wasn’t listening to Biran anymore, that much was obvious. He wasn’t even looking in his direction, more comfortable blatantly glaring at you instead. Biran was unfazed. Truly, the Mirialan didn’t need a response to have a conversation. A listening ear was sometimes all he wanted. It was a characteristic that endeared you to the him in the first place. The elderly were so often overlooked and written off, but when one only cared enough to listen, they would find themselves enriched with experiences no history book could ever compete with.

“…So how do you two know each other?”

Your attention was dragged back into the conversation so fast you might have given yourself whiplash. You blinked a few times as the Mirialan watched Mando with a clueless smile on his face, completely ignorant to the stiff body beside him.

“Coercive medical attention.” You choked a bit on the sip of water you had taken to buy yourself some time to think; coercive? That rotten---

“Ah, you were a difficult patient, were you?” Biran chuckled, knowing your methods well, “Sweet as pie if you do as your told, but the minute you resist she’ll go for you like a sand panther. I can’t imagine there was much room for bedside manners in the Rebellion, but thankfully that attitude works well in cities like Mynock.” You spluttered again, putting the glass down since it was out to get you too apparently.

Of all the treacherous--, why were you so nice to this old sod again? You would show him a sand panther when you ‘forget’ to buy his favorite tea next time you went shopping.

You seethed to yourself, leaning back in the armchair you had perched yourself on earlier, flyaway hairs from the breeze outside falling into your face which you blew away with a frustrated breath.

“Hm, a panther?” Your eyes rose as the low baritone filled the air after Biran had finished having his laugh at your expense. Mando cocked his head pensively to the side as he looked at you briefly, “More like a kitten, I’d say.” And with that, he looked away.

He didn’t bother saying anything else after that, content with letting Biran’s laughter fill the room and smother the tense silence the two of you were sitting in.

You could feel your cheeks heating up once more as you glared daggers at the tin can in front of you. Why did it feel like you were being simultaneously insulted and flirted with? You couldn’t make the distinction, so you didn’t know how to respond.

Instead, you decided to poke at a different part of the conversation.

“For someone who was coerced, you sure do find yourself on my table quick enough when you need treatment.” Your eyes ran up and down the length of his body candidly when he looked back at you, “and when you don’t need treatment, evidently.”

You smirked when the Mandalorian clenched a fist on his thigh, the third occupant in the room seemingly forgotten as Mando hissed,

“I never asked for your help.”

You scoffed and decided not to deign that with a response.

“Besides, I only stopped over for supplies and fuel.” He admitted and a treacherous part of you sunk a bit at the honesty in his voice. Seeing you was just a coincidence, like always. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air and you fought the twinge of sadness that chased you because of them.

Biran looked between the two of you before standing shakily and patting the Mandalorian on the shoulder with no hesitation, “Allow us to provide you with something extra for your travels then.” He turned his wrinkled face towards you with a smile, the deep groves of his crow’s feet increasing as he nodded to the bags of forgotten groceries, “I think our guest should try the crab. Knowing you, you bought too much as usual.”

You flushed at being caught out, were you really that predicable?

“There’s no need. I got what I came for so, I’ll be going now.” Mando stood fluidly despite his armor, and you were once again struck with how different it was seeing him injured as opposed to healthy. You felt you needed to get used to his presence all over again, with how much it filled the room.

“Thank you, for your hospitality.” He tipped his helmet towards Biran, his voice still rather gruff but laced with a polite softness uncharacteristic to him. Biran waved him off and started making his way back out to the practice when he heard the binary from his medi-droid welcoming a new patient.

That left the two of you standing in a room that suddenly felt much too small for the tension that hung around you both like a blanket. You moved into the kitchen to separate the food you would keep and the food you would give to Mando on one of the countertops, tying the bag tightly by the straps so that it stayed clean and fresh when you were done. You couldn’t hear him move, but you could feel the slight disturbance of the air when he leaned his shoulder casually against the doorframe, arms crossed enticingly once more as he watched you.

“So… what did he call you again? A sand… kitten, was it?”

“Oh, shut up.” You growled over your shoulder at him before turning and shoving the bag with two of the Berbersian crabs and some herbs you knew went well with them, into his hands.

“I don’t need these.” He held the bag out, straightening his stance as he pushed himself from the doorframe. You wisely ignored him.

“All you need is a pan. And water. And heat. Boil them and actually give your body some proper nutrients, would you?”

You explained as you began leading him out towards the private entrance of the residence, through the small kitchen and out into an alleyway that gave you an immediate sense of déjà vu the moment Mando stepped outside. The sun was still beating down and it glinted across the helmet that was becoming as recognizable as a face to you.

“In case you didn’t realize, I’m perfectly healthy.” He replied smoothly, getting his bearings as he examined the alleyway and noted the sounds from the nearby street as the direction he needed to go.

“That’d be a first.” You griped at him, but there was no venom in your words, and he knew it.

You knew he was about to leave, and the suddenness of his departure was as jarring as his arrival. You didn’t know why you felt the need to stall, and you pushed that urge down rapidly in the face of the warrior when he looked back at you from assessing the street not a few feet away.

You sighed and let out a chuckle, wondering again how this man constantly came barreling into your life, disrupting the precarious peace you had brokered while here. You might have said it was a nuisance, but deep down, you knew that he brought a breath of life back into yours every time he crossed your path, reinvigorated the aimless routine you found yourself in. It was unsettling, the way this man had wormed his way into being such a… significant presence in your life. Even after only meeting him three times and always under less than pleasant circumstances.

Part of you wanted to tell him he could stay longer if he wanted; but you knew he would refuse.

Part of you wanted to tell him to be safe; but you knew he wouldn’t be.

Part of you wanted to tell him that you would see him around; but you knew that you probably wouldn’t.

So you settled on a lackluster, “good luck on your hunt” with a small smile as a peace offering for the fraught bickering you always seemed to fall into with him. A peace offering, he seemed to accept as he lifted the bag silently and looked inside,

“Pan. Water. Heat. Right?” His own attempt made your smile grow as you chuckled and nodded,

“You got it, sunshine.”

He nodded once in affirmation while you moved around him back towards the door of the practice. For some reason, you didn’t want to watch him walk away this time. It was easier for you to leave instead. A rumble of your name from the Mandalorian had you looking over your shoulder at him questioningly, the blush that had risen to your cheeks at the sound of your name on his lips not lost on Mando. He had turned back towards you when you moved and after a beat, spoke again.

“See you next time.”

And just like that, your chest hollowed, and a warmth filled you. The weight of his words were like an embrace, a reassurance you didn’t know you needed. Had needed, for longer than you probably knew. It was something secure and encouraging in these times of change and uncertainty, and you felt yourself cling to those words like a lifeline.

The placid nod you offered him with a gentle smile was all he stuck around for. Spinning on his heels, he took off towards the streets of Mynock once more, disappearing in a flash of beskar and steel and for once, you didn’t ponder about possibly seeing him again. You knew you would.

Din settled back into the pilots’ chair of the Razor Crest twenty minutes later, running through the familiar process of flying the ship out of the atmosphere and into the comfort of space, eager to escape into hyperdrive as soon as he was clear enough from Dandoran.

See you next time?

He groaned leaned his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling of the cockpit, his brows drawn low over his eyes as he frowned. What possessed him to offer that promise, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the way your eyes had dimmed slightly when he was about to leave, or when you had wished him luck on a job he was still so uncertain about. Maybe it was the way you blushed when he said your name.

Or maybe it was just because he wanted to see you again too.

And that was the most troubling reason of all.

Din didn’t do friends, he had acquaintances and colleagues even if the term was tenuous. He had the covert and the foundlings, but he didn’t have people he actually wished to see. Never trusted anyone beyond what they could each offer one another. You hadn’t looked for anything from him, and it was unsettling. He didn’t know if he could trust you, years of training and experience told him otherwise. But from the old memories of you pressing Raquor’daan poison from his wound to the teasing friendship you displayed with the old Mirialan, his resolve softened a little.

His eyes flicked to the rapidly shrinking planet he was leaving.

Trust was too strong a word right now, but respect… he could admit that he respected you. And that alone put you on a very short list of people, one he was sure you would never truly understand the importance of.

And he was right.

You would never know the significance of being on that very short list of people, but in that moment, Din’s grudging respect for you set both of your lives on a very different course than either of you ever anticipated; one that revolved around a very special, very small, green child.

Once Dandoran had faded sufficiently behind the Razor Crest, he keyed in the co-ordinates to the far reaches of the Outer Rim and entered hyperspace and after several days of travel, he finally struck beskar when the tracking fob starting beeping as he coasted through space. He smirked behind his helmet as he changed direction and noted the closest planet on his navicomputer where his bounty was hidden.

Arvala-7.

Gotcha.

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hood-ex · 3 years

Text

This is a fic written for @stxleslyds! The prompt was: a fic with Dick, Roy and Lian spending time together in the Outsiders era. Thanks for the donation, Tati 💙.

Important: This fic takes place a week after the events of Outsiders (2003) #19.

“We could use you here,” Roy says. Even with his voice coming directly through the comm, Dick almost doesn’t hear him say, “I need you here.”

A soft wind blows through Blüdhaven, ruffling through Dick’s sweat-matted hair. What a filthy night it is for a Friday. Thunder rumbling in the distance with hot, humid air filling Dick’s lungs. It’s the kind of air that isn’t natural for a place like the ‘Haven. It’s here for whatever reason, and it’s no better now that the sun has been replaced by pink and purple neon lights flashing across the strip. It’s nights like these that Dick can admit to missing his red tunic and green shorts. It was shit to wear them in the winter but an absolute godsend in the summer.

Dick sighs deeply, moving away from the ledge of the building and away from his view of the herds of drunk people whose laughter echoes between the bars and casinos. There’s a tall HVAC unit in the middle of the building that he walks over to and sits against. The fabric of his suit rubs against it, and he squirms a little at the uncomfortable position. He bears it because this is a conversation that requires a little support.

“Dick.”

“I know,” Dick mutters.

He should be under the streets of Brooklyn the same as all the other Outsiders should be. Considering the circumstances, it’s no surprise that some of them have deserted the ship for the time being. Licking their wounds in private so to speak. Dick’s not proud of it. He tacks it onto his mental bulletin board of shame where it sits up there all torn and ugly like the rest of his deplorable moments.

“I’d feel better if you were here to watch Lian when I step out of the room,” Roy says in Japanese. Dick’s brow furrows. Either Lian is in the same room as Roy and he doesn’t want her to know they’re talking about her or there’s an Outsider nearby that he doesn’t want listening in on his personal issues. “She hasn’t started therapy yet and her separation anxiety is still high.”

“High for both of you,” Dick points out. He thinks back to a few days ago when Roy had called him in a panic because he’d left all of his groceries in the middle of the store after his paranoia got the best of him and had him running back to the base to check on Lian.

“Tell me about it,” Roy laughs dryly. “I feel like I’m going fuckin’ nuts, dude.” The strain in his voice sends a full body shiver down Dick’s spine. “All I can think about is whether she’s okay and if the base is protected enough, and if I can really trust everyone here. You and Kory are the only ones I feel okay leaving her with.”

You shouldn’t trust me like that, Dick thinks bitterly. Lilith and Donna trusted me with their lives and look where they are now.

“Everyone else is… I trust them as teammates. I trust them with my life. But I can’t—"

“Trust them with Lian’s,” Dick says, knowing how much this whole situation has fucked with Roy's ability to trust anyone and everyone. Except him and Kory, apparently. Probably Ollie and the rest of Roy's family too.

He thunks his head against the HVAC unit and stares up at the dark sky. Not a single star up there, he thinks, and something like guilt burns in his chest. You took them all with you, didn’t you, Donna? Put them in your pockets and faded away. “She might not be comfortable with me there,” he says after a moment.

It pains him to think that Lian could be scared of him. Scared of him because he looks similar to one of the blue-eyed, dark-haired kidnappers who murdered her babysitter and then branded her like cattle. That type of trauma association doesn’t go away after a week.

“Kory told Lian you might stop by, and you know what Lian asked her?”

Terrible things flash through Dick’s head. Things like words born of fear or disgust. He hugs his arms around his knees and squeezes them tight.

“No, what did she say?”

“She asked, ‘Is Uncle Nightwing gonna bring Blue’s Clues with him?’”

A smile tugs at the corner of Dick’s lips and his eyes start to sting. He can’t believe that’s the first thing she thought of. It only seems like yesterday that he was watching Blue’s Clues with her in Titans Tower. Sometimes he would pause the show and ask Lian questions about each of the clues just to hear what kind of outlandish answers her kid brain could come up with. Other times the detective in him couldn’t help but steer her towards a logical answer. Roy used to always roll his eyes and tell him to stop trying to turn her into a mini Nightwing.

“That doesn’t mean she’ll be okay seeing me in person and you know it,” Dick reminds him.

Roy’s sigh is soft and muffled in his ear. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dick’s not one to wait around.

“Let’s cross it now.”

“You’re coming over?” Roy asks, and even though he mostly sounds neutral, Dick can hear the disbelief hidden under it all.

If there was an award for the world's most shitty friend, Dick would probably be in the lead to receive it. Here Roy is dealing with the fact that his daughter was abducted and almost trafficked, and what’s Dick been doing for the last few days instead of sticking by his side? Working himself to the bone in Blüdhaven, that’s what. Hiding away from the fact that he almost lost another important person to him. Trying to avoid the crushing weight of failure that clings to him like a second skin.

Pathetic. Some safety net he is.

“Yeah, give me an hour,” Dick says.

The commute from Blüdhaven to Brooklyn isn’t bad at this time of night. Most of the traffic is packed downtown where all the bars are lined up. Dick takes the highway to avoid the worst of it.

The roar of the city dies off once he goes underground. Down here the HQ looms over him in all its steel glory. Dick’s always thought of it like one giant elevator. It’s all hard angles and sleek, silver walls. Hardly a place one would describe as homey, but it was home to a few people nevertheless.

Dick goes inside after getting his eye and hand scanned by the computer. He heads down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light and quiet out of habit. So far there’s no sign of Jade, Indigo, or Rex in any of the rooms he passes. They’re the most likely to be here around this time. From what Kory told him the other day, Grace has been spending most of her time clubbing, and Anissa has been staying with her dad. He hates to admit it but it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about running into either of them.

He ends up finding Roy and Lian in the rec room. Lian is sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room. She must have had a shower not too long ago because her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with unicorns on them. A Cinderella blanket is strewn across her lap and a stuffed rabbit sits discarded on the floor by her feet.

Roy looks small squatting in front of her. His pants are the only sign of his Arsenal gear, and it makes Dick feel slightly out of place since he’s still decked out in full mask and suit. It’s the first time Dick’s seen Roy in person since they brought down Tanner’s operations a week ago. He looks how Dick would expect any parent to look after being targeted by a major sex trafficker: stressed and exhausted.

Those tired eyes of his shift to the doorway where Dick stands, and Dick can see the way Roy looks him over from head to toe, assessing Dick’s condition. He can look as hard as he wants, but he won’t find anything. Dick keeps his face blank and unreadable.

“It still hurts,” Lian whimpers, and both Dick and Roy's attention immediately snaps back to her.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over her lap like she’s going to throw up all over the floor. Roy doesn’t move to try and avoid any possible bouts of vomit. Nothing happens as the seconds tick by. No retching or anything. There’s only the sound of Roy’s hand rubbing up and down Lian’s arm.

“Me and your Uncle Nightwing are gonna get you feeling better soon,” Roy assures her in a gentle voice. “And guess what?”

Lian makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat.

The look Roy shoots Dick is somewhere between caution and amusement. “He’s been playing quiet mouse behind you this whole time.”

Dick braces himself as Lian shoots back up like a rocket. “He’s behind me?” she asks, twisting around in her seat. Dick’s heart starts jackrabbiting because what if she’s scared of him? What if he accidentally triggers her PTSD? What if— “Uncle Nightwing!” Lian shrieks.

Relief shudders through him because she sounds happy to see him. Not scared or angry or disgusted like he feared. She’s looking at him like he just told her he brought her a bag of candy, and that revelation is enough to make him take a breath and finally enter the room.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick says, hurrying over to the couch so that she doesn’t have to get up. “I missed you.”

Lian reaches for his hand and holds on to it. It’s not like the hug Dick usually gets from her and maybe that’s because she doesn’t want anyone touching her back after the incident. Dick will take anything he can get. His much larger hand closes over her own and he swings them back and forth lightly.

“Me too,” Lian says. She squeezes his hand three times. “Why do you still have your gloves on?”

“My hands are cold,” Dick lies. “Why were you bent over like an accordion just a minute ago?”

“Her tummy’s been hurting,” Roy says with a frown.

“It’s because tigers used to try and eat people,” Lian tells him matter-of-factly. Roy looks like he’s about to correct her but she quickly hurries on. “My brain says there’s danger and it makes my tummy stop working.”

A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s head as he realizes that she’s describing anxiety. A simplified explanation of how the digestive system shuts down and sends blood to other parts of the body when there’s danger.

“My tummy does that too,” Dick says after a pause. “I get a lot of anxiety sometimes. Do you want me to show you how I try to make it go away?”

Lian scrunches her nose. “Do we have to take medicine?”

“Nope. All we need to do is sit up straight and breathe. Breathing really deep helps our brains calm down and makes our tummies feel more relaxed,” Dick explains. He sinks down on the plush couch and demonstrates how she should be sitting. “Now move back until you’re sitting like me.”

Lian does as she’s told and scoots back until she’s resting against the back of the couch. Dick only remembers how short she is when he notices how her feet stick out straight in front of her instead of dangling over the edge of the couch.

“Now tell your daddy to get in position.”

“Daddy,” Lian slaps the free cushion beside her, “sit next to me.”

“Magic word?” Roy prompts.

“Please,” Lian pouts.

“That’s better.” Roy’s knees pop when he shifts out of his crouched position. The whole couch rocks when he falls back against it. “What’s the strat here, Wing? We need to close our eyes or what?”

Dick wants to ask him why he’s acting like he’s never done this before but the playful words stick in his mouth like glue.

“We’ll close our eyes in a second. Lian, I want you to watch how your daddy and I take really deep breaths, okay? Then we’re all going to do it together.”

