#so his ones and soft lighter pelt helps that

[cat-alyzing]

I need my man fire… please give me the boy fire

Pants Firepaw/heart is my favorite. I almost made him a tabby but scrapped it so he has pants. As he gets older I’ll give him a pouch but as a younger cat he’s smaller.

(ID- Firepaw is standing to the left, his head slightly to the camera and right eye looking off to the top right. He is winking with a big smile and his tail goes up, curling slightly with his old green collar wrapped around his tail. He is orange with ginger pants, front paws, ears, stripes to his eyes, on his chest in a heart, and eyebrows. White is on his mane, belly, front toes, under his eyes, inside of his tail, muzzle, inner ear tufts, and ear tips. He has emerald green eyes and is sleek with tufts on his mane, belly, and cheeks. End ID)

Fireheart is trans he/him, bisexual and poly. I’m scrapping his half brother being Scourge bc it did nothing to the story but he is still Jake’s kin through a sire situation as his mom just wanted kits. Best friends with Graypaw and Ravenpaw with a guardian relationship with Icestar and Brindleface. Personality wise he is caring, incredibly compassionate and quick to help those he cares for. Even cats who aren’t really nice to him he can still help. With a very very loyal attitude. While he’s still rather naive as he grows he learns what rules he can bend and should and what one’s matter the most, and to trust those older and wiser then him to help. While he does see the reason for the rules he can see their flaws as a outsider brought in and he’s working to slowly change them to a better code that does what its intended to do and not create more cats like Tigerclaw. His main flaws is how loyal he is, occasionally lacking attention when it comes to his environment, and a pretty bad grasp at how to keep track of time relying a lot on his healers and elders to tell him when the next gathering is coming around.

Also here’s the alt tabby version:

(ID- Fireheart is a rusty orange color with darker tabby stripes across his pelt, a heart on his front paws, banded tail, and stripe around his neck. White is on his mane, belly, paws, ear tips, inner ear tufts, and on the left of his muzzle in a semi fire like shape. He has the same pose, green eyes, and dark green collar the other design. End ID)

[saveugoodmadam]

lost & found

🦭this is my personal take on @chimeofthecomet's selkie au, all credit for creating the au goes to pip! :3 word count is around 2.5k 🦭

"Got your pelt?” Davey asks as he and his brother walk back to their house, their path illuminated by softly glowing streetlamps. Les nods, patting his selling bag, then opens it to show a pelt of soft, thick fur with a few patches beginning to develop on the jet-black fluff. His name is inked on the skin, written in their mother's loopy handwriting.

“D’you have yours?” he asks Davey.

Davey opens his bag, expecting to see his familiar spotted pelt inside, but is met with just empty air instead. He stops dead in his tracks. His breathing is rapid, his hands clutching tight to the strap across his chest.

“Is it back at the lodge house?” Les asks, hoping that the effort of finding an answer will stop his big brother from panicking.His plan works. Davey’s hands slowly unclasp and his breathing regulates as he combs through the evening they've just spent with the newsies in his head. He remembers lounging on an old, saggy, threadbare sofa and listening to Jack talking about his newest backdrop. He remembers a short nap he'd taken, lulled to sleep by Jack's smooth voice before he'd been woken up by Race and Albert’s loud bickering. Only now does he remember how his bag was lighter when he'd stood up to confront them.

“Y- yeah, I think so. Somewhere on the couch. I- I-" No. He can't go back and get it now. They're too far away from the lodging house at this point, and they need to be back home for dinner.

“I’ll get it back next morning. I'll be fine without it for a night.”

But he knows he's lying. All through dinner there's a pull in his chest that he knows will only quiet itself once his pelt is back beside him.

“Are you alright, my little leanabh ròin?” Esther asks as he picks silently at his meal. “Is the food too much for your tongue today?”

He shakes his head. “No, Mama. It's very nice, thank you.”

“Whatever the matter is, bubbeleh,” Mayer reassures him with the sort of smile that Davey thinks only fathers can have, “you can always talk to us. We're your parents, are we not? We want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Yes, Papa. It's nothing really. I'll always seek your help if I need it, I promise,” he tells his father, making extra sure to eat everything on his plate.

His sleep is fraught that night and whenever he does drift off for a small burst of unconsciousness, the sea fills his dreams. Guilt seeps into his body, saturating him with the shame of losing the one thing a selkie must never lose. In an act of desperation he knocks on Sarah's door, weeping in relief when she lets him in and wraps the both of them in her own pelt. Perhaps because they are twins and therefore their sealskins are almost identical, the presence of her pelt against his body means the pulling feeling is calmed enough to let him finally drift off.

As early as he can the next morning, he brings Les down to the lodging house to retrieve his pelt and soothe the tugging in his bosom. It's Crutchie who opens the door when he knocks, the older boy's face souring at the sight of him.

“Hey, Les!” Crutchie says, then adds curtly, “Mornin’, David. Jack ain't here.”