“I can take really big breaths!” Lian insists. She scrambles out of her pose and gets on her knees. Her little fingers wrap around Dick’s bicep as she leans in close to him. “I can take one million breaths as big as an elephant!”

The tired and apathetic part of him tells him to ignore her kid logic and to get back on track. The uncle part of him is another story. It wants him to be fun and helpful. To distract Lian from the worries and fears she has.

In the end, he does what he always does best: puts on a performance.

“Oh yeah?” Dick challenges with a grin that hopefully doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “I can take five billion breaths as big as a planet.”

“Elephants are bigger than planets,” she says.

“I think maybe the elephants are only bigger in your dreams.”

“Yeah, they are,” Lian agrees because she’s a typical kid who will support anything that proves she’s right in some capacity.

Roy looks amused when he puts his hands on Lian’s shoulders and steers her to sit back on her bottom. “Alright little missy, no more talking. We’re gonna do what Uncle Nightwing says now, okay?”

“Okay,” Lian agrees, looking over at Dick expectantly.

Coaching Lian through the exercise is easy. The most important part is making sure she’s taking breaths that are deep enough to make her stomach expand like a balloon. Dick has her place her hands on top of her stomach so he can see them rise when she inhales.

Roy follows along and Dick can tell that he’s taking advantage of the exercises for his own benefit. His face looks peaceful and relaxed as he follows along with Dick’s instructions to suck in a breath on the count of one and exhale up until the count of ten.

“Keep focusing on counting,” Dick tells them while they exhale. “We don’t want any other thoughts in our heads. No bad thoughts or funny thoughts. Only think about counting to ten.”

They run through a few more cycles. Dick’s pleased when he hears both Lian and Roy’s stomachs grumbling as they exhale. It’s a good sign that the deep breaths are massaging their organs and decreasing any kind of stomach pain.

“That’s it,” Dick says. “We’re all done.” He opens his eyes and sees Lian slumped against the back of the couch. Her hands are still resting on her stomach, but she looks languid instead of tense like she was when he first saw her.

“I’m tired now,” Roy says. His movements are slow as molasses when he slides forward to the edge of the couch and bends over to rest his arms on his thighs. He looks at Lian. “How about you, princess? You feeling any better?”

“Mhmm. My tummy doesn’t feel really uh…”

“Tight?” Dick offers.

“Yeah, it’s not so tight anymore.”

Roy pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. Mine feels a little better too.”

“Can we do Uncle Nightwing’s breathing thing again tomorrow?” she asks through a yawn.

“Sure thing,” Roy nods. His attention shifts to Dick. “Are you gonna still be here to lead us through it?”

This isn’t some kind of test but it feels like one. It feels like if he says no then he’s only proving that he’s a bad friend. That he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t want to give Roy that impression because it’s not true. Roy can rely on him the same way Dick relies on Roy. He hopes showing up here tonight is proof of that.

“That’s the plan,” he says, voice soft.

Roy leans over the couch and squeezes Dick’s knee gently. “You sure?” he asks, and his eyes roam over Dick’s face like he’s trying to find evidence that Dick is lying.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He pats Roy’s hand reassuringly in the same way Alfred's done for him and Bruce a hundred times. It's only now that he realizes it's a habit he's picked up.

Lian suddenly leans into Dick’s side and presses her weight against his arm. She pats both his and Roy’s hands.

“I’m sure too,” she says, and this time Dick can’t help but smile.

#Dick Grayson #Roy Harper #Lian Harper #tw: mentions of sex trafficking #tw: mentions of past kidnapping and child abuse #my fic #fic commission

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illumiru · 3 years

Note

Ooh can u talk about ur theory where batcest fucked up fanon?

okay sorry for taking so long anon- i was very sleepy when i got this. take all of this with a grain of salt bc i joined the fandom late and i made a huge guess on what might have happened based on patterns from previous fandoms and my knowledge of fandom history. and hearsay from older fans.

BUT okay, my THEORY is that people who made b*tcest content then at the initial rise of the modern dc fandom probably watched young justice first and then go on to read a few comics here and there to discover their favorite robin. young justice was around the time new 52 became a thing so for a lot of fans at that time, that's usually their introduction to the rest of the batfam.

fandom does and fandom is wont to do though and since the batboys p much look like each other, they skewed their characterizations into easily digestible shallow tropes to make it easier to distinguish one robin from the other.

dick got saddled with the sunshine cuddle-monster (highly suspect this was influenced by young justice and n52), jason is the bad boy with the heart of gold, the draco in leather pants (possibly rhato influenced), tim is the sad uwu twink coffee super genius (red robin influenced) and damian's personality is either hellspawn or diagnosed 13 years old. (depends if they like damian or not).

the thing with the batfandom though is that a lot of them tend to be insular. so when it comes to dc content, they consume batfam content ONLY. knowing fandom, they can't consume content without shipping so they're like why not with each other? around the time, people are also a lot more likely to ship incest and don't consider adopted siblings actually related so it's seen as "not as bad."

that said, b*tcest has existed way before this period. even in batman year one: deluxe edition, there was a comic that said that some people saw batman and robin as a metaphor for homosexuality. (what the fuck)

and there were livejournal groups for batslash. that said, fandoms were very small pockets of community at the time instead of the consolidated mass it will be on tumblr. so from what i heard from older fans is that at the very least people who were making any kind of fan content have read the comics. i think i read a meta that dick's fanon self at the time tended to be a bit like his outsiders self.

anyways, there wasn't even a reliable archive besides fanfiction dot net. so if people made ooc b*tcest fic or art then, it won't have the reach it has now in influencing fellow fans. (that said, dc managed to hire a writer who ships br*dick, giving these b*tcest shippers fuel. the resulting mischaracterization of the way devin writes dick will help fuel his fanon self later on. so that's one example already of how b*tcest fucked up fanon)

so with the influx of new fans from young justice and the rise of tumblr, modern dc fandom was born and in came the b*tcest shippers with fanon characterizations based off the show and n52 comics and their own headcanons.

with the way tumblr is set up, it's easy for non-fans of the franchise to see content from your fandom so people who haven't read the comics started coming in as well because they liked the fan content they saw. comics is a very daunting medium for people to get into because of the amount of material that can conflict with each other there is. so a lot of these new fans like to consume only fanon.

with the amount of b*tcest artists and writers there was, even people who didn't ship it would see non-explicit fanon content from these creators and assume it's is accurate. and so, the fanon characterizations became slowly accepted and popular and they end up adapting these b*tcest shippers' headcanons as well.

it did not help that a lot of b*tcest shippers will make meta to make certain batfam members closer than they actually are. and people took this plus the out of context panels as word of god of how they actually act around each other.

for example of fanon things that might be influenced by b*tcest

batfam living all in the manor (they don't.)

jason and tim's closeness with another (besides that one lobdell page where jason said tim's the only one he can stand and we shouldn't even consider bc lobdell does jackshit to research, they weren't very close at all.)

jason's use of the baby bird nickname for tim (major red flag)

dick being promiscuous/a womanizer/someone who likes getting naked (he's not. there's much canon evidence of him being uncomfortable with being objectified, unsure about nudity and being extremely monogamous. it's just a mischaracterization perpetuated by devin grayson (br*dick shipper) and tim seeley (hack)

i could list more (or you guys can comment more) but i'm honestly losing steam writing this. jnfenf i think as a fandom, we're getting better at debunking fanon at least - especially since the influx of batfans has slowed down compared to its peak. plus, inc*st is being more and more widely denounced in fandom spaces at all.

anyway, those are my rambling thoughts on how b*tcest shippers influenced fanon jkfnjkenf

#if i get terminated for this i swear to god...#honestly a lot of this is speculation!!! but it's a theory lmaooo #i never said it's completely true jkfne #anon.txt #i refuse to tag this meta #batcest cw #incest mention cw #incest cw #fandom critical

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myenterpriseisparked · 3 years

Text

The Voyager Bunch

Or, Rascals: Voyager Edition

-----

Based on this post

This is dedicated to @jellybeansarecool @bizships @emilie786 @joyful-voyager and @subtle-spock for providing ideas, encouragement, and for generally being really awesome people. Also they are the nicest folks ever. Go follow them.

This ain’t my first fanfiction rodeo, but it is my first Star Trek fanfiction rodeo so I beg for your patience. Also, I am perfectly aware that there are some plot holes in here. This is because I am an animal scientist, not a Starfleet physicist/biologist/whateverist. Swiss cheese also has holes and swiss cheese is good so please consider that.

Click here to read on AO3, if you prefer. Thanks for reading!

-----

Despite having only been a captain for a few years, Kathryn Janeway had seen more unusual occurrences, courtesy of the Delta Quadrant, than most Starfleet captains combined. Some days, she felt a little overwhelmed by the summary of the last three years of experiences. Other days, she was grateful for the callouses such challenges had built over her nerves, preparing her to face even the strangest incidents without panicking.

Today was a day to be grateful, because without having seen everything she had seen, the prospect of her Chief Engineer, Chief of Security, Head Helmsman, and most brilliant Ensign being reverted into child-like versions of themselves would have launched her straight into a spiral of panic.

“How-” Janeway paused for a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose, “how exactly did this happen?”

“Well, ya see, ‘Lanna and Harry and I were in that shuttle and then this big black thing showed up and we flew into it and there was a big flash and-”

Janeway held a hand up, cutting off the shockingly fast string of prattle. “I think I understand that part, Tom, thank you.” She spoke as gently and patiently as possible. “What I don’t understand is how Tuvok got into this.... predicament.”

She turned toward the tallest of the four children, who stood with his hands behind his back in a way that would have been exactly like Tuvok, if the pre-teen boy weren’t fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and looking around the bridge, open mouthed and starry-eyed. “Tuvok?”

The Vulcan turned toward her. “The shuttle was stuck in the anomaly and the tractor beam wasn’t working, so I rammed my ship into theirs to dislodge it.” Tuvok nearly smiled, which was jarring to see on his features, no matter how much younger he looked. “It worked, but I got sucked into the anomaly too. When we came out the other side, we looked like this.”

He motioned to Tom and B’Elanna, who were standing next to him, both of which appeared to be around the age of 5 or 6. Harry, who looked to be about a year old, was currently tucked into Chakotay’s arms, playing contentedly with the rank bar at the large man’s throat.

Janeway looked the group over, ignoring the humored smiled playing at her first officer’s lips. With a sigh, she turned to the members of her senior officer team that were not currently under the age of 13. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“I would like to run some experiments first, but I am wondering if I can age their DNA back to the correct age in a process similar to the one I used to turn you and Mr. Paris back into humans after the, ah, Warp 10 incident,” The Doctor said.

“That might put their bodies back at the right age,” Kes said, brow furrowing, “but their minds appear to have reverted to their new biological age as well. Will the DNA reversal process fix that?”

The Doctor tilted his head. “I’m unsure. I need more time to research and run simulations.”

Janeway nodded. “Get started on that right away. In the meantime,” she turned back to the children and her commander, “let’s get you four something to eat.”

Neelix jumped to his feet, practically lighting up the room with his enthusiasm. “I’ll fix you kiddos up something real nice!” He dashed over to the door with a wild grin. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll have the best grilled cheese sandwich you’ve ever smelt!” He saluted the whole room and practically bounced out the door.

Janeway glanced over at Chakotay who, for the first time since he had picked up baby Harry, looked nervous. His worried glance met her own and he tilted his head.

“Well,” Chakotay sighed, “hopefully these guys aren’t as picky of eaters as I was.”

-----

As unappealing as Janeway found Neelix’s cooking to be, it was, apparently, perfect for kids, as evidenced by the unrestrained glee with which Tom, B’Elanna, and Tuvok devoured their sandwiches.

The captain couldn’t help but smile as Tom downed the second half of his sandwich in a few bites and think how the older version of Tom would have been appalled to see himself eating Neelix’s cooking with such enjoyment.

As the older children ate, Janeway found herself spooning some kind of mashed vegetable mix into Harry’s waiting mouth. At first, she was a little uncomfortable with the idea of feeding one of her best officers, but, once she was able to get past the strangeness of the entire situation, she found herself enjoying the funny expressions and eager attitude of the baby in front of her.

“Gosh, he’s such a cute baby.” She said with a grin for the fourth time.

Chakotay leaned over, his shoulder brushing hers as he smiled at Harry. “I’d like to agree with you, Captain, but you keep hogging him so I can’t get a good look.” He turned to look her in the eye, raising his eyebrow teasingly.

She shoved him playfully with her elbow. “You got to hold him earlier in the conference room. It’s my turn.”

“I think your turn ended about ten minutes ago,” he grinned.

“I think I can find something else for you to do if you’re going to take Harry away from me, Commander.” She returned his grin.

“Fine,” Chakotay shook his head with a chuckle, “but I get him later.”

-----

Several hours had passed since lunch and, much to Chakotay’s disappointment, baby Harry was still firmly in Janeway’s possession, perched on her hip and looking for all the world like he belonged there.

Chakotay tried not to think too much about how naturally Kathryn had taken to caring for Harry as he watched her pace the bridge, checking on various scanner readings and flight paths, from his position on the floor by their command chairs. Beside him, Tom and B’Elanna rolled a ball back and forth between them, excitedly chattering about... well... everything.

“Do you think the whales were really THAT big?” Tom spread his arms out to the side.

“Yeah they were!” B’Elanna exclaimed loudly enough that the entire ship could probably hear it. Despite Chakotay’s best efforts to get her to lower her voice, the young girl seemed to only have one volume. “I saw a big fake one in a museum once and it was HUGE!”

“Whoa!” Tom’s eyes widened. “Bigger than this ship?”

B’Elanna tilted her head. “I don’t know, but it was definitely bigger than me!”

The two kids laughed, rolling the ball back and forth faster.

“Hey Tom?”

“What?”

“You’re my best friend!” B’Elanna suddenly reached forward and gave Tom a hug.

Chakotay glanced up at Kathryn to exchange a look of awe before he turned back to the kids on the floor. “But B’E, I thought you just said a few minutes ago that I’m your best friend.” He raised an eyebrow, hiding his smile.

The young girl gave him a look that he had seen far too many times on her older counterpart’s face whenever he said something particularly dumb. “I can have two best friends, duh.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

Suddenly, he saw Kathryn’s purposeful walk stop out of the corner of his eye.

“Chakotay,” her voice was even and tense, “where’s Tuvok?”

Eyes widening, Chakotay glanced around the bridge. Tuvok was no where to be seen.

“Chakotay to Tuvok.” He stood as he tapped his commbadge. “Tuvok, please acknowledge.” They waited a moment and, upon receiving no response, moved simultaneously toward the turbolift.

“It’s possible he hasn’t figured out how to use his comm.” Janeway tucked Harry closer to her side as they stepped into the lift. “Computer: locate Tuvok.”

“Unable to comply.”

Janeway gave the ceiling a glare. “Why?”

The computer did not respond.

“Maybe the de-aging effect has made it difficult for the computer to locate him.” Chakotay rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he’s alright; he’s probably just exploring the ship; you saw how amazed he was by everything in the conference room earlier.”

She nodded tightly. “Let’s hope so. Where do you think he’s gone?”

“Maybe to the holodeck?”

“Or his quarters.”

“What about the mess hall?”

“He just ate.”

They both paused, mulling it over.

“Alright.” Kathryn straightened. “I’ll check holodeck one and his quarters, you check holodeck two and the mess hall.” She turned back to the lift door. “Holodeck one.”

Chakotay swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying not to think of all the ways a small child could get hurt on a spaceship like Voyager. As the turbolift began to move, Janeway’s badge chirped.

“Kes to the captain.”

Her brow raised as she tapped the emblem. “Go ahead.”

“I think I’ve found something you’re missing.” Kes’s usually lighthearted tone was even lighter, clear amusement seeping through.

Kathryn turned to look Chakotay in the eye, a hopeful smile brightening her face. “I’m on my way.”

-----

Honestly, Janeway was a little ashamed of the fact that she didn’t think to go looking for her best friend among the orchids and other plants in the aeroponics bay, considering his horticulturally-related hobbies. As she and Chakotay stepped into the room, smiles crept onto both of their faces as they watched Tuvok carefully transfer one of Kes’s sprouts to a bigger pot. After patting the soil around the plant firmly, he wiped a hand across his forehead, smearing dirt on his face to match the dirt on his uniform.

Kes smiled up at the command team. “He came down and asked about a hundred questions about our system and then offered to help me with my work while we talked because its ‘more efficient to talk and work than simply talk.’”

Janeway chuckled at Kes’s approximation of Tuvok’s speech pattern. “Thanks for letting us know, Kes.” She reluctantly handed Harry to Chakotay, who flashed his dimples, and crouched next to Tuvok. “Hello there.”

Tuvok glanced up quickly before resuming his work. “Hello, Captain. Did you know that these Talaxian green beans take only a week and a half to reach maturity?”

“I did not.” Janeway raised a brow and tilted her head. “That’s very impressive.”

“I thought so too when Kes told me.” He patted the soil around another plant and set it aside, retrieving another sprout.

“Tuvok,” the captain reached forward and rested a hand on his shoulder, “I’m glad you’ve found something to do, but you have to tell someone where you’re going before you wander off. We didn’t know what happened to you and Chakotay and I were really worried.”

Behind her, Chakotay’s heart flipped. There was something rather... intimate about the way she had referred to both of them being worried about a child.

“I’m sorry, Captain.” Tuvok nodded his head. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Janeway smiled and stood. “Why don’t you help Kes down here for a while and then come back up to the bridge when you are ready?” She looked at Kes. “That is, if Kes is alright with that.”

The young woman smiled. “Of course, I’d love some help.”

Janeway nodded and turned back to Tuvok. “Be sure to let us know when you’re on your way back up.”

“Of course, Captain.”

She patted him one last time on the shoulder and turned back to Chakotay. They fell into step beside one another and entered the elevator.

As the doors whooshed closed, Janeway turned to Chakotay with the intention of reclaiming Harry, but stopped. A smile grew across her lips as she watched Chakotay bounce Harry gently, allowing the little boy to palm his tattoo in curiosity. Even as one of Harry’s chubby fingers poked him in the eye, Chakotay simply chuckled and took the tiny hand in his own.

He finally turned to look at her. “What?”

Kathryn just shook her head, grinning wider. “I was going to take Harry from you, but I can’t bear to break up this cute little arrangement.” She motioned to the two of them with a long finger.

The corner of Chakotay’s mouth kicked up a little higher. “Captain, did you just imply that I’m cute?”

Her brow arched, but her smile didn’t diminish. “It would be hard for anyone to look unappealing with a cute baby in their arms.”

Her heart stopped suddenly as she realized what she had just said. From the look of Chakotay’s face, he had caught it too. Implying that he and the baby were cute was one thing; calling him “appealing” was another. Before she could say anything else she might regret, Kathryn turned back to the lift door, schooling her features back into the face of the Captain.

If she had turned but a half-second later, she would have seen a wide smile break across Chakotay’s face.

-----

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I need more time. I won’t deactivate myself until I have a solution, but this situation is very delicate and I can’t risk rushing my tests. You’ll need to find somewhere for the children to sleep. Hopefully I’ll have a solution tomorrow.”

Kathryn nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”

With a grim smile, the feed from sickbay switched off, leaving her to look at her dark reflection in the black screen. Something like relief swept over help alongside a touch of regret. On one hand, she could really use her senior officers back in functioning shape. On the other hand....

Her eyes drifted back down to Harry, who had pulled a bit of her hair out of it’s ponytail and was curling it around his tiny fist in unbreakable fascination. A smile tugged at her lips as she cuddled him a bit closer.

She could get used to this.

The thought struck her before she even knew what she was feeling and, as soon as she admitted it to herself, she took that feeling and shoved it as deep into the recesses of her mind as she could. She was the captain of a ship that was constantly in danger and she shouldn’t dwell on things she couldn’t have.

Kathryn sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, Harry, looks like we need to find you a place to sleep.”

Turning back to the computer, she moved to set him down so she could use both hands to search the crew quarters layouts for a suitable place to keep the children overnight. As soon as Harry’s feet touched the ground, a wail rose from the back of his throat and his face scrunched.

Kathryn quickly scooped him back up. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

The boy’s cry of protest faded into whimpers and he buried his head in her shoulder, clinging to her tightly.

A warm feeling washed over her. “Ah,” she smiled, “I see.”

She pulled him closer and turned back to the computer, tapping buttons with one hand. “You can stay up here with me, then.”

The door to her quarters chimed.

“Come in.”

Before she could turn to greet her guest, mischievous giggles rose from the door. Eyebrow raised, she whirled around to find Chakotay standing in the doorway, a stack of PADDs in his hand, a tiny engineer on his left leg, and a tiny helmsman on his right.

He stepped forward with far less difficultly than she would have expected, given the extra weight on his legs. He crossed the room quickly and passed the PADDs to her. “The crew reports you requested.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, glancing down at the still giggling forms. “Not to alarm you, Commander, but it would seem that you have a couple of lifeforms attached to you.”

Chakotay’s eyes grew wide in mock surprise. “Really?” He turned his head and shuffled around, as if to look at his back. “Where?”

Tom and B’Elanna’s laughter grew. Suddenly, Chakotay leaned over and scooped the two of them off his legs, lifting them both up over his shoulders as their shrieked in delight.

He turned back to Kathryn with a wide smile. “Not to worry, Captain, I’ve apprehended the life forms.”

She smiled back with a soft chuckle. “We need to find a place for the life forms to stay tonight.”

Chakotay’s smile faded into a more serious, but not displeased look. “The Doctor doesn’t have a solution yet, then?” He lowered Tom and B’Elanna to the ground. They scampered off to the viewport, excitedly chattering about the stars.

“No, he needs a bit more time.”

Chakotay nodded. “Maybe I could take them for the night, that way someone is there to keep an eye on them.”

Kathryn shook her head. “I have no doubt in your babysitting abilities, Commander, but four children is a lot for one person to watch alone and your quarters are not big enough for Trouble 1 and Trouble 2 to run around in.” She gestured to the kids at the window.

“Fair point. Maybe I should take Harry and Tuvok then, and you could take Tom and B’Elanna?”

She turned Harry away from Chakotay. “Trying to take my boy again, are you Chakotay?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Do you have another idea, then, Mom?”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to smirk at him and continue speaking without any indication that his previous sentence had impacted her. “My quarters are the largest on the ship. If we set up cots here in my living room we could easily both keep an eye on the children overnight.”

“Sounds good to me.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “How about I go collect Tuvok from aeroponics and some food from the mess hall while you get the cots set up?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He gave her one last lingering smile, which she returned, before heading out the door and down the hall.

-----

Apparently the lunch they had shared earlier that day had been misleadingly easy. Supper was, to put it lightly, a challenge.

“B’Elanna, eat your own food and stop taking from Tom’s plate,” Kathryn said firmly.

“But Tom isn’t eating it!”

“I was going to eat it! I’m just a slower eater than you are!”

“Well eat faster then!”

“B’Elanna!” Chakotay set down the spoon he had been using to feed Harry and fixed her with a stern look. “That food isn’t yours, and Kathryn already asked you to stop taking Tom’s food. You won’t be asked again.”

B’Elanna mumbled out an apology and stuffed another bite of her own meal into her mouth.

Kathryn shot Chakotay a grateful smile and turned to Tuvok, who was holding up one of his vegetables to the light. “Tuvok? What are you doing?”

“I’m looking at the xylem and phloem of this plant.”

She bit back a smile. “I appreciate your curiosity, Tuvok, but I need you to stop studying your food and start eating it.”

The young Vulcan turned to her and nodded. “Of course.” He politely chewed and swallowed his food and turned back to the captain. “Did you know that this particular plant is a distant cousin of Terran broccoli? You can tell by the-”

Chakotay smiled as he watched Kathryn listen to Tuvok’s fourth lecture of the evening on plant biology. Neither of them were certain of what he was talking about most of the time, but his enthusiasm for the subject was nearly infectious and neither of them minded listening.

“Chakotay?”

He turned away from the scene across the table and looked at Tom next to him. “Yes?”

“After dinner, will you read to us?”

“Of course.” Chakotay smiled and ruffled Tom’s hair. “Anything particular you want to hear?”

“I want to hear about your missions with the Maquis!” B’Elanna bounced in her seat, all of that barely-contained Klingon energy starting to spill over.

“Or perhaps you could read to us from a classic story,” Tuvok raised a brow. “I’m fond of the works of Tolkien, maybe Tom and B’Elanna would like ‘The Hobbit’ too?”

“What’s a hobbit?” Tom’s face scrunched in confusion.

“Maybe,” Kathryn interjected before Tuvok could give a detailed recounting of the beloved childhood book, “Chakotay could tell us a story from his tribe.” Her eyes met his across the table. “He is pretty good at recounting ancient legends.”

Heat crept up the sides of Chakotay’s face as he held her stare. “Maybe.”

“Nah,” Tom’s voice broke through the pleasant tension between them. “I wanna know what a hobbit is!”

Chakotay chuckled. “Alright, ‘The Hobbit’ it is.”

-----

It took some time to get the older three to settle into bed, but finally, they began to yawn and snuggle deeper under their blankets. As their heads grew heavier, Chakotay wrapped up his story telling and the command team began to tuck their young companions in for the night.

As Chakotay wished Tom and Tuvok a good night’s rest, Kathryn carefully extracted B’Elanna from where she was snuggled into her side and took her over to her cot. As she got the small girl settled, she suddenly reached up and captured Kathryn in a tight hug. Surprised, Kathryn’s eyes widened, but she returned the gesture in earnest.

“Kathryn?”

“Yes, B’Elanna?”

“You’re my best friend.”

Kathryn blinked and pulled back to look B’Elanna in the eyes with a small smile. “I thought Chakotay and Tom were your best friends.”

“I can have more than one best friend.” B’Elanna’s voice was filled with deep confidence, despite how sleep-laced it was.

“Fair enough,” Kathryn chuckled, pulling the blankets tightly around the girl. “Goodnight.”

She met Chakotay in her bedroom, Harry still in his arms.

“Any time I try to set him down he starts crying.” Chakotay grinned sheepishly.

She grinned back. “I had a similar experience earlier today.” She reached up and brushed hand over the boy’s soft, black hair. “Its a good thing he weighs next to nothing.”

At Kathryn’s gentle touch, Harry stirred. His dark eyes found Kathryn’s and he reached out for her. With a look of mock hurt, Chakotay transferred the boy to his desired location.

“I’m trying not to be offended right now, Harry.”

Kathryn simply grinned and bounced the baby in her arms gently. “It’s alright, Chakotay. He has excellent taste.”

Chakotay shook his head, dimples flashing. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

She turned toward the bed and settled herself on one side, her back resting against the pillows and Harry resting against her chest. “Let’s see if we can get this one sleepy enough to not notice if we set him down.” She looked back at Chakotay, who was still standing, rather awkwardly. She patted the bed next to her with a smirk. “Come on, Commander. Get some rest. We’ve has a big day, wrangling the kiddos.”

He smiled and crossed the room to the other side of the bed, gently sitting next to her, his legs stretched out. “It has been a long day,” he said with a sigh. “But, I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed it.” He tilted his head to look at Kathryn, who was already looking up at him.

“Nor I.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, Chakotay was very aware of how close their faces were. He watched as Kathryn’s eyes slid down to his lips. Before he could do something he couldn’t take back, he took a deep breath and turned away.

“Well,” Kathryn cleared her throat, sounding more like the Captain now, “it’s been fun but we should get some sleep. I’ll keep an eye on Harry here and take him to his cot in a few minutes. You should go ahead and rest, Commander.”

“Of course.” He tilted his head and gave her a small smile. “Goodnight, Kathryn.”

She grinned back. “Goodnight, Chakotay.”

-----

Apparently, Kathryn didn’t stay awake long enough to take Harry back to his cot, as evidenced by the weight on her chest as she stirred awake the next morning. She slowly became aware of her surroundings and the previous day’s events came flooding back to her.

She also became distinctly aware of the warm, comfortable presence beside her. As she opened her eyes, she realized that her first officer’s arm was settled around her shoulders and that his shoulder was currently her pillow. His head rested atop hers and the hand that was not draped around her shoulders was resting on top of Harry’s back next to her own.

The situation was all rather snuggly and, were it not a violation of every professional barrier Kathryn had erected between her and the commander, she would have had no issue in savoring the moment.

Then again.... maybe she could allow herself just a few moments to pretend that the baby in her arms wasn’t her star technical officer and that the man holding her close wasn’t her XO and that this was a perfectly normal situation.

Before she could get too far into her fantasy, however, Chakotay stirred next to her, his dark eyes fluttering open to find her own.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice huskier than her own as sleep clung to it.

“Good morning.”

They looked at each other for a moment before Chakotay carefully extracted himself from her side, helping her up so she could carefully place Harry in his cot in the living room without waking the boy or the other children who were still sleeping. Without a word, they quietly prepared breakfast and coffee, steeling themselves for another day of handling the kids.

-----

“I’m afraid I’m a bit.... stuck,” The Doctor ground out with obvious difficulty.

The captain raised an eyebrow. The EMH admitting that he was struggling to solve a problem was a rare instance indeed. “How so?”

With a huff, The Doctor turned back to his desk, flipping through experimental results from a stack of PADDs. “Kes was right; the DNA reversal process I initially thought might work will not account for the de-aging of the officers’ brains, so I decided to look at the type of radiation that might have caused this and, to be completely honest, Captain,” he turned back to look her in the eye, “I have absolutely no idea how this even happened. There’s no evidence of radiation, the temporal energy around them is unidentifiable, and I can’t figure out how their cells and their minds were reversed.” He lowered his head. “I’m unsure of how to even proceed from here.”

Kathryn nodded, taking the emotions that were beginning to tumble in her chest and stuffing them as far down as she could. “Very well, Doctor. Take a rest and we can all come back to the issue later once we’ve had time to think.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up. “Don’t despair yet; there’s a lot of other brilliant minds on this ship besides your own. We’ll figure it out together.” She smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze before heading into the turbolift.

As the doors slid open, she found Tuvok waiting in the lift for her. She smiled down at him and stepped inside, calling for the bridge.

“Chakotay to the captain.”

She tapped her badge. “Go ahead.”

“We need you on the bridge, there’s a bit of a situation.”

She raised a brow, glancing down at Tuvok, who was gazing at her intently. “On my way.”

-----

“So they want to.... interview us?”

“They want to interview you specifically.”

“To see if we are worthy of going through their space.”

“Something like that.”

“And going around their space isn’t an option?”

“It would add another 7 months to our journey, so this interview is our ideal option.”

“No pressure, eh, Commander?” Janeway shifted Harry from one hip to the other with a long sigh. “Alright. Hail them.”

After a moment, a blue and red humanoid alien appeared on the screen.

“Greetings, Ambassador.” The Captain flashed a polite smile. “I’m Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager.”

The alien woman inclined her head. “Hello, Captain Janeway, I’m Ambassador Tel Parah of the Doonian Delegation.” Her eyes swept the bridge. “You’re ship is heavily armed, which, according to the laws of our people, requires that we do a personal interview of the commanding officer to ensure that violence or other manners of chaos will not be instigated as you pass through our space.”

“Of course, I understand.” Janeway smiled again. “What questions may I answer for you?”

Over the course of the next 30 minutes, Janeway was grilled on their purpose in passing through Doonian space, the types and numbers of weapons they carried, and the journey they had made so far. Just as Janeway thought there wasn’t possibly anything more she could tell them, Ambassador Parah paused and looked up from the computer device in her hand to study Janeway. After a moment, she spoke again.

“Just one more thing, Captain Janeway,” a slow smile slipped onto her face, “What’s your son’s name? He’s absolutely precious.”

Janeway raised her eyebrows in surprise and glanced down at Harry, who she had nearly forgotten was still in her arms. At some point, he had removed her combadge and was currently turning it over and over again in his tiny hands, taking a moment here and there to bite parts of the object he must have found particularly interesting. Kathryn exchanged an amused glace with Chakotay, who shrugged off screen, before turning back to the ambassador.

“This is Harry.” Janeway smiled, turning the boy so the ambassador could see him better.

The other woman smiled widely. “How adorable. He has the brightest eyes.”

“He does.” Kathryn smiled back down at him.

“You know,” Parah leaned back in her chair, “I usually don’t allow anyone through our space that isn’t from a system or planet we are already know and trust and so I wasn’t planning on letting Voyager pass. However, when I saw your baby and how well-cared for and happy he seems, I felt that I could trust you somehow.” She smiled again. “We value children highly in the Doonien Delegation. Children are often a reflection of a parent’s character. I can tell by Harry’s disposition and curiosity that you are of a fine character, Captain.”

Janeway cuddled Harry a little closer, heart warming. “Thank you, Ambassador, I take that as a high compliment.”

“As you should.” Parah leaned forward again. “You may pass through our space. We will have you stop at three checkpoints on your way though which I will send you the coordinated for in a moment. Have a safe journey.”

The screen went blank and Kathryn turned to Chakotay.

“Should I feel bad that I let her believe Harry is my son?”

Chakotay chuckled, stepping close enough and lowering his voice enough that the rest of the bridge could pretend not to hear him. “Are you saying he’s not?”

Her gaze grew softer. “I guess he’s sort of been like a son to me since we got on board.” She looked back down at him. “I feel very protective of him.”

Chakotay rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know.”

They smiled at each other again. Chakotay opened his mouth to say something more but, suddenly, there was a tug at Kathryn’s elbow.

“Captain? Now that the negotiations are over, I think I have an idea about how to fix Tom, B’Elanna, Harry, and me.” Tuvok’s eyes were bright and eager.

“Alright,” Captain Janeway smiled down at him. “Let’s get The Doctor up here and we’ll hear your idea together.”

-----

Chakotay exchanged glances with The Doctor and the Captain over the table as he bounced both Tom and B’Elanna on his knees. “Could that really work? It seems almost too easy.”

“Well, if this is a phenomena that’s inexplicable and is tied only to the anomaly the shuttles passed through, I feel like sending the children back through isn’t our worst idea.” The captain rubbed the back of her neck. “Doctor?”

The holographic man continued typing into his PADD for a moment before stopping and reading. “I- I honestly think this could work.” He slid the PADD over to Janeway. “It’s hard to predict, since we have no idea what exactly caused this, but if we send the shuttles through the anomaly opposite of the way they first went through, I think it just might turn them back to their usual ages.”

“How do we know it won’t just make them even younger?” Chakotay watched as B’Elanna slipped off of his knee, pulling Tom along with her to go play in the corner.

“We’d have to run some tests to be sure that they don’t. Perhaps we could send a plant through first, or some other organic life form.” The Doctor took the PADD back and made a note.

“We would also have to make sure that, if the tests show some promise, Tuvok can take the shuttle back through the anomaly.” Janeway turned to the boy sitting at her right. “Well, Tuvok? Do you think you could pilot the shuttle?”

He shook his head. “Since I don’t have my older self’s memories I don’t think I could.”

“We could use the tractor beam to send the shuttle through,” Chakotay said. “If we give them enough of a push to go through the anomaly, they should be able to pilot themselves back to Voyager once they get out the other side and have returned to their normal ages.”

Janeway raised her eyebrows. “Well, it’s worth a shot and I don’t have any better ideas. Commander, set a course for the anomaly. Doctor, prepare the experiments.”

-----

Tom and B’Elanna seemed to sense that something was up as they suddenly became even more clingy. The whole trip back to the anomaly, B’Elanna shared the captain’s chair with Kathryn, insisting with all of her Klingon passion that the older woman tell her more stories from earlier in their journey through the Delta Quadrant. At the helm, Tom hung on to Chakotay’s arm, watching the stars go by and asking Chakotay a hundred questions about piloting starships. Tuvok sat in Chakotay’s usual seat, interjecting with questions of his own here and there, and Harry sat on Kathryn’s knee, chewing on her jacket sleeve, her combadge still clutched tightly in his left hand.

After they reached the anomaly, it took a couple of hours for The Doctor to complete his experiments and, once he had declared that plants that had gone through the anomaly twice were returned to the same age the started as, they began preparing the children to enter the anomaly themselves.

“Will it hurt?” B’Elanna asked in the smallest voice she had ever used in her life as Kathryn tucked the small Starfleet uniform that she had come through the anomaly with around her shoulders.

“It won’t,” Tuvok said. “It didn’t hurt when we came through the first time, did it?”