“Oh, I'm not here for Jack today. I, uh, I left something here last night,” Davey explains. From the way Crutchie's acting, he's hit by the not unfamiliar feeling that he's really badly messed up but doesn't know how.

“You sure did. And I'll tell you what, we all know what you left.”

Davey freezes up, his hand clasping Les’ tighter. “You do?”

Crutchie nods, his mouth a thin line. “Mm-hmm. There's a seal Jack talked with, down by the harbour. He loved that animal. Wouldn't stop talkin’ about it every time he went down ‘n’ talked at it ‘n’ slipped it bits’a fish. An’ now suddenly you leave its skin behind in the lodge house.”

Suddenly, Davey feels sick to his stomach. Of course the newsies don't believe in selkies. They believe in poachers.

“Listen, I can explain. I promise, this is all a big misunderstanding!” he stammers. Crutchie's harsh eyes soften just a little.

“I sure hope it is, and I sure hope you can explain. But not to me. I don't need explanations. Jack's down at the harbour, with whatever the hell remains of that poor animal.” Crutchie looks like he's done speaking, then adds- “You broke my little brother's goddamn heart, David, and you're damn well gonna fix it up again.”

Davey nods meekly. “I will. I swear.”

He leaves Les at the lodge house and runs.

There are three things that Davey can trust his instincts to lead him to- the ocean, his pelt and Jack. There's a perfect harmony thrumming in his bones as his legs lead him to all three at once. He reaches the harbour as soon as he can- feet hammering against the ground, heart hammering against his chest. Jack is easily spotted from here; his crimson shirt sticks out like a sore thumb against the grey-blue of the water. Davey's heart sinks at the sight of the hunched-over figure at the end of the pier.

“Jack?” he questions softly, approaching the boy.

Jack turns around, his eyes wet and narrowed in outrage. Tear-tracks bleed through the dirt on his cheeks.

“How could you?” he splutters, the bite in his voice softened by grief.

The pelt is clutched to his chest, the fur wet in patches from being wept into. Davey's instincts are hot behind his ribs, urging him to snatch back his pelt and reclaim his second nature. Despite this, some other feeling that always swells in his chest when he's near Jack is weirdly comfortable seeing Jack's fingers against the sealskin, hugging such a crucial part of Davey so close to him.

“Jack, it's not- not what it looks like. I promise, I really-”

Davey starts to speak after a few moments of silence, but Jack quickly interrupts.

“Yknow, I'd never’a pinned you down as one to go around slaughterin’ innocent creatures. That seal hadn't done nothin’ wrong to you! He was… he was my friend…”

“I know. He's not gone. He's still your friend,” Davey tries to explain. Sitting cross-legged next to Jack, he takes back his pelt, feeling a blanket of relief settle over him as he cards his fingers through the fur, gently untangling small knots.

“How?” Jack asks. His tone begs for an answer more than it demands one. “You think I don't recognise the little fella’s skin when I see it? And out of all’a the seals in New York you could’a done this to, it had to be the one who meant the most to me? I'm so used to losing people, Davey. I'm so tired of it. You know that. I thought I could at least trust you not to be the reason I lost anyone else!”

It breaks Davey's heart to see Jack look so horribly betrayed. He’s never realised how much Jack trusts him until now, not really.

“Jack… the answer is- it's easiest to show you. You won't believe me if I use words.”

“Sure,” Jack hisses, his voice hollow and defensive.

In a single practised move, Davey wraps the pelt tight around himself and draws his head under the hood with his eyes shut tight. When he looks back up at Jack it is with the same big wet eyes he first looked at him with when he poked his head above the water on that rainy afternoon in late May.

“Dave?” Jack breathes, using the nickname he reserves only for special situations like this. It's a world away from the Jack who was there just a moment ago. His face is a mask of utter shock. “You was... that seal was... it's you."

Davey barks an affirmative. Jack's face buries in his hands, his shoulders heaving.

“Are you okay?” Davey asks, unwrapping himself from his pinniped form and rushing to console Jack. His answer is a nod as Jack lifts his head, his mouth open in silent laughter, tears of mirth forming in the corners of his eyes. Awkward as ever, Davey just sits there, unsure what to say but happy at least that Jack isn’t upset or angry.

“Oh my god!” Jack says once he's finally calmed down enough to speak. “That little honky bark…sorry, I shouldn't'a laughed, but it was so hilariously adorable.”

“It was?” Davey asks, confused.

“Yeah!” Jack chuckles, then groans slightly in embarrassment. “Oh god, I said so many things I regret now!”

“It's okay. You didn't know the seal was also me.”

“Fair, but, I mean- I did say some kinda embarrassing things in hindsight.”

Davey flashes a wicked grin. “What, like ‘hey there, water doggy’?’ ‘Want some fish, cutie patootie’? ‘Awww, stop lookin’ at me with those big ol’ wet eyes’?”

“Alright, okay!” Jack laughs. “Point well made, Mr Jacobs.”