She shook her head, but didn’t look very reassured.

“It’s okay, ‘Lanna!” Tom grabbed her hand. “I’ll be right beside you.”

Kathryn stood and took a step back, feeling almost as if someone had filled her chest with some of Neelix’s heavy stew. She had to let them go, of course, this wasn’t the way they were supposed to be, but she was certainly going to miss seeing the level of innocence her officers had now. B’Elanna was unburdened by trust issues, Tuvok was passionate and bright, and Tom - well, she supposed he hadn’t changed all that much, but at least he seemed to be genuinely happy, not just putting up a front of humor to protect himself.

It would be hard to see them go back, but maybe, now that she understood how the world and time had changed her friends, she could help them.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a tug at her collar. She looked down to see Harry pulling at her pips, completely enamored by the gold metal.

“Oh, Harry.” She nearly choked on his name. Since he was so young now, she didn’t have any insight into his personality after having seen him as a baby, but she was going to miss his innocent curiosity and familiar weight on her hip.

Before she could think too much about it, she handed Harry over to Tuvok. The younger boy scrunched his face up and whimpered at the change of hands, but Tuvok bounced him gently and he settled down, reaching for the pointed tip of Tuvok’s ear.

Kathryn took a step back, feeling Chakotay step up behind her so that they were nearly touching. “Best of luck, you four.” She gave them her most reassuring smile. “See you on the other side.”

She and Chakotay hurried up the bridge and gave the go ahead for the ensign who had taken over Harry’s post to begin using the tractor beam to move the shuttle out into the anomaly. They stood side-by-side on the bridge and watched the shuttle go through. At come point, they grabbed each other’s hands and squeezed each other tightly.

There was a flash as the shuttle passed through the anomaly. After a few terrifyingly quiet moments, the shuttle came bursting out of the other side and a voice crackled over the comm.

“Cochran to Voyager,” confusion leaked through Tom’s voice. “What the hell just happened?”

Kathryn and Chakotay smiled at each other in relief. “What’s the last thing you remember, Tom?” Chakotay asked.

“B’Elanna, Harry, and I were coming back to Voyager when we- wait a second, how did you get here, Tuvok?”

Janeway laughed. “Why don’t we get you four back on board and then we’ll explain everything.”

“Copy that. See you in a few.” Tom’s voice grew quieter, like he was leaning away from the comm. “I have a feeling this is going to be one heck of a story.”

-----

After everyone had been debriefed and left to process the last two days of strangeness, Chakotay found Kathryn in her favorite spot; on her couch and staring wistfully out at the stars as they drifted past. She had shucked her jacket and taken her hair out of it’s clip, leaving her in her grey turtleneck with her hair falling around her shoulders and face.

“Got a lot on your mind?”

She turned to smile at him, a note of sadness in her eyes. “It’s been an interesting couple of days.”

He settled on the couch a ways down, turning to face her. “It sure has.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to miss our kids.”

“Me too. It was fun having little ones around, playing at being a parent.” She fidgeted with the seam on the couch. “It was different and they sure did give us some challenges,” she chuckled, “but I loved it.”

“Have you ever thought about having kids of ou-” he coughed, “your own?”

Her crystal blue gaze caught his. “Yes.” She smiled and looked out the window again. “I always thought someday I would be a mother.” With a snort and a smirk, she continued; “Of course, I never thought I’d be mothering my helmsman, security officer, engineer, and technical officer.”

Chakotay laughed softly. “I think you were mothering them before they were turned into actual children.”

“Perhaps.” A pause. “What about you? Did you ever think about being a father? Outside of the whole instance with Seska, of course.”

He nodded. “When I was in the Maquis, no. My life was too fast-paced to be a proper father. If I was going to be a dad, I wanted to do it right and I couldn’t have done that from a Maquis ship.” He took a deep breath. “After joining this crew, though.... I’m in a better place now, and I think I’d be thrilled to be a father.” He looked over at Kathryn to find that she was already looking at him with something like wonder in her eyes. He held her gaze for a moment and, finally finding a bit of courage, he said: “I’m more at peace.”

A smiled played at the corners of her lips, and her eyes looked a little like they were silver-lined, though Chakotay couldn’t quite tell for sure in the low light of her quarters.

“You were really good with the kids. You would make an excellent father, I have no doubt.”

He smiled. “You would make an excellent mother. You’re a natural.”

“Thank you, but I barely felt like I knew what I was doing.” She chuckled.

“You could have fooled me.” He grinned for a moment, before his countenance grew more serious. “I hope you get your wish someday, Kathryn. I hope you get to be a mother.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Chakotay suddenly felt his chest tighten. Had he said too much.

Before he could fall too far into his panic, her hand slid over to his, giving it a squeeze. He looked up into her eyes, which definitely had tears in them now.

“I hope you get to be a father too Chakotay. Someday.”

He squeezed her hand back and they both fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the view of the stars outside Kathryn’s window.

#whew okay that got emotional there at the end #lets all take a breather and remember cute little Harry #Okay that's better #anyway #thanks for reading!#hopefully this wasn't too plot-hole-ridden #star trek voyager #kathryn janeway #captain janeway #janeway #chakotay #harry kim #b'elanna torres #tom paris #tuvok #neelix #kes #the EMH #the doctor

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an-anaemic-pen · 3 years

Text

Dance of the Little Swan I.iii

Dance of the Harpy

Prelude || Overture

Summary: The Jötnar were thought to be long-since-gone within the mortal realm. Amidst all of her fakery, Mommy Fortuna holds Loki, trapped in birth from and far from what he once considered home, as well as another little treasure: a swan maiden.

(Yes, this is a crossover, but the Last Unicorn is fairly minimal plot-wise and it’s largely a Loki fic)

Relationships: F/M (Loki/Original Female Character, Molly Grue/Schmendrick)

Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content)

Loki’s skin had returned to its usual color after a few days.

The little girl attracted much attention, and Mommy Fortuna was making quite a profit—not that Ceana even knew anything about how the hag handled her money. The only thing she knew was that Mommy Fortuna looked something brushing against happier than usual and Ruhk had asked for a raise.

They’d been carted across the land for about a week since she and Loki had last spoken.

One night, Ceana had woken up to find his crimson eyes watching her far too intently.

She had not slept as well since.

The carts were rattling down a dirt path between two of the larger towns. Out of nowhere, there was a loud screech.

Ceana’s gaze bolted upward. In the cloudy evening sky, she saw a silhouette; the most terrifying silhouette she could possibly imagine. Of course, she’d heard of the harpy in tales, but never imagined she’d come across one in real life.

She was circling the caravan like a hawk, her eye beedy.

By work of the witch’s magic, the cloak, pinned at the tip of her cage, fell down in one movement. Ceana was left in darkness. The cage rattled more as the horses grew uneasy.

Anticipation was pressing against her being. Her heart was pounding, and she sat frozen, barely able to breathe as she waited for the attack. Harpies had keen senses of smell, didn’t they? Could she smell Ceana beneath the covering?

It did not matter, Ceana knew, because the Jötunn would most certainly find her to be a perfect meal.

The harpy cried out, and adrenaline spiked her system.

Ceana squirmed around the prison, desperately reaching out in an attempt to grab the covering and see what was going on. She was able to lift it up enough to see the front of the caravan was—

Still?

It had halted, her cart stopping not long after. She heard another cry, a loud crash, and the splintering of wood. Ceana rushed to the other side of her prison, looking to the back of the caravan.

The giant creature had landed atop Loki’s cart, her sheer mass breaking the roof of his prison. She spread her wings, knocking the cart over as she lifted off. Ceana covered her cage, curling up in a ball and wrapping her arms around her head.

Smaller prey would surely not be as enticing as the horses, who were far more substantial than she. If she had the luck to escape the harpy alive, perhaps she could escape Loki without losing a limb, as well. Ceana hoped her luck could hold out for that long, especially after being so poor for the period of time she had been imprisoned.

It felt like the horse was attempting to break free of his holds. Ceana’s cage fell from its base, knocking her to the ground. She could feel her body bruising as she slammed against the metal.

The world outside her dark little haven was muffled havoc. She could hear grunts and garbled yells, they were Ruhk’s, she realized, as well as Mommy Fortuna calling out spells. A grotesque squelch entered her ears as the witch’s voice was rather abruptly cut off.

Chills ran along her entire body. Ceana felt faint.

“Awaken, swan.”

Ceana did not wish to. The world of sleep was quiet and warm, and she did not have to deal with the poking hands of those in the crowd. An icy palm touched her shoulder, and Ceana’s eyes flickered open. She lurched away from the freezing touch, banging her head against something hard.

“Stay still, lest you wish to die,” the voice was demanding, yet also surprisingly gentle.

After a few moments of awkward half-staring and much blinking, Ceana was able to get her eyes to focus. The clouds had cleared to reveal the sun. The blazing sunset framed him, the orange a sharp contrast to his blue skin.

Ceana was still inside her cage, and her cloak felt like it had been draped over her form. He has seen me, then.

She stared at him with wide eyes as he reached through the door of her cage, which looked to have been forced open since the lock was broken, and flinched when he touched her. He had not done so since the ship, and she expected his palm to be cold, but it felt… normal —if that was the correct phrase.

Ceana did something at least akin to relax when he next spoke. “You are hurt,” he said.

Ceana’s eyes followed his arm to where he was lifting her shin to inspect it. Only now did she notice the large scrape across her skin and realize how much it hurt. Her head panged and she carefully lifted her hand.

Her arm didn’t hurt outside the dull ache caused by a bruise, and she gingerly felt the pain on her head. Thankfully, it was just a bump; her mother had always called them goose-eggs. The memory made her smile softly—she missed her family.

Loki ripped off a large section of the cloak and Ceana yelped in surprise; he flinched at the volume of her voice. She immediately held the remaining cover closer against her.

“Must you scream when I am trying to help you?” He proceeded to grab her leg.

When Ceana attempted to kick him, he simply gripped her tighter. She struggled against him with all of her might—not that there was much. So, he grabbed her foot with his free hand, pinning her against the cold metal of the cage.

“Don’t eat me!” Ceana yelped and tried to scramble back. She had been hoping she would sound threatening, or at least defensive, but it came out as more of a plea.

He barked out a laugh. “Perhaps I won’t if you sit still.”

The ‘perhaps’ was all it took for her to be subdued. She hadn’t been eaten by the harpy, so perhaps her luck would hold out.

“Good.” He wrapped her lower leg in the scrap of cloth, tying it tightly enough that it wouldn’t come loose, but not so tightly that it was uncomfortable.

Then, he offered her his hand.

Ceana looked at it, half dumbfounded that she was still alive.

“Would you like me to leave you in the cage to starve?”

Ceana only had half her mind when she answered: “no.”

“No, Your Highness.”

She bit her lip. He had just helped her, as he said he would. “No, Your Highness.” She wrapped the cloak around her as best as she could before hesitantly taking his hand. Against his blue palm, her hands appeared even smaller and more delicate.

Loki hoisted her up, one hand holding hers while the other wrapped carefully around her waist. Ceana couldn’t tell whether it was to help support her and keep her body covered by the cloak, or to have an excuse to touch her. Perhaps it was both? She didn’t know much about mortal men, let alone Jötnar.

Once she was safely out of the cage, Loki released his grasp. Ceana noticed him avert his gaze and she took the chance to rearrange the cloth into a makeshift dress of sorts. She grabbed the covering of her cage, splayed out across the grass in a disheveled heap, and wrapped it around her shoulders as an extra layer.

Then, she heard a quiet sob.

It wasn’t coming from Loki, of course, but from the general direction he was standing in, relative to Ceana. She took a few steps towards the noise, limping slightly as she went.

“You’re welcome.”

She raised her hand dismissively. Ceana knew she’d probably pay for that later, but she felt a maternal urge rise from somewhere within—gods only knew where—and she needed to find what was causing that sound.

She heard Loki not-so-subtly mutter “ungrateful wretch,” but she ignored it.

Ceana attempted to hurry her pace, and her foot got caught in the cloak’s trailing hem. She tripped, tumbling to the ground most ungracefully. The grass swished as someone walked past her. Then, the sobbing grew louder.

By the time Ceana was able to gain her footing again, the Jötunn had wrangled a small being from a cart’s wreckage and was carrying the screaming thing over to her. She realized it was the little girl, who was currently trying desperately to free herself from the tight grasp of the Jötunn.

He shoved the child into her arms and Ceana attempted to comfort her. When the screeching thing wouldn’t relax in her arms, Ceana put her down on the ground. She only had a minimal amount of experience with human children—her younger sisters were in swan form until they fully matured.

“Hey, hey, hey.” She began to shush the child—Annie, she decided to call her—and gently put her hands on the little one’s shoulders. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ceana glanced behind her. Loki was rummaging through the dead body that once belonged to Ruhk, his hands getting covered in blood as he sifted through the carnage.

Ceana opted to turn Annie around so the already-traumatized child would not see, shifting, so she was still in front of her. Then, she reached out, wiping away the tears streaming from Annie’s big blue eyes. Her hair was strawberry blonde, and she looked as she had before Mommy Fortuna had cast the illusion.

Ceana assumed that the old hag had gotten what she deserved.

“I know I’m not your mamma, but I can take care of you until we find her.” Ceana did not even know if the poor girl had a mother.

Annie seemed to begin to realize that Ceana was not going to hurt her, and ran into her arms, burying her face into Ceana’s chest.

She smiled softly, running her fingers through Annie’s tangled hair and picking out wood chips. The fact the girl had managed to survive with a just a few scrapes and bruises was a miracle, and Ceana found herself thanking the gods.

She glanced at Loki, who had moved on to another one of Mommy Fortuna’s henchmen.

Now that her racing heart was beginning to start the process of slowing down, Ceana realized that she felt… free. She had not felt that way since Mommy Fortuna had taken her feather.

Her sisters never told her about their hearts feeling confined after they were married. If she ever saw them again, she would have to ask them.

The feeling of freedom did not last long, however. She could hear Loki looting the bodies as Annie’s sobs quieted and the little one fell asleep. Annie was not at all heavy, but it felt like a moose had settled its weight upon her chest, and Ceana had to catch her breath for a moment.

She turned to the Jötunn. He was smiling.

He held up a woven garment of twigs which Ceana had used to make an armband; a small tail feather had been attached before she turned for the first time. Now, the feather was broken, snapped in two and barely hanging together where it was still held in one piece.

Loki walked up to her. When she tried to take her feather, he snatched it away. “For now, little swan, you are mine.”

Her sisters had told her marriage was a wonderful thing. It was part of the legend—as long as the swan maiden put her feather out, a good, loving man would find it and become her husband. She would be bound it him, but he would be good to her. It was a fair trade, Ceana had thought. A male counterpart of her kind did not exist, so it was necessary for the maidens to find husbands.

But her feather had not brought her a good husband—it had not brought her a husband at all, and now, she was bound to a Jötunn who claimed he was the God of Lies. The weight over her heart told Ceana that Loki would not be good in any way.

“Come, swan, we must leave.” It was practically a purr. He knew the power he now held, dangling it over her head like a piece of bait.

Ceana pulled Annie against her, picking the child up and cradling her as she stood. Loki, thankfully, helped her up, but Ceana tore her arm from his grasp. The little child did not stir.

“We must find a brook to clean your wound. While you were addling about hugging that thing, I found the food supply and packed as much as I can carry.”

“Am I not going to carry it, Your Highness?” Ceana wasn’t exactly sure as to where the snark had come from, or why she was asking in the first place.

“You are weak, and it would slow us down. Do you recognize this area?”

She did not want to answer him. So, she didn’t. The legend dictated that she could not leave him, but she did not have to obey his every command, either.

“Speak, unless you want me to make you my next meal.” He bared his teeth.

Her heart skipped a beat, and Ceana held onto Annie a little tighter. “No, I don’t know where we are.”

“Address me with my given title.”

“No, Your Highness.”

“The entire sentence.”

“Are you serious?”

“Do not question me, swan—”

“Your Highness, you are aware that I have a name, correct?”

He scoffed. “Of course, Ǣsbiǫrndóttir. I merely figured you would not wish to grow too… personal.” He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb running over her lower lip and sending icy relief to it. She could feel how swollen it was near the corner, most likely from accidentally biting herself while tumbling around in the cage.

It felt oddly intimate to have a hand cupping her cheek, so Ceana turned away. He lowered his hand, eyes glowering, and began to walk towards the sun.

Ceana decided to make the best out of a bad situation. “Do you plan on traveling all night? It would be best to remain here until the morning.”

The Jötunn looked at her, pondered, then spoke. “Very well. Find a place to put the child, then set up a camp while I will go collect wood. We leave at dawn.” Then, he walked away.

It was a small fire, but the Jötunn, no surprise, stayed far away. Annie was still sound asleep, curled up amidst one of the covers. Loki had been kind enough to drag all of the bodies into one of the largest coverings, wrapping them up so they were out of sight. He said he would set them alight once they left.

Ceana was unlucky to have seen the remains of the witch. She now stared at the fire, trying to burn the image of the blood and various gore-ish organs out of her memory.

“What do you know of this place?”

Ceana looked up but said nothing.

“It was not a request, swan.”

Her lips pursed and she sighed in annoyance. “Not much, Your Highness.”

“I require the actual information, not a rough amount.”

Her eyebrow cocked, and Ceana blinked. “The way these people talk tells me that we are in Scotland. I would say we are somewhere in the highlands.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I know a few tales that are common across the land, if you would like to hear them.”

He seemed genuinely interested. Ceana did not believe him. “What creatures do you know of?”

She thought of every story she had heard while in the colder months, when she migrated south to stay with warmer weather. “I’ve heard of the Loch Ness Monster, Kelpies, and Selkies many times, as well as the Sídhe and spirits known as Fuathan. More uncommonly, I’ve heard of the three Siths, and only a couple of tales of the unicorn and the Sluagh.”

“Tell me of these creatures.”

“The Loch Ness Monster is a serpent-like monster. Not much is known about her other than her location. Kelpies are water spirits that appear as horses, luring their victims to ride them, then taking them off into the waters to drown them. Selkies are similar to those like myself, except they are seals, rather than swans, and the Sídhe are little humans the size of my smallest finger with wings, known for their work of mischief. I believe Fuathan are spirits in general, as I have not heard them be specified.”

“What of the three Siths? Are they something akin to the Nornir?”

Annie stirred and Ceana placed her hand lightly on the girl’s upper arm, soothing her back to sleep. She shook her head when Annie relaxed again. “The siths are three phantoms, unrelated other than the fact they all hail from the highlands. I do not know what their individual names are, but they are malevolent spirits.”

“What do you know of the Unicorn?”

Ceana blinked and followed Loki as he got up from the makeshift cloak he had made from one of the coverings—which Ceana, of course, was tasked with carrying when he grew too hot—and threw a plank of wood on the fire. He hissed when a wayward ember landed on his leg. He flicked it away and stalked back to where he had originally been, settling down on his cloak.

“Unicorns are rare creatures. They can only be seen by other magical creatures and pure-of-heart virgins. They hold rejuvenating magic unlike any other, and even the smallest amount of dust from a crushed horn can cure any illness or curse.”

“And the Sluagh?”

Chills ran down her spine. She had only heard one tale of the Sluagh, from an estranged man at the coast on her first migration being able to turn human. She and her sisters were resting on a beach when she turned into a maiden, walking around and growing more adjusted to her arms and un-webbed toes.

She’d run into the man, who didn’t seem to notice that she was completely uncovered, and he had gripped her by the shoulders desperately. “Beware the Sluagh,” he’d said, “vicious, vicious things, the restless dead coming from the west. You won’t make it out alive—not a pretty thing like you. No, the strongest warriors barely escape their hunger.”

Ceana had taken his shaking hands in hers. “Hunger?”

He’d leaned in so close their noses brushed against each other. “Flesh,” he’d whispered. “Warm, soft, human flesh.” He’d collapsed after that.

Ceana had promptly called her sisters and her mother, who had come with them. She’d pronounced him dead, and they’d flown off after that.

Ceana had not seen any Sluagh. Or perhaps she had and just hadn’t realized it; the man hadn’t exactly told her what they looked like.

“They are vicious flesh-eaters, Your Highness. Only the strongest of warriors barely escape them.”

“Flesh-eaters?” He barked out a laugh. Ceana briefly wondered as to why a supposed god’s laugh was so harsh. “I suppose every land has their legends.”

“You do not believe they are real?”

Loki sighed and lay down on his back. He absent-mindedly played with the broken feather, still attached to her armband. As if on impulse, he ripped the feather from the twigs and threw the woven article into Ceana’s lap. “You may keep that part; I have no use for it.”

“You did not answer my question, Your Highness.”

She barely noticed his crimson irises flicker in her direction. “I am a prince of the Nine Realms, girl, I answer to none.”

She licked her lips, only then realizing how thirsty she was. It will have to wait. She didn’t want to leave Annie alone with the creature who might still eat both of them. Power in numbers. She settled down, wrapping her cloak around her body like a cocoon and closing her eyes. She tried to ignore the innate and unmistakable sense that she was being watched.

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #loki (marvel)#loki #loki fic #loki fanfic #Loki Laufeyson #norse mythology #Dance of the Little Swan #Dance of the Little Swan I.iii #Dance of the Harpy #i accidentally deleted this #whoops

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years

Text

Headache Relief

Summary: Alistair Shepard’s got one hell of a headache and the medicine ain’t helping. Lucky for him, he’s got another relief option. Problem is he didn’t expect to see Garrus Vakarian involved with that. Fuck, maybe he should’ve taken a double dose after all...

---

There were times Alistair was glad to be human. This wasn’t one of them.

“Fuck…”

The expletive leaked from between his teeth as he stepped off the elevator and into his private quarters. Right then he was running on instinct, heading towards his desk and the drawer that held his only chance of functioning at a lumbering pace. At least he didn’t hit the wall as he slumped down to dig – that was a nice bonus.

The bottle of pills hidden under some paper was half full. He shook two out, swallowing them with a bit of the water he always kept on his desk for that reason. Then it was straight to his bed. The only thing he remembered to do was click off the light as he collapsed face down into his pillow.

Biotic headaches: L2s might have gotten them the worst, but everyone had to face them eventually. Consider it the cost of doing business.

Colors bloomed behind the man’s eyes as he waited and prayed for the medicine to take effect. Part of him knew his chances were slim – his headache had started on the shuttle, so he was clearly out of the full range of help. Still, even if it took the edge off, he could function in an hour or so. At that point it was all Alistair could hope for as he felt the pain pulse.

Yep… he had definitely overdone it with the biotics. Simple mission, his pale and freckled ass.

“You think Miranda would have reinforced that.” His words came out low as he muttered them into his pillow. No doubt the camera she had planted in his room would pick it up, and frankly he didn’t care. It was another point of data that was going to go on his report of things she had messed up bringing him back to life. Was it petty to have a list of complaints with the person who brought him back from the dead?

Probably, but who cared. She’d left him with a functioning uterus, she could deal with the fallout.

At least it gave him something to focus on as he lay there in the dark, begging for some relief from the little pills. Thanks to his medic training, he knew how long it would take for the medicine to absorb into his system. Experience was an even better teacher, however – his biotics would make it go even faster.

It was weird – they were the reason he was taking the medicine, but they were also the reason it worked faster to relieve the pain. Talk about a catch-22.

Alistair laid there for what felt like an eternity, pain still throbbing against his temples. The soft glow of his omni-tool told him enough time had passed that the pills should have worked. Much to his immense displeasure, he still felt the majority of the pain as he rolled over onto his side.

In times like this, there was only one other hope of relief.

Slowly, the biotic rose to a sitting position, head still pounding. He went for the small table beside his bed, digging through the contents. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, buried towards the back. It took a few seconds more, but he pulled it free into the darkness of his quarters.

“Well… at least I don’t have to clean the one in my toolbox for its intended use.” Alistair grumbled to himself as he flicked his vibrator on to make sure it had enough power. He quietly thanked the universe that it buzzed to life as he clumsily unbuckled his belt, then slid out of his pants and upper layer of boxers. At some point, his packer slipped and hit the ground, but he didn’t care. Right then, it was in the way of pulling down his inner layer of underwear.

He lay back on his pillow, naked from the waist down. Usually, he would pull his blanket over so the Illusive Man didn’t get a show, but right then his brain was overriding whatever sense of shame he had left in him. The bastard could get what he paid for as he flicked the power to a medium setting and then applied it. The vibration soon started to flood through his body as he closed his eyes and waited.

This was always the most boring part. Unlike most people, Alistair didn’t watch porn. He didn’t see anything wrong with it, mind you, he just had no interest. The one time he had tried, he had wound up trying to piece together how it had been edited during one of the more heated moments between the actors on screen. By the time he had realized he had been trying to masturbate, his vibrator had long since died and he was long beyond his occasional need to get off.

Such was the fate of one on the asexual spectrum, he supposed.

“Damn it, can’t this go any faster?”

Alistair grumbled as he flicked the setting a little higher than he normally preferred. Then he shifted positions, pressing it a little harder in the hopes that might do something. The sensation was definitely building in his stomach, but it wasn’t nearly to the point he needed.

He sighed, closing his eyes once more. This was probably the point people made something up if they had nothing to watch. He had certainly tried in the past, particularly in his teens. However, those flimsy fantasies never really held up, and more often than not faded to the blackness of the inside of his eyelids within a few seconds. Whether that was because it didn’t work or he was just really bad at constructing sexy scenarios, he didn’t know.

At least it would be able to distract him while he waited for the vibrator to do its thing…

“Come on, think. You’re surrounded by muscular men literally every day, you have to have something in there to work with.”

Of course, those people were under him now. It made it a little hard to picture anyone like them… under him. Such was the downside of being a commanding officer: anyone on ship was off limits.

…

Well, technically he WAS still considered dead by the Alliance…

“I am only considering this because I need something to focus on other than the damn ceiling.”

Alistair sighed as he did his best to try and imagine someone based on the people around him. Like always, a body slowly materialized with plenty of muscle underneath him, fully erect and ready to go. It didn’t have a face – it never did, thank God – and something about the skin seemed rather plastic-like. More importantly… they were kind of a dead fish. Even as he imagined himself lowering onto the dick, there was no reaction.

It was because he was still a virgin, wasn’t it? He knew he should’ve paid more attention to that porn, but could you blame him? He just HAD to know what kind of camera they were using to film the climax scenes, it worked so well in low light…

“Damn it, Alistair, fucking focus on the fucking…”

But it was no good – the plastic body remained lukewarm, vaguely thrusting in time with the vibrator pressed against his oft ignored clit. He was right back to where he had started, and his head still pounded. Sighing, Alistair shut off his vibrator and sat up. As soon as he did, his omni-tool began to beep.

54.

“Great. My head hurts, and I’m hypo.” He didn’t bother with fitting his packer back into his underwear. Instead, the Spectre grabbed his boxers and padded over to his emergency sugar supply. A small pile of pixie stick wrappers soon formed as he tried not to mope too much about his inability to fix his headache. At least the sugar made his lips stop feeling numb, but it wasn’t like he had to use them right then.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and dislodging the rubber band holding it back in the process. “Guess I’ll just try to sleep it off without the added headache relief.”

That was the great thing about being on the ace side of life – no lingering horniness thanks to his inept abilities.

With another sigh, Alistair made his way back to his bed. This time, he slid under the covers and closed his eyes. His head still pounded, but in the quiet of his quarters he found it a little easier to slip into sleep.

---

“Commander…”

“Vakarian, keep on. That’s an order.”

The body beneath him was hot, almost uncomfortably so. Without skin, the surface was hard and a little rocky where plates joined together. It was a little slick too, and not just because of the lube – carapaces were a fucking slip and slide in the bedroom if you weren’t ready for the angles. It was a little uncomfortable, but with positioning - and a little flexibility - things went where they needed to go.

The turian’s eyes were cloudy with blown pupils. He was breathing hard, grasping at the sheets. His erection had long since shown itself, now buried deep. When he rubbed against it, the collision of their hips made him whimper.

“I can’t hold it much longer…”

He smirked and leaned closed to the strange neck ahead of him, lips barely ghosting against the hard skin. “Are you giving out on me, Vakarian?”

“N-no, sir…” He was panting, trying to rub. But there would be none of that. Alistair shifted his position to make sure he couldn’t find the relief. Beneath him, Garrus whimpered again, and his mandibles fluttered once more.

It was here that he took his time, carefully biting at the sensitive parts of the turian’s neck. The whimpering got so high pitched that the translator couldn’t work with it anymore, and his natural voice broke through. There was something primal about it, and even though he didn’t have full command of the words, it was enough to get him to smirk as he stopped biting and ran a carful finger between two plates.

“What was that?”

Garrus’ voice was breathy when the translator finally kicked in. “N-nothing, sir…”

His grip was iron on the sheets, and his entire body was trembling. There was the point of climax, and then there it was past it. Clearly, he was edging towards the latter. Alistair nodded as he shifted his position, lowering a bit more. Beneath him, Garrus whimpered again.

“You know what you have to say, Vakarian.”

The turian took a shaky breath, eyes so wide they reminded him of a cat. “Yes, Commander…”

Another shaky breath. “Permission to come aboard?”

It was at this point that Alistair shifted again, fully lowering himself against the turian’s sensitive member, nudging his head close to where he heard best. “Permission granted, Vakarian.”

With that, he rubbed the space between plates one last time, working a nail into right where it was the most sensitive. Beneath him, Garrus shuddered as he finally climaxed, his entire body shaking from the force. All the while, he held on, feeling the vibrations and pulse of the turian’s orgasm.

It was at this point he rolled off to protect himself from the withdrawal. The bad thing about turians was that their anatomy was all internal, regardless of gender. That meant Garrus needed to remove the condom before things got stuck and required an embarrassing visit to a doctor for removal.

“Sir… I…”

Alistair carefully removed the condom for the shaking turian, tossing it to the trash. “Can’t have you out of service, Vakarian.”

“Thank you…” Garrus’ voice was still shaky and going in and out of the translator, but his eyes were more focused. “And you, sir?”

This was the point the turian’s careful hand reached toward him, pausing. He knew better. But right then, Alistair allowed it with a nod. Cautious talons soon found his clit, already slick from a combination of the lube and his own heat.

Here it was faster. Garrus was a pro at getting him off with careful strokes that avoided the sharp side of his clipped talons. The heat was beginning to pool in Alistair’s stomach once more, but he fought back a grunt.

After all, it wouldn’t do to show that in front of his men.

---

Alistair’s eyes snapped open as he sat up. His head still ached, but it wasn’t really his focus then. A familiar sensation of heat was growing in his stomach as his consciousness slowly filtered in. Without pause, he peeled off both the blanket and his boxers. Just like he thought, he was already wet and close to the point.

Barely breathing, he reached for his vibrator and flicked it on. Garrus’ strained voice and shaking hands were still in his mind as he leaned back and let it work. Just the thought of the turian so close to orgasm and unable to do anything about it caused him to shiver, and it was at that point that it kicked into high gear.

After a few seconds, he climaxed with a shudder and a quiet squeak of a moan. Sweating a little, he turned off the vibrations and just lay there in bed, staring up at the covered ceiling. Someone – probably his sister – had stuck glow in the dark stickers to the dark fabric stretched across the skylight. It looked like Orion’s Belt to him, not that he had ever seen it in person.

…

Yeah, he was definitely trying to avoid this.

“Man, fuck me…”

He sighed. On the bright side, the orgasm had done its job – combined with the medicine, it was easier to think now, and his pounding headache had reduced itself to a dull throb that he could work with. However, now he had a new headache as he sat up to head to the shower.

Garrus’ face was still in his head as he stripped and let the hot water hit his back. Just imagining it made his hand want to wander down from its spot pressed against the wall towards his clit. But he resisted the urge as he shook his head, water flying thanks to his wet hair.

“I can’t believe I went there with him. What the hell am I thinking?”

Alistair rested his forehead against the wall, groaning. This wasn’t the first time he’d had thoughts like this, though it was the first with someone he knew. As much as he hated to admit it, something about that kind of control excited him.

Which, given he was a fucking commanding officer, was a nightmare. It wasn’t like he got off to ordering people around, though; that was business, and he took no pleasure in it. These thoughts just popped up in his private life, in the rare internet searches he did in incognito and made sure his omni-tool was blocking everything out.

“And with Garrus… fuck.”

That was probably the worst part of all as he watched the water circle the drain. Things were better with the turian since they had met up on Omega, but there was being civil and… that. Honestly, it felt awful to him as he played it over again in his mind, closing his eyes tightly.

Awful… but also awfully hot.

His free hand brushed against his thigh, fingers finding his clit. As the water poured down, he rubbed slowly, playing the memory over in his brain. His mind kept focusing on the look on Garrus’ face, on his breathy voice breaking translation. Just imagining him whimpering on the edge of climax with nowhere to go made the heat pool in his stomach. Did the real turian look and sound like that when he was so close to the edge?

“Damn it, Vakarian…”

It came out under his breath in an octave he normally couldn’t hit unless he strained at the bottom of his range. Yet at the moment, it was almost effortless as he replayed the turian underneath him, writhing and unable to do anything about it.

Well, nothing except beg anyway.

Of course, there was a downside to jacking off in the shower. Given the fact he was just standing there, the motion activated lights stopped activating, and he was suddenly in the dark. The quick loss of light was enough to snap him out of the dream and take too quick a step back.

And then on his ass he went.

“Fuck!”

Alistair’s vision swam as he winced, reaching up to turn the water off as his ass throbbed from the force of 140 pounds falling onto it. Nothing felt broken, but there was definitely going to be a bruise once he dried off. Lucky for him, nobody was looking there anyway.

“Shepard, I detected a fall. Are you experiencing hypoglycemic shock?”

EDI’s electronic voice made the whole thing worse as he finally stood, soaking wet and feeling rather stupid. He grabbed for a towel and dried off, wincing as he reached his backside. That one was going to be spectacular.

“I don’t have my omni-tool on, EDI. I’ll let you know in a second.”

A few moments later, with a happy CGM, Alistair sat gingerly at his desk. Now he had two dull throbs to keep him company, along with the reminder of just what the fuck he had been doing a few moments prior. His cheeks colored as he rubbed the towel over his wet hair, trying to block it out.

“Shepard?”

Right, EDI…

“It’s fine, EDI. I just was in there too long and I slipped.” He paused, looking out from under the towel towards the blur orb. “Er, thank you for checking on me.”

What could he say, apart from jacking off to the submissive version of his crewmate, he was a polite man.

The orb clicked off, leaving him to his brooding. Alistair groaned a little as he felt the bruise throb once more. Maybe it was the universe punishing him. Didn’t matter, still fucking hurt as he finished drying off.

“I’m probably going to have to avoid Garrus for a little bit.” He frowned. “Can’t have that happen again. It’d be too awkward…”

But then his eye went to his schedule. His stomach dropped at the sight. Thanks to his headache, he had totally forgotten that he was supposed to check the turian’s new implants to make sure everything was ok. As a matter of fact, he had an hour at best.

He could go to Chakwas for that, right? Right?

“I’m so fucked.”

The human rested his soggy forehead on the deck, mentally willing wherever his dream had come from back to whatever hell it had generated. Lucky for him, he was good at repressing things. With any luck, he wouldn’t even think about it by the time the turian got there for the implant check.

After, though? Well… he was pretty sure he was fucked. Next time he was just going to take a double dose of pain pills. After all, with that new stomach and liver he was pretty sure his body could take that kind of beating. It would be better than the other kind, to say the least.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #I've been sitting on this a while because I'm not confident writing smut #shakarian

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greenygreenland · 4 years

Text

Shy: Bad Batch x Reader

Summary:

Initiallly, you are worried about meeting the Bad Batch but eventually come to some mutual understanding of what it feels like to be the odd one out.

-i never finished this until now lol

-i wrote this as soon as s7 ended what

-now it's nov and i'm quaking

The Bad Batch: an abnormal bunch, rowdy group of weirdos, the black sheeps of the GAR, a bad batch, dysfunctional, et cetera, et cetera. You heard so many rumours and comments floating around about that group while other times, nothing at all. They were science experiments made by the Kaminoans and absolutely nothing like their brothers, both in looks and personality.

They had been trained separately from their brothers, and from what you knew, were practically a family on their own.

"So, this is the 'Bad Batch'?" you whispered to Cody. His lips were pressed into a thin line while his brows knitted together. Either he was in deep thought, or uncomfortable (you sensed it to be the latter) with how close you two stood. He had told you a few stories of his own adventures with the group, and although they didn't seem all too bad, you weren't so sure about these boys. "Remind me why I'm here Cody." you whispered. He raised a brow and said, "You were assigned to aid Clone Force 99 in their upcoming mission. You are expected to complete the mission and were given a full seven rotations to do so. A quick summary is that you were tasked to infiltrate and destroy a Seperatist base and return--safely on General Kenobi's request."

"Only because they didn't know where else to deploy me." you grumbled. Turning to Cody, you dramatically sighed. Only being Knighted as of yesterday left you in an odd position. Where were you to go now that you didn't follow your ex-master, Obi-wan, like a lost puppy? Where were you to go now that you were fully independent from him? Cody patted your shoulder, a gesture solely reserved for you. "They aren't too bad Com--General."

"That's not the point Cody. If they're as good as I've heard, I'll only be extra luggage." Cody frowned. "That's not true." He tone was firm and you sensed he meant it. "You're as capable, maybe even more, than them. I have no doubt that you will be completely immaculate on this mission." He paused thoughtfully, giving the open docking bay a good survey. "You're strong General," he added. "Don't ever forget that."

You smiled at him in appreciation. "Thanks Cody, for being here for me as always." He returned the smile. "We're...we're friends, yes?"

"Without a doubt." You fixed your gaze on the approaching men and folded your arms over your chest. They were, as expected, as odd bunch. One was super macho while another was as thin as a stick, another looked like a total nerd while the last of the four looked...pretty normal compared to his brothers. You shifted from foot to foot. As they stared you down, you couldn't help but feel the slightest bit intimidated.

"I'm worried." you whispered, eyeing the clone who wore a red headband-bandana-thing stepped forward. He nodded your way, eyes sharp and calculating. "Don't be." he said. You instinctively turned to Cody with a silent look for help. "Hunter has enhanced senses." he explained.

You suddenly felt very, very dumb. "Why didn't I know that?" you whispered. Cody had the strong urge to roll his eyes. "Because you weren't listening when I briefed you this morning. You were caught up in finishing something assigned to you last week." You blinked, a sigh escaping your lips. "Right. Right. Thanks Cody." You turned to the Bad Batch, whom were sending each other amused glances. You sensed a shared bewilderment among them relating to your dynamic with Cody, but none had the guts to speak about it.

At least not yet.

Offering a small wave, you said, "Hello there. I...assume you already know me--or at least have heard my name."

"You're General (Y/n) Skywalker." the nerd said. "Younger sister of General Anakin Skywalker by three years, recently knighted--yesterday--and known to be fierce in battle, which earned you the name--"

"Oh shut it Tech."

You cast a glance at the one who had spoken: Mr. Macho. He gave Tech a punch on the arm, but not enough to hurt him. "I see he has done an...extensive amount of research." you commented. Cody nodded in agreement and Tech merely smiled in response. "Besides my extensive amount of knowledge, allow me to introduce you to Clone Force 99, or as you may have heard, the Bad Batch. I'm Tech. That over there is Wrecker." He pointed to Mr. Macho. "That's Crosshair." He pointed to the stick-man. "And that's Hunter, otherwise known as our self-proclaimed leader." The boys chuckled at this, leaving you slightly less intimidated by their demanding presence. Cody patted your shoulder and you turned to him uncertainly. He subtly smiled at you reassuringly. "I'll leave you to it. Take care of the General."

"Not to worry Commander," Hunter said, "she's in good hands." You sensed a mix of dount and amusement roll off Cody's shoulders, but he kept his mouth shut as usual. He sent you a nod in farewell before walking off into the hanger. You watched him disappear in the sea of sweaty men and droids. Boy were you going to miss him. A frown etched its way onto your lips as you awkwardly turned to the Bad Batch. "So, about the mission?"

---

The trip through hyperspace started off as quiet, save for the occasional joke thrown by Wrecker. Although large and macho, he was a real sweetheart, much like your late friend Waxer. Wrecker knew you were nervous around them, so he unconsciously took it upon himself to break the ice--which didn't exactly work as he anticipated.

Crosshair had been sending you subtle glances of judgment every now and then. When you caught him staring, Hunter spoke in his place. "We don't usually work with clones outside our squad, especially Jedi for that matter." he smoothly offered. "Don't take it personal if we're not...used to having you around." You nodded in understanding from where you sat. That was reasonable, especially since they were build and trained differently from their brothers. They all seemed so close-knit, so it would make sense for you to be an outsider. You didn't know what to say, so you kept as quiet as a mouse.

It was really uncomfortable though. Why did it have to be so awkward? Why were you so awkward? Why couldn't you just hold a conversation?

"I've heard stories of General Skywalker." Tech chirped. "Your personality contrasts from his." You shrugged, forcing a smile to break the ice. "That's what I'm known for. My friend Ahsoka used to say I was born with all the brain cells." There was a pang in your heart and again, silence in the ship. You tried to tell yourself to push back all the dark thoughts and quickly building stress, but it was hard to when it was so damn quiet. You suddenly wished you hadn't been knighted, and that you were still a padawan stuck by Obi-wan's side with the comfort of Cody. You didn't think you were ready yet. It was too early.

Hunter eyed you carefully and it suddenly occured to you that maybe he could hear how loud your heart rammed against your ribs. Cody said he had enhanced senses, and that was a good thing for him, but you couldn't say the same for yourself. "I don't mean to be rude, but you look worried." Hunter began. "I don't mean any offence General--"

"No, no." You softly smiled to ease the suffocating atmosphere. "I'm out of my comfort zone is all. That and..." You didn't know how to say that you were shy and a bit scared to talk to new people. A Jedi was supposed to be calm, collected, and ready for the unexpected during these tough tines. You were a General now, not some little padawan afraid of her own shadow.

"You're shy." Tech realised. You folded your hands together on your lap with a small shrug. It was hard for you to admit it out loud, but you agreed anyway. "Maybe a little." Crosshair gave you a stare you couldn't decipher. It was everchanging with his emotions, first intrigued, then surprised, then...what was it? You weren't sure. He was harder to read than most people you've met.

"It's okay if you're shy." Tech said. You liked how amiable he was. "I used to be shy too, but then I realised there wasn't much point in it when I wanted to share all the things I've learned." You drank in every word he said, appreciating how wise they were. Kaminoans always said clones were only tools bred gor war, but you always disagreed. They were human and had feelings. Some were gentle like Tech, others standoffish like Hunter or Wolffe, and a wonderful few your best friends.

"Is there a reason why you're shy too?" Tech inquired. Hunter looked like he wanted to step in and tell Tech he had crossed the line by asking a Jedi a personal question. You took note of that and waved it off. Yes, being a Jedi meant you had authority, but did it mean people should be afraid of their own curisoity? No. They had a right to ask, even if it was personal.

"My brother's rambunctious, loud, and incredibly reckless at times. He's emotional, sometimes a bit rude, and not the ideal Jedi people would think of when they hear 'the Chosen One'. I'm quiet. I prefer books over a good 'negotiation'." You 'pffted' and met the eyes if your new companions. "By that, I mean running head-first into battle while swinging your lightsaber." The boys nodded in understanding and you continued.

"Sorry if I sound so...direct, especially since I've only met you all today, but I feel like I'm too different. Like...like I'm the odd one out." You thought back to how Anakin won your freedom all those years ago through that stupid pod race. He was a natural at everything, and you had to say, luck favoured him over you. You didn't know how to repair ships, spin around in space to avoid enemies, or do all the things your brother succeeded in. All you had was a title for being deadly in battle, which in itself was a curse.

You were a Jedi, a 'keeper of peace' who was supposed to be good at meditating. You weren't a soldier like Cody or all the other clones, in fact, you were nothing compared to your brother. He was known to be a great Jedi Knight while you considered yourself lucky for being Knighted so early. Leaders or Generals weren't supposed to be shy like you. They asserted dominance, or rather, took charge and led from the front, not the back.

"I'm not as good as my brother at anything. I'm not good with people, I'm not a leader. I only have one title because I'm 'good in battle', or whatever... Farfiek, how did I even become a Jedi Knight anyway? Ni'm an di'kut." You kicked at air, completely oblivious to the surprised faces of your companions. "Hah!" exclaimed Gregor. "So she knows Mandalorian!" Tech blinked, scratching at his temple absentmindedly. "And apparently a bit Huttese."

You sensed the positive shift in the atmosphere and turned to meet their gazes. Hunter tried for a smile, but it was almost impossible to see. "With all due respect, I don't think you're as useless as you think, General. Can you speak Mando'a?"

"Elek Ni liser."

"Huttese?"

"Tagwa."

"What about...Jawa?"

"Ibana."

Hunter and the boys exchanged glances of approval with each other. Tech smiled brightly. "That's amazing General! In total, you speak four languages including Basic while the average person speaks either one or two at most. How did you learn all those languages?" You shrugged. "I read a lot in my spare time and practiced on Cody. He speaks a good amount of Huttese now because I practiced that with him the most."

Tech looked like he would cry from joy. You assumed he was simply that impressed by your 'skills' that it brought tears to his eyes, but you couldn't be sure. "Tech's a real nerd." Crosshair suddenly said. "He probably thinks you're a goddess right about now." You chuckled a little as Hunter pulled out a holoprojector. "It's good to see everyone's warmed up a bit." he admitted. "Who's up for reviewing the mission plans?"

You glanced at the faces of your companions. The atmosphere had changed again, and it made you feel all warm inside. Perhaps Cody was right. You were going to do fine on this mission.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #star wars the clone wars x reader #clone troopers #bad batch

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bedlamsbard · 4 years

Text

Some concept writing! I originally wasn’t planning to post this (because self-indulgent), but it seemed popular during the daily snippets so here it is. This is a similar base universe to this concept, but Caleb got rescued soon afterwards.

About 2.4K below the break. Please note I don’t warn.

***

Hera didn’t have to ask to know that the Jedi were uncomfortable with her being here, but she wasn’t rude enough to comment on it. She followed Master Unduli through the wide, airy corridors of the Hidden Temple, trying not to sneeze at the heady, unfamiliar scent of the massive tree it was built in. It had been an impressive sight on approach; if Hera had had the luxury she would have been happy to take half an hour or so to fly around it, inspecting it from roots to canopy. Inside, it felt solemn, temple-like, but without the heaviness Hera had half-expected before coming inside. There were very few people about for its size, but she didn’t know if it was because most of the surviving Jedi were absent or because there had been fewer survivors than she had assumed.

“Caleb’s hurt?” she asked eventually. “How?”

Master Unduli paused, then turned back towards Hera. Hera stopped obediently, looking at the other woman – they were nearly of a height. “What did Master Windu tell you?”

“Just that Caleb had been hurt during the – the Purge.” She stumbled over the word, self-conscious about mentioning it in front of a Jedi. “But that was months ago –”

Master Unduli bit her lip, hesitating over the words. When she finally went on, Hera suspected that it was less because she actually wanted to talk about it and more because there was no way not to say. “The traitor Jedi – they’re starting to be called Inquisitors now – took prisoners, mostly younglings, some initiates.” A muscle in her jaw worked silently before she went on. “Caleb is the only padawan we know of who was taken; one of the traitors had an – an obsession with him. His master was killed. We were able to rescue some of the younglings and Caleb a few weeks ago. The physical injuries are one thing,” she went on. “Except for the broken bones, they’re mostly healed now. But he’s hurt inside, very badly, and nothing any of us can do can get through to him. Master Billaba said that you two had a connection during their last mission to Ryloth.”

Hera hesitated, uncertain if Master Unduli’s delicate phrasing meant she knew that they had had an affair. “I’m not a Jedi.”

“He doesn’t need another Jedi,” Master Unduli said, sounding very sad and very tired. “He needs a reason to live.”

Hera looked up at her, horrified.

The Mirialan gave her a weary smile and then started walking again. Hera followed her, feeling a little sick. “I love him,” she said to Master Unduli’s back, glad that she wasn’t looking at the woman’s face; she knew it wasn’t the sort of thing that the Jedi approved of, though Depa Billaba had never protested it. “Maybe he loves me. We didn’t talk about it when he was on Ryloth. I didn’t ask him to leave the Order; I wouldn’t have. I know how much it meant to him.”

Master Unduli looked back at her. “That doesn’t matter anymore,” she said wearily. “There are enough of us dead that if something will keep one of us alive, then we’ll take that chance.”

Hera swallowed and kept following her.

Master Unduli led her to a room in an outer fold of the trunk; a tired-looking teenage Wookiee was sitting outside it, mostly asleep. He got to his feet as they approached and crooned a question.

“I’ll take over, Gungi,” Master Unduli said. “Go get some rest or some food.”

The Wookiee nodded and bowed, then trotted down the corridor the way they had come.

Hera swallowed uneasily, then made herself ask, “Is he – did he hurt –”

“No,” Master Unduli said immediately, not having to ask what Hera meant. “But we would rather be safe than sorry.” She put her hand on the door and it slid silently open.

The room beyond was bright and airy, with light spilling in through an open window. The bed was empty, sheets and blankets pulled off it into a knot on the floor; it took Hera a moment to see Caleb, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall where the sunlight could touch him. His eyes were closed; he didn’t look up as the door opened.

“Caleb?” Hera said.

His eyes snapped open, wide with shock and surprise. His lips shaped her name silently before he pushed to his feet, bracing himself against the wall; he was barefoot, and Hera could see the splint on one ankle. Hera crossed the room to him quickly so that he didn’t try to walk on what was clearly a broken bone, feeling him flinch for an instant as she put her arms around him. Then he hugged her back, burying his face in her shoulder.

Mindful of his injured ankle and the bandages Hera could feel beneath his shirt, she helped him sit again and sank down beside him. He put his face into her shoulder, weeping silently as she held him against her.

“It’s all right,” Hera whispered to him in Twi’leki. “It’s all right, it’s me, I’m here, you’re all right.”

Master Unduli slipped silently out of the room, letting the door slide shut behind her.

Eventually Caleb straightened to look at her. Hera cupped his face in her hand, touching the fresh scar on his chin, the small one that cut through his left eyebrow. There was another scar around his neck, a pair of them on his wrists, all with the slightly raw newness of bacta and recent healing. Hera touched them gently, then kissed him. It was only when she drew her fingers through his hair, loose around his face, that she realized his padawan braid was gone.

He kissed her back, touching her face gently with the backs of his knuckles. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Master Windu asked me to come because you were hurt,” Hera said, a little hesitant. She kissed him again. “I thought you were dead. I’m so glad you’re not –”

He sighed, tipping his forehead down against hers. “I wished I was, for a while,” he admitted.

“I know Master Billaba is dead,” Hera told him.

Caleb nodded, shutting his eyes. “He killed her,” he said eventually. “In front of me – because of me.”

“Who is he?”

She felt him start trembling and kissed him again. “It’s all right,” Hera told him. “I’m here, you’re here, there are a hundred Jedi here.”

“More than that,” he said absently, his gaze going unfocused for an instant. “He’s a Knight,” he said eventually, his voice hesitant; Hera had the immediate impression that for the rest of his life there would only be one he. “A Temple Guard. He…hurt me. He killed Master Billaba and he hurt me.” He looked down at his hands as if he had never seen them before, tracing the scar on one wrist.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Hera asked gently.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” he said. “Except I can’t stop, even here. He’s – he –”

Hera took his shaking hands. “You don’t have to talk about it.” She kissed his knuckles gently, silently noting the scars there, as if he had battered his hands bloody against some hard surface. “I can talk, if you want. What do you want me to talk about?”

Caleb shrugged. “Tell me about the temple?” he said eventually. “I was unconscious when we got here.” When Hera frowned at him, concerned, he said sheepishly, “They had to sedate me when we left Mustafar – where the Inquisition headquarters are. I haven’t seen anything here except the halls of healing and this room. I’ve heard the Hidden Temple is beautiful.”

“It is,” Hera agreed. “I don’t know if the Jedi would let me fly around it for a better look, since I came straight in when I landed. Everything is forest, all around – not the whole planet; there are plains and mountains and at least one sea that I saw – but around the temple it’s all forest, with trees as big as this one. I think this one is at least the size of a star destroyer. Everything outside is all shades of green, even the light, because it has to filter in through the forest canopy. Some of the branches are almost wide enough to land the Ghost – my ship – on, and there are platforms where smaller branches have come together as supports for gardens, even pools and waterfalls that come from other parts of the tree, I’m not sure how –”

“The roots draw up water from beneath the forest floor,” Caleb murmured. “It’s like wroshyr trees on Kashyyyk, a little, but different.”

“I’ve never been to Kashyyyk,” Hera admitted. She had been off Ryloth a number of times, but never that far afield.

“It’s pretty,” Caleb said. He sounded a little sleepy, leaning his head against her shoulder. “You’d like it.”

Hera touched his hair gently. She was still a little fascinated by it; it was as soft under her fingers now as it had been all those months ago back on Ryloth. “I thought the halls here would be dark, but they’re full of light. There are windows –” She nodded at the one in the room’s outer all, “– some big, some so small I couldn’t see them except that they let in light, and glowing flowers and moss. Everything is decorated with carvings, sometimes inlaid wood or gems or shell. I didn’t see anything painted, but they brought me straight here from the hangar.” She hesitated, then asked, “Why haven’t you been out of this room? You’re not a prisoner?”

“I could if I wanted,” he said. “They’d probably keep someone with me in case I fell over. And I’ve got a cracked collarbone and three broken ribs, so the healers aren’t thrilled with the idea of me wandering around even without the broken ankle.” He turned his gaze downwards, studying the scars on his hands. “Usually we heal faster than that. It’s not…working very well for me just now. They’re worried about that.” He ringed his left wrist with his right hand, fingers overlaying the shackle galls there.

Hera turned her head and kissed him gently.

Caleb kissed her back, mouth warm against hers and surprisingly delicate.

“How did you get hurt?” Hera asked him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added when he hesitated.

“The ankle was an accident,” he said eventually. “I fell badly when he was knocking me around. The rest is from him knocking me around. He had me chained up most of the time,” he added, rubbing the scar on his wrist before he gestured vaguely at his face and the unfamiliar scars there. “Lightsaber, from the Temple. I’ve got some others. Everything else is healed already. It’s just flesh,” he added wearily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think by definition bones aren’t flesh,” Hera said mildly, and was rewarded by seeing his mouth quirk for a moment in a smile.

“You know what I mean.”

Hera didn’t, not entirely, but she curved her hands around his face and kissed him anyway.

“I thought about you,” he breathed against her mouth. “I thought about you all the time. About talking with you, about being with you, about –” He bit her lower lip gently.

Hera smiled. She was a little disoriented by the sudden change of subject, but not opposed to it; she also thought that Caleb was probably desperate to think about anything but what had happened to him. “About what?”

“Guess.” He kissed her again.

Hera kissed him back, sliding her fingers into his hair. After a moment she climbed into his lap, bracing her knees against his hips as he pulled at the hem of her shirt, undoing the fastenings from bottom to top.

“I thought about your breasts,” he said gravely once he had her shirt open.

“Good,” Hera said, grinning as she shrugged her shirt off over her shoulders. She shivered a little as Caleb kissed the top of each breast, his lips slightly chapped despite the planet’s relative humidity. She reached to draw her hands up over his chest, meaning to pull his shirt off, and accidentally put her palm against his cracked collarbone.

Caleb flinched back, hissing through his teeth. He didn’t dislodge her, but his hands tightened where they were braced against her thighs. His eyes were wide with shock and pain, suddenly unfocused – thrown out of the moment to somewhere else.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hera gasped. She touched his face, trying to drag him out of whatever nightmare he had suddenly been forced back into, and said, “Caleb – Caleb, it’s all right, it’s just me –”

For a horrifying moment, longer than Hera liked, there was no comprehension in his eyes, just blind terror. Then he blinked, shuddering; his lips formed her name before he tipped his forehead down against her shoulder, shaking. Hera held him against her, feeling him weep silently, his tears briefly warm against her bare skin before they cooled.

“It’s all right,” she breathed. “It’s all right, Caleb, you’re safe, you’re not there, you’re here, you’re all right –”

He shook his head, not looking up. “No,” he said eventually, his voice utterly flat. “No.”

Hera held him until he finally cried himself out, murmuring to him in Twi’leki. When she thought she could, she got up to fetch a blanket from the tangle of sheets on the floor by the bed and brought it back to him, wrapping it around his shoulders. She pulled her shirt back on and sat down beside him, her arm around him.

“Can I help?” she asked him. “What can I do, love? What do you need?”

Caleb shook his head wearily, his expression so tired and so hurt that he looked a decade older. He leaned his head against Hera’s shoulder, turning his face down so that she couldn’t see it.

“All right,” Hera said gently. “I’m here. I love you, and I won’t leave you. When you need me, I’m here.” She kissed the top of his head.

He didn’t say anything, but after a moment his hand found hers.

#cut scenes and concept writing #hidden temple au tag #as always comments are appreciated

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, “I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #bill weasley #charlie weasley #percy weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #molly weasley #arthur weasley #katriona cassiopeia #charles cromwell #jacob cromwell #my art #my writing #GAAAAHHHH BILLLL #I LOVE YOU SO FRIGGIN' MUCH MY PRECIOUS BOY ;~;#you go be a good big brother and best friend for carewyn you wonderful thing #also ooh hoo hoo~ orion you can claim you're not crushing but you aren't fooling anybody hahahaha #you'll figure out what you're feeling soon enough >D #we're learn more about how magic works in this universe as time goes on of course #but yeah rest assured there's still a lot to unravel in regards to what happened to jacob... >>#and of course this part is another reminder that charles cromwell is a no-good son of a b****

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notthatiwilleverwriteit · 4 years

Note

do you think that tianshans relationship is too violent??? or do you think that’s just their dynamic???

Hello, dear anon!

That is a tricky question for sure. I have talked about my take on violence-related topics a couple of times before:

Is Tianshan toxic part 1 and part 2

HT as a discipliner for MGS

Violence in Zhanhyi vs. violence in Tianshan

Was HT too pushy with MGS? (ch. 333 extra)

HT with JY vs. HT with MGS

My Tianshan “timeline” and its continuum

You would probably be the most interested in my comparison of Zhanyi and Tianshan when it comes to violence. But I would recommend taking an overall look.

“do you think that tianshans relationship is too violent or do you think that’s just their dynamic”

Whenever it comes to these kinds of questions, I like to keep two things in mind: context and subjectivity. I think context matters when it comes to whatever we’re doing. It doesn’t excuse the things that have been done but it explains them. And if I can understand the reasons/see behind the behavior, to me it changes how I feel about said thing.

Secondly, I’ve found that these kinds of questions are surprisingly subjective. As you said yourself, do I think their relationship is too violent? I don’t think anyone can deny that their relationship has violence in it, but am I bothered by it? We all have different tastes when it comes to fictional dynamics. Some people take issue with the violence in Tianshan, and that’s valid. To them, it’s too much and puts them off. To some other people, it doesn't make them uncomfortable. They are not bothered by it at all. Then there are all the rest (like myself) who are sprinkled somewhere in between the two opposites on the spectrum.

Now, I think that situation is perfectly fine, but issues come up when people start to moralize others who are placed somewhere else on that spectrum than themselves. Thinking Tianshan is (too) violent is perfectly acceptable, but saying things like “you are gross/toxic/messed up for shipping something like Tianshan” isn’t. In my books, at least. (I’m sorry, dear anon, I know you weren't saying anything like that! I just wanted to finish where I was going with all this.)

Anyway, I think those two principles apply to the violence in Tianshan as well.

When it comes to 19 Days, especially, I would say context is quite important. A lot of the humor in the comic is based on the boys physically hurting each other. This goes for Tianshan, too (ch. 150, 160, 170, 256. 281, 298, 339):

MGS slaps and punches HT. HT twists his balls and pushes him down. I get it if that’s not exactly funny to everyone, but it’s still how 19 Days’ comedy works. The characters aren’t left with injuries or trauma; usually the slaps are forgotten and bloody noses healed by the next panel. For the most part, I find the comedic moments funny.

In general, I think the type of comedy that 19 Days has is where the Chinese/Asian and Western fandoms clash culturally. I’m not that familiar with Chinese comedy tropes, but from what I’ve understood it’s not uncommon that teenage boys mess with each other physically like that in Chinese culture. Especially, that whole “twisting the balls” thing. (Please, someone correct me if I’m completely wrong about this! This is just what I’ve heard from non-Western people.)

Other than comedy, context is also important to keep in mind when it comes to other occasions of violence between HT and MGS. I think the best example of this was when HT confronted MGS about his past with SL and got physical with MGS (ch. 295):

I remember there was a lot of fandom discussion about this moment. A lot of people felt like HT had gone back to his old ways and he was forcing MGS again. Ultimately, it was seen as him being abusive and toxic.

And to be fair, I think they were right in saying that HT regressed to his old habits. I would say that was the whole point of that moment. SL lurking around and his veiled threats towards MGS had put HT on edge. He was restless and uneasy about the whole situation. It was made even worse by how he was basically left on the blind side of everything since he didn't know what SL was holding over MGS’s head. So, it wasn’t a surprise that his impatience and uneasiness came out as him using physical strength on MGS.

Again, people who (still) were turned off by HT’s behavior are valid and I can see where they are coming from. But there were reasons as to why HT was behaving in such ways. To some, the reasons don’t matter because they don't change the actions themselves. And they would be correct in saying so, but I think those reasons are still important to keep in mind when interpreting moments like these.

As I said, this topic is also about subjectivity and I put myself somewhere between the two ends of the spectrum. For the most part, I’m not bothered by the violence in Tianshan. I can see its comedic purposes or I’m interested in it for contextual reasons. But there have been occasions when I’ve been somewhat uncomfortable with the violence or that it’s come across needlessly rough to me. (Even if I have understood the context behind it.)

Sometimes I’m a bit taken aback by the roughness of the violence (ch. 138, 222, 234):

These panels always came across a bit extreme to me. I can see the build-up context behind them and understand where the blow-up stemmed from (MGS talking back to HT, and HT pushing MGS’s buttons after he had been worried for HT). But they still make me kinda go “okay... 🥴“. These moments were too much for me, personally, even if Tianshan is my OTP.

There have also been a couple of occasions when HT’s pushiness makes me a bit uncomfortable (ch. 174, 333, 342 [the last translation is by @1154lizz 🖤]):

And again, I see the context behind these moments - HT taking a joke too far, “touch my balls” kind of comedy, and...I guess taking the overall “pushy vs. tsundere” to the extreme. The first two moments I have somewhat gotten more comfortable with later on. I think the first kiss served as a good reflection point for both characters. HT trying to make MGS massage his balls as revenge goes in the overall category of 19 Days humor for me. The last panels are probably the only ones that still make me cringe. I think it’s mostly about how the situation is portrayed because when HT was stripping MGS to go swimming in the earlier chapters it didn't make me uncomfortable at all.

So, when you ask is Tianshan “too violent” or is it “just their dynamic”, I think those two things can coexist. It’s not an either-or situation to me. I would say violence is a part of the Tianshan dynamics. (Violence is also a big part of 19 Days in general.) HT pushes while MGS pulls. And as two strong-willed characters, they also clash a lot. And I love those things about them. That dynamic is partly why I’m drawn to them.

But the violence can still be too much to me or other people. It’s possible that kind of dynamics isn't to someone’s taste in general, and the violence makes them uncomfortable. It’s also possible that occasionally the violence goes too far even if you shipped Tianshan. I don’t think you can say there is some universal level of “this much violence is fine” without making it sound like you’re moralizing. It’s different for everyone. I’m sure some people have been perfectly fine with the things that have made me uncomfortable, and I don't see a problem in that. As a Tianshan shipper, the “it’s so toxic/violent/abusive” discourse can get a bit tiring at times, but as long as we’re talking about the ship (and not the shippers), I think everyone is free to voice their interpretations.

Thank you for your question, dear anon!

#tianshan #19 days #answered ask

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 4 years

Note

I meant to send this here but sent a message instead. Either way 🤣

I know you’re not doing much writing right now, but if you feel inclined to do something anything fucked up for Valentine’s Day with Flip or Captain Blowhole, it could be the sort of fucked up that we all deserve!

Take on Captain Blowhole vs Cupid?!? Like Cpt Hook and Tinker Bell, except Cupid is a full sized ugly ass man with a beer gut like captain Underpants! 🤣

I’m literally writing a fic I’m titling Flip vs Cupid where he has to go arrest a flasher on V Day and has to tackle him down and wrestle around etc

A/N: Holy fuckin’ shit man! The third part in the Siren Series is finally here.... Who the hell am I being so efficient this week! The is the final part and I am so fuckin’ proud of this series I just had the best time writing it out! I hope you all love it and thank you @safarigirlsp for sending in the ask to finish this love fest out!

Warnings: tw: violence, tw: death, tw: assault (we get slapped as well as we slap someone too), degradation, slight edging, unprotected sex, angst, mutual pining, fluff because I love these two so much, misuse of pirate puns and buccaneer banter, smut because we all love some of that cock talk, mentions of a certain ADCU character entering the mix (the tides will tell us)

The night was long and cold, the depths reaching near frigid temperatures as the Jolly Roger trudged on through the beacon. Frost building on either side of the hull, encasing the wood in a tomb of sorts, causing shivers to radiate from the crew as the soft snow fell around them.

“C-Cap,” Ron shuddered at the wheel, his eyelashes coated in snowflakes as he kept Flip’s course steady and true, “you sure we’re goin’ the r-right way,” he shivered rubbing his extended arm to cultivate some heat while he waited for a response.

Flip coughed, a thick fog releasing from his mouth as he glanced up slowly, his inky locks coated in a slick of frost as well.

“It has to be,” he muttered, the vortex of the lights cascading around the entirety of the ship in a tube as the snow kept falling.

He glanced back down, running a quivering finger down the direction of the map, huffing when he noticed the course was tried and true to where his trusty ship was heading.

His chorus of shudders racking his body upon glancing back up at his lethargic crew, the snow and ice impeding them from their usual performances. The track of light fell where the sea met the sky, the eerie silence causing even more confusion as he noticed the pulsing of the colors in the distance.

He wondered if you were at the end of this so-called rainbow. If you would even recall who he was, let alone let you be taken by him again.

The shame settling over him in a veil as he began to worry about your rejection. You were completely out of his league in every aspect, including the fact that you could breathe underwater. What if he had set sail to track you down for nothing? Were you already occupied with another sailor, like a whore? Or was it just not meant to be based on the differences you shared?

Either way, his grouchy ass had to find that out on his own, rules be damned. You had been on his mind every single day since he’d taken you on those golden shores. Your face framed by the sun lived rent-free, your luscious body sand-covered and begging for him, your gorgeous voice echoing his name as a song in his head. It was all intoxicating and he had to hear you again before he burst into flames.

The vortex grew brighter and brighter, the sound of an impending whirlpool approaching with rapid speed in the direction of the ship. The crew jumping from the frigid conditions instantly as the hull rocked from the waves picking up and the amplified light.

“Hold steady boys!” his booming voice echoed through the deck as they scrambled to their stations, little puffs of fog making their way to the illuminated ceiling of the tunnel as they made ready for the next part of the journey.

“Cap?!” Ron frightened slightly as the wheel took on a mind of its own, spinning a fury while the bow dipped into the water vortex, “Cap what do I fuckin’ do?!” the both of them holding on for dear life as they began to spin down into the whirlpool.

“Hold the fuck on!” he gritted out, reaching for any piece of wood around them to ground them to the deck, the sounds of cries and yelps radiating through as the boat hurled towards the blackened center of the pool, a bright wormhole opening to glisten in his pupils as they approached it.

“Holy fuckin’ shit!” Ron cried out, completely scared out of his wits, grabbing onto the same piece of wood as his pal was, “Cap what’s going on?!” screaming at him while he watched Flip fixated on the light.

“I think it’s the entrance,” he spoke almost calmly, his ship barreling into the bright beacon with the littlest efforts, the entire crew stifling the light from their eyes with hands raised as it was sucked inward.

_____________

“Daddy what the hell is going on?!” you huffed into the throne room, your parents perched in their rightful places as you blew a huff of bubbles out in annoyance.

“I was busy,” crossing your arms as your tail spanned below you in a cascade of greens and blues, your hair flowing in the clear water as you scrunched your face.

“Watch your mouth, Y/N,” he commanded, pointing his trident in your direction, the threat causing you to roll your eyes and brush a hand in disgust.

After you had returned from your escapade, the torture had ensued. Your father put more pressure on you to fulfill his wishes of becoming married to the most suitable bachelor in the Seven Seas.

The thought of anyone but your sailor boy making you gag audibly as he showed you suitor after suitor for weeks and weeks, only to find himself more annoyed at your defiance of him.

“The time has come my daughter,” he boomed, your mother smiling uncomfortably at the exchange, gulping loudly before he continued his power trip over your duties as a Princess.

“The time has come for what?” scrunching your eyebrows at him in more annoyance as he smirked devilishly at you.

“For you to meet your betrothed,” he cooed, the bubbles condescendingly falling from his trout mouth as your jaw dropped before him.

You pushed a finger in your ear, making sure to clean it out properly before answering him back, “I’m sorry… my who?!” your eyes bugging out of your head before you could lunge at him in a fury.

“You know exactly what I said,” darkly speaking as he gestured his staff to open the double doors, revealing a merman as they escorted him to the side of your father.

“My sweet daughter,” he pandered, “this… is Matthew… The new future King of the Ocean,” the tall, blonde gentleman smiling as brightly as a guppy while he was doted on by your father. The sight of them nauseating you to no end as you surveyed him.

Arms still crossed over your covered tits, pushing them out slightly as you inched forward to take him in further. He wasn’t completely hideous, you thought to yourself, his face chiseled and handsome. His body was built heavy and stacked, abdominals straining under his scaled skin as you watched him speak in hushed tones to your father. His hair a cascade of golds and yellows, as the curls satisfyingly framed his face. But he wasn’t your sailor.

Your handsome, tall, and dark buccaneer. The one with the chiseled features, thick black locks, and a heavy swinging cock. He wasn’t even close to him, and would never be in your mind.

You looked around while they had their little conference, rudely ignoring your presence as you surveyed the room, wondering if you could make a break for it and go find your love again.

It wouldn’t be too hard, you thought, he wasn’t that elusive in any sense of the word. You knew his ship from stem to stern, having conjured it back from the depths while he laid passed out on the sand that day.

Recalled what his crew looked like, grabbing each of them from the Locker one by one to revive them. It would be as simple as recalling his trails he’d left coupled with your gift of echolocation to find him before he even blinked. You considered it. Biting a lip as you darted panicked eyes between the armed guards at all exits.

“Y/N,” your father cleared his throat, “are you going to introduce yourself to your future King?” he smiled again, extending a hand for yours to come closer.

“I’m so sorry about her,” he gripped your fingers in a death grip, a hiss coming out of your throat as he pulsed them, “she’s kind of spacey… forgive me,” pushing you to collide with his thick body in a thud.

“Ow! Fuck!” pushing him off you in an instant, putting your hands over your tits as they throbbed from the collision.

Another blow to the back of your head via the trident, “watch your whore mouth!” he boomed again, “I am deeply sorry, Matthew,” he smiled fakely again.

“It’s perfectly fine, Your Highness,” he bowed slightly, “I like my women a bit feisty,” the fire burning in his eyes as he glared down at you.

“The challenge of it all is… tantalizing,” taking your hand in his and bending down to lightly kiss it, the disgust fanning over you as his lips touched your scales.

“Y/N,” he cooed beneath you, “it is a pleasure to be in the presence of such… beauty,” the waft of heart-shaped bubbles escaping his lips as he weaved his words.

You pulled your hand, nursing it as you rubbed the spot where his snake-like lips had touched it, feeling utterly violated as your lips formed a pout in his direction.

You contemplated for a moment, going over the positives and negatives as you watched him gaze at you, his handsome features no doubt hiding his true identity underneath. You rustled up to meet his eye line, your eyes becoming slits as you whispered, “You will never be my betrothed,” you menacingly growled, fangs snarling in his direction as you watched the flames blaze from a soft pink in his eyes to a glowing red.

“You disgusting, conniving, snake!” landing a hard slap on his face before a shrill scream left your mother in awe of your actions.

“You little bitch!” he hissed, watching the anger boil over you while your father lit up behind you in a rage.

“How dare you, Y/N!” he boomed again, “you’re going to marry Matthew if it’s my last dying wish!” the tears spilling down your face as you spun around to meet his gaze.

“Make me daddy!” you spat in his face, ready to give him another set of choice words before a huge flash of light interrupted the party.

The whole group turning glances at each other, “did someone open the portal?” your mother putting her hand over her mouth in fear, cowering behind your father in a fit that made you cringe.

“Your Highness, I can go check it out… There’s no reason for you to be put in danger over this,” he bravely puffed his chest out like a pompous jerk, patting the top of your head like a child.

“Stay here my fiery siren,” he spewed, the nickname making you shoot daggers his way as he swam his way out of the balcony. All of you collectively inching out to see a huge bubble encasing a massive ship in the middle of the city.

Gasps of shocked cries ringing out as passerby gazed in wonder at the bubbling orb floating in suspense, seemingly unphased by the fact it was smack dab in the center of a lost city.

You squinted, not looking at your slimy suitor but the boat encased in the waves, cocking your head as it came clearer into your view.

You audibly gasped, the flurry of bubbles and a wave as you placed both hands over your mouth, hoping your parents didn’t notice your surprise.

“Don’t worry Y/N,” your dad placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, “when he gets back you can ask for an apology… I know he’s a man of reason,” smirking down thinking you were worried for his safety.

_________________

“What the fuck?!” Flip scared out of his wits echoed as his voice reverberated along the walls of the water bubble. His crew shouting all kinds of curses as they prayed Hail Mary’s over the devil magic that had brought them to their orbed hell.

He panicked, running from all sides of the ship, rubbing his eyes as he gazed around at the majesty that had cleared around the encasement.

The city was a beacon in the depths of the darkness. The cool blue waters surrounding all sides of him in a tropical paradise littered with all colors of fish, seaweed, glorious statues, and towers, all centered around a glimmering castle.

He gulped when he caught a glance of panicked merfolk, the realization that they were circling he and his crew sending him spiraling as he gleefully smiled at his successful venture.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” he gasped, “Ron… R-Ron we made it,” he panted, begging his buddy to pinch him to see if he was dreaming. It was just as the books had revealed. The mecca in the ocean was lost to all the land dwellers in a mysterious flash. Yet here he was, face to face with a slew of shocked faces gazing at him like they were the fish out of water.

“W-what do we do now, Cap?” Ron tugged at his jacket, Flip frozen in place just like his crew as they deadpanned the scene before them of hoards of merpeople all ages crowding around their forcefield.

“I-I’m not entirely sure,” he quipped back, “I didn’t think we’d actually get this far,” gripping his friend’s hand on his shoulder before shuffling it off of him. He walked towards the starboard bow, coming face to face with a pink-tinged merman.

The tips of his blonde locks a rose color, his chiseled face looking slightly similar in character to him. It was eerie how close their bone structure was, like looking in a mirror but morphed into a blonde wig instead of his trademark black waves. He cocked his face to the side, the handsome face doing a similar gesture as his pink irises came into a clear view. The slits of his pupils boring into Flip’s golden ones as he surveyed his near doppelganger.

He cleared his throat, thinking to speak, and then possibly realizing it may not be heard via the separation between him and the mysterious fish. He squared him up even further, glancing down the expanse of his thick chest, rippling abs, and his stark pink tail, whipping in the waves as he noticed him doing the same thing.

The silent exchange making Flip shiver with unsureness. He had never felt this way. He had stormed a slew of shores in his days, being the young swashbuckler he was, and come across many a menacing buccaneer, and slew them like the stud he was.

But this… was enemy territory… and by enemy, he knew he was number one on the crowd’s list. The foreigner who crashed into town unannounced, and unwelcome, all to search for a woman. Isn’t that how it always goes though?

“What have you come here for, sailor?” the haunting voice of the merman penetrating the wall in a clear, melodious tone, like he was inside with them. The crew shuddering from the sound, begging Flip to look away as if he were Medusa.

He cleared his throat, breaking from the hold his gaze had on him, gripping the sides of his jacket as he spoke, “I’m here to find one of your kind, merman,” his eyebrow cocked as the man looked unimpressed at his response.

“Is that so?” he smirked, his fangs slightly showing as his voice, mesmerized Flip even further, “and who… may I ask, would you be possibly looking for 7,000 leagues under the sea?” the man entertaining his stupidity as he pandered to the captain.

“For your information, fish boy,” he sneered, not loving the condescension in his tone, “I’m looking for a siren…” meeting his menacing stare noses touching the wall of water between them.

“There’s a million sirens in this town, swashbuckler,” he chided, “you’re gonna have to be more specific… or are you too drunk to remember your own name?” the joke producing a fit of giggles from the crowd behind him.

“Sober as a stone, Pinky,” dishing it right back to him, a frown emerging from his lips at the degrading name, “Y/N… That’s her name,” the tone of his voice lowering as he watched the fire boil in the man’s eyes.

“Y/N?” his fists forming as his tinge on his entire body went from a blushed pink to a bright red, turning around to face you on the balcony.

You gulped, waiting for the mess to start as your betrothed beckoned you with a finger to the bubble.

“My darling,” he cooed, the flames boiling over as he tried to keep his composure, “you have a visitor,” gripping your hand in the same as your father had done the time before, a hiss leaving your lips as you flashed your fangs at him.

“You mean, Princess Y/N of the Sevens Seas? My betrothed?” he chanted, the anger completely seething from his teeth as he presented you to the captain.

Your shocked face coming nose to nose with your sailor in a fit of embarrassment as you realized he was dangling you like chum in front of him.

“Sailor?” you gasped, his handsome face becoming more clear as your delicate hands touched the side of the bubble, your magic clearing the path to a thin line to see his precious face gaze at you.

“Y/N?” his heart almost leaping out of his chest as his hands met the spot where yours were on the opposite side, “I thought I wouldn’t ever see your gorgeous face again,” wanting so badly to feel your plush lips on his as you watched his face soften at the sight of you.

“I’m here, Captain,” you quipped, trying to hide your expressions as the grip on the back of your head tightened from your other suitor. The blood boiling in his hands singing your scalp as he listened to you quietly spoke to your true love.

He jerked your body away from the wall, the feeling putting you into whiplash as he threw you back, “how dare you,” he seethed, his eyes glowing even brighter upon seeing you fawn over a human.

“How. Dare. You. Fucking slut!” the explosion of a fireball and a cascade of black bubbles emitting from his head as he blew his top.

“You fucked this garbage didn’t you, whore?!” he angrily pointed at you, your expression telling him everything as you darted glances between him and your sailor boy.

He towered over you, lifting a heavy hand to your face, and slapping you with all the effort he could muster, “answer me you fucking land lover!” the tears spilling as you tried to gulp the words out, your silence doing more to egg on his mood.

“Get your fuckin’ prissy hands off her and fight me like a fuckin’ man!” a booming voice echoed from the bubble, revealing a spent Flip, his jacket and hat torn off in a fury over the show he’d seen.

Matthew turned, steam shooting from his ears as he watched Flip stand his ground on his ship, “You wanna fight you fuckin’ bastard?!” inching to him and morphing himself to a human in a flash, his tinge not changed as he appeared on the deck, fire blazing in between his fingers as he stood toe to toe with the captain.

“Let’s fuckin’ fight,” he calmly huffed, his teeth hissing out heavy breaths as Flip removed his sword from his waist, standing ready to fight.

“Let’s go Pinky!” he gritted, moving to throw the first blow, metal colliding with his fiery fist in a flash of sparks.

The clanging of blows hitting in tandem as they danced across the upper deck of the ship. Flip bobbed every attack he had, same with Matt. The both of them reading each other’s movements like a dance before landing a crushing blow to the merman’s shoulder, the blood spewing out in a wave that splatter all over Flip’s shirt and exposed chest.

“You’re gonna regret that, sailor,” his devilish grin spurring him to attack faster and more agile as he landed an equally hard blow to the buccaneer’s midsection. The fire burning his skin in a sear of pain as he grunted a moan, stumbling back up while Matt chuckled at his victory.

“Had enough?” he pandered, cocking his fiery head to the captain.

“Not even close, fire crotch,” upturning a smirk as he jabbed another blow to his chest this time, the blade piercing in a spray of blood again as a cry rang out through the orb.

You watched in complete terror. Each blow getting more and more deadly as they duked it out.

Soon, Flip was gasping for breath, trying to center himself as he sustained more damage. Matthew noticing him falter under his superiority and making a note as he watched him weakly get back up after the last blow he’d taken to his stomach again.

“What’s the matter sailor?” he chided, loading up another crushing blow as he watched his enemy pant, his weapon falling at his side in exhaustion, “too much rum?” laughing as he landed a crushing blow to the top of his head, knocking Flip out cold underneath him.

He smirked, surveying the crew as they stood back, scared out of their boots. He huffed, walking to the edge to find you, panicked and shocked at the turn of events.

“My sweet love,” he cooed, the fire still burning at a dull roar as he spoke, “you’re going to forget this ever happened… and you will call me your King, just like you’re going to be my slave the rest of your days in this ocean,” his commands cutting you like a knife as you sobbed uncontrollably.

“Fuck you!” pounding on the bubble wall in a fit as he maniacally cackled in front of you, “I’ll never be yours, fucking pink bastard!” spitting as it fueled his raged laughs.

“Now, now…” he tsked, running a slick finger to where your forearm was rested on the wall, “I love my women feisty,” cooing again as you writhed in frustration and pain for your sailor.

Your eyes closed shut as you heard his evil cackle ring through your ears, only to look up when it was stifled by a muffle it seemed.

You glanced back up, eyes blurred as you blinked your vision back to see what had happened now.

Flip stood towering over the fireball, his sword logged from his back to poke out his beating heart like a skewer, while his thick hand fell over his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head as he succumbed to the sweet release of death.

“Heartless mother fucker,” he gritted, driving the sword back out of your betrothed, his limp body crashing to the deck in a thud.

“Flip!” you cried, pawing at the wall when his gaze met yours, his exhausted body breathing a sigh of relief when he saw you.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he cooed, your tears dripping even further as you pined for his touch.

“Flip I-I’m so sorry,” you whined, wishing you had the right words to say in this exact moment, “I shouldn’t have ever… Fuck, I shouldn’t have left home!” beating the bubble again in a fit of self-pity as you watched him wince gripping his side in pain.

“Don’t ever apologize, sugar,” he cooed, the pained smile coming over his face as he limped over to you, “you’re the best adventure I’ve had,” putting a hand to meet yours on the wall again, both foreheads leaning to meet too as you both exhaled in adoration of each other.

“I-I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he admitted, his hushed tone so low that only you were able to hear it.

“Neither have I,” you whispered in the same tone, the smiles and fits of laughter falling over the both of you as the tears kept rolling.

“Can ya come with me? I need you… More than I care to admit,” he bashfully shied away, your face curling into pure joy as you realized what he had asked of you.

“You mean… Forever?” biting a lip to hear him beg for you.

“Well I didn’t fuckin’ cross the entire ocean, go down a tunnel of doomed light, swirl into a fuckin’ whirlpool, and fight pinky over here to just ask for one more night of sand sex,” kicking the limp noodle on the ground in a huff.

You laughed out loud, the bubbles leaving your mouth before you placed your finger over it in embarrassment.

You turned to glance at your parents, who, by now, had ventured through the crowd to marvel at the orb, seeing the debauchery unfold in horror.

“Daddy?” you questioned, wincing slightly as you turned around to see your father in complete shock.

“Daddy? I-I,” you couldn’t get the words out before your father wrapped you up in the biggest embrace he had ever given you. Your arms only wrapped around him after you realized what was occurring, the tears now a blubbering mess as you hid in his huge frame.

“Go,” were the words you heard. You looked up, shaking your head from side to side in denial as you wept in front of him.

“Go… have your freedom, my sweet baby girl,” placing a soft hand to your as he dried a tear from your cheek.

“B-but, daddy my duties, I-I,” he shushed you, looking with all of the love he could conjure up.

“Fuck all of that,” a laugh echoing from his lungs, “I want you to have an adventure… go find something worthwhile… and with someone you love… this place will still be here if you want to come back, sweet thing,” the words spilling from his lips causing your jaw to drop open again.

“Daddy, wha-,” wondering if this was all a charade to keep you here with them.

“This lad must truly love you if he trekked across the ocean to find you,” looking to Flip who was registering the conversation before his eyes.

“I think that says more about his character than any of the suitors we had picked for you,” his voice calm and collected as he spoke back to you. The silent exchange of love between you a welcome embrace to the fights you’d been having since you had turned thirteen.

“I-I do love him,” looking back to his boyish smile as he stumbled from the pain on his side again.

“I know you do, sweet siren,” he brushed a hair from your face, “now go… have an adventure I could never have,” pressing his forehead to yours as you both reveled in the peace of the exchange.

You broke your hug, barreling to your mother who had at this point, sobbed the entire ocean over sea level, and gave her the largest hug.

“I’ll be back mommy,” you cried, kissing her forehead as you back away from your family, waving at the crowd of folk surrounding you before morphing into your human form and sucking yourself into the bubble.

You gathered yourself, getting your wet hair back, and shuffling off the water as your soaked nude form came to his view.

“Hey sailor,” you cooed out, shy as you batted those gorgeous lashes his way, your silky body glistening with water droplets for the whole world to see.

“Hey there, my sweet siren,” he panted back, gulping some air as he winced in another round of pain.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, running to his aid, “sailor… You’re hurt,” putting a delicate hand to feel the heat from his abdominals pulsing under him.

“Nah,” he grunted, leaning on your for support as you walked his down to the double doors of the main deck, “I’m tough as they come, sugar, I’ll be fit as a fiddle in a few days,” wincing in pain again with a groan.

The crew had been eyeing your form as your cascaded down the stairs, tits and areolas bouncing, bare cunt flashed unbeknownst as you were more preoccupied with Flip and his health.

You both glanced around, wondering why the guys weren’t preparing to blast out of this popsicle stand. Their jaws gaping as they surveyed your ample curves, Flip’s face inches from a supple tit as he registered reality.

“Mother of fuck!” he got up, the pain in his voice echoed as he stood to cover your body with his, “get hold the sheet and get us the fuck outta here you peepin’ Tom’s!” he bellowed, the boys coming to attention and scrambling with their orders as they were still flustered over your beauty.

Flip pushed you back into the doors, trudging into his quarters with a thud as he landed on his bed. You went right to work, ripping his shirt off, and tending to his wounds while you both felt the ship take off to the surface.

__________________

“You know you never told me you were a Princess,” his gruff voice whispered as the night had set over the sky, his body littered with bandages as you tended to each with the most care.

“Forgive me… The last time we were together it didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up,” you quipped back, earning a low hum from his chest to ring out.

“Matty boy was right… You are kinda feisty,” he quoted the smirk over his lips deepening as he watched your face scrunch in disgust over the name.

“If you’re trying to get some tonight, you’re not winning any style points by bringing that snake up,” pressing a little harder on a wound to see him writhe in pain slightly.

“Sorry, sugar,” he chided, “but it’s somewhat true,” he chuckled shying away as you tried to push on another cut to cause him some more pain.

“Such a smooth sailor,” you sang, your lips ghosting his as you drank in his musk.

“That’s what they call me,” he dished right back inching his mouth on yours in a dainty kiss.

The feeling was elating. Your lips connected in tandem as they begged for more, the tongues dancing in your mouths as his hands snaked to grip your bare tits in his thick digits.

A relieved gasp left your chest, followed by a moan when he ran his thumbs over your peaks, the circles to magical as they coaxed you to straddle his lap with a soft grind on his hardened erection.

“I missed these gorgeous tits,” he moaned, moving his lips to your right breast and sucking the life out of it before doing to same to the other.

You fumbled with his pants, pulling his bloomers down in a fervor as his cock sprung to attention, the weeping head falling in the direction of his left-leaning tower. It expanded the length of your thigh, the purple head, begging to be sucked up into your cunt as the precum slid on the inner meat of your leg.

“I missed this cock of yours, captain,” you moaned, your words egging him on as he assaulted your chest with a variety of bites and bruises, hands gripping your ass with all the strength he had in him.

You brought it to your entrance, rubbing the tip on your bud as it slicked up the wetness that had formed over the course of being reunited with your man. The feeling of it tapping your bean sending waves of electricity through your spine, throwing your head back as you sat on him inch by delicious inch.

“M-mother f-fuck,” he grit out, his teeth still encasing a nipple as he bit down on it in pleasure, “this fucking cunt,” his breath coming in hot and heavy as he watched your face fill with bliss.

“There’s nothin’ like this perfect pussy of yours,” he panted out, your grinding on his pelvis spurring his dirty mouth to spill out obscenities.

He bucked up into you, meeting your cervix with every push as he watched you edge yourself over him.

“You like your shores stormed, huh, siren,” he grunted, feeling your walls flutter around him as you fucked yourself into your release.

“I fuckin’ love this mast of yours,” echoing back as you rode out your orgasm, the feeling of his pubic hair and his tip knocking your spot a magical combination as you clenched around him in a death grip.

“That’s my good girl,” he groaned out, the overwhelming feeling over your luscious cunt spilling all over him sending him into overdrive as he stilled your hips.

He spilled his swimmers deep into you, the endless waves of white coating your sandy beach in a glaze as he finished his motions under you. You fucked faces gasping for air as you both came down from the high of the night.

You collapsed on him, making sure to avoid his wounds as he kept a steady arm around you. Petting his chest as you felt a gush of spend escape your full cunt.

“I’m never gonna lose you again, Y/N,” he whispered, kissing your head as he nuzzled you closer to him. Your leg wrapped around him in a koala as you both closed your eyes in bliss.

“Trust me, sailor,” you cooed back, letting out a heavy sigh, “I’m not goin’ anywhere now,” slowly drifting off to the sounds of his cold heart beating in your ears.

____________

HOLY MOLEY I FINISHED A SERIES FINALLY I AM SO EXCITED! I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS WHALE COCK OF A TALE!

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LMK if ya would like to be added to the list! All of the love!

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