Then he turns his puppy eyes on Davey, the ones that Davey hasn't learnt to say no to yet.

“Can we pleeeeaaaseee forget that ever happened now, Davey?”

“Fine,” Davey concedes. He doesn't add “you can still call me cutie patootie though”, but he wants to.

Instead, he adds, “If you're wondering, and I don't blame you, I'm a selkie. So long as I have my pelt with me, I can be a human or a seal depending on which is most appropriate at the time. Without my pelt, I'm just plain old David.”

“Hey, you ain't plain!” Jack interjects kindly.

He pauses.

“Sorry I- well, actually that me ‘n’ all the fellas jumped to conclusions.”

“Its fine.” Davey murmurs as he nuzzles the pelt against his cheek, inhaling the familiar scent. His chest-feeling thrills a little at the fact he can smell Jack on it too. “Not the most logical of conclusions, is it?”

Jack shakes his head and offers out his hand as a silent peace offering, which Davey gladly accepts. Their hands pull away slowly when it is over, fingers lingering for want of touch.

“What's the writin’ on it mean, then? The, uh, the word on the skin bit.”

Davey's gaze breaks away from the point in the middle of the sea he's been staring out at.

“Oh, you mean this?” he asks, pointing to his mother's writing.

“Yeah. That word. Dàibhidh,” Jack reads, lips forming around the word in the clunky way all non-speakers’ lips do. His brow furrows in concentration. He looks so desperate to get it right. Davey's lips quirk up in a small smile, finding the effort utterly charming.

“Dàibhidh,” Davey repeats, tracing a thumb over the letters. His tongue wraps around the word from his birthplace’s tongue like he's greeting a long-lost lover. “My name, in the language of where Mama and I were both born. So mine and Sarah's pelts don't get mixed up.”

“So it's a family kinda thing? Damn, I wonder if my folks used t’be selkies?” Jack muses, idly drawing swirls and stars on his arm with a piece of charcoal he's taken from his pocket.

“There's only one way to know that. Have you ever felt a longing for the sea so bad you couldn't do anything but follow your feet down to the beach and dive in?”

Davey trails his fingers wistfully in the water as he waits for Jack's reply. A warm laugh bubbles up from his best friend’s throat.

“Not for the sea, no. But I can tell what you mean.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Santa Fe.”

“Nope.”

He tilts his head in confusion as he turns to look at Jack, who has an old paper set on the planks of the pier and is drawing on it. Curious, he scoots over to see what the picture is of. It's him, just a moment ago, laid flat on his stomach with his arm dangling downwards from the pier. It's in that moment he realises that Jack hasn't drawn Santa Fe in a long while, and that most of the drawings that decorate the Penthouse are of him. In that moment he also realises how tenderly Jack's looking at him, how soft his smile is (oh, those dimples will be the death of him) and how, if he ever did have to give up the sea forever, Jack is the one person he'd do it for. Maybe that's what love is, then. Maybe that's the name of the feeling in his chest. Maybe it's the name of the feeling in Jack's chest too. Now that it's been named, the feeling swells and swells until it bursts and Davey knows.

For just a second, Davey hesitates before he passes the sealskin to Jack. Something suddenly has made him braver than he's ever been in his life; braver than on the swim to America with his pod, braver than the day his dad got into the accident, braver than he was during the strike.

“You know,” he tells him, trying to keep his voice steady, “when a human gives a selkie back their skin, it counts as marriage in our culture. Well, not marriage exactly, more like eternal commitment, but it's got the same level of cultural importance. It means we trust that person enough to let them have control over our future, and they respect us enough to let us choose. The stories always say you know who you'll give your pelt to when you find them. And I know, I know, Jack, that it's you.”

Jack's mouth opens in an ‘O’ of surprise, his eyebrows raising as he realises what Davey just said, what Davey just did. His fingers trace lines between the spots on the pelt, feeling its warmth, Davey's warmth.

“An’... an’ you want me to…”

“If you don't want to, that's okay,” Davey clarifies, a horrible nausea settling in his stomach at the thought he's misread this situation. Jack probably doesn't want this. Maybe he’ll hate Davey now and never talk to him again. Or he'll take off running with the pelt and Davey won't ever see him again and won't ever be able to come back to the sea again, no matter how much the yearning in his chest hurts him.

“You can just put it down and I'll pick it up and we can forget this ever happened. That's probably what you want, isn’t it? I'm sorry, I'm a fool, I should have asked, shouldn't have assumed. I’ll just- just go, should be getting back to selling-”

He stops as he feels soft fur against his hands. Jack's callused fingers brush against his soft ones. A gasp escapes his throat as his sea-glass green eyes meet Jack's driftwood-brown ones. Then he's enveloped in a hug, strong arms closing around him and giving the exact amount of pressure that he likes. This feels right, feels comfortable. His instincts are gladly adapting to the change, labelling Jack as husband, dearest, darling, mine.

“How the hell are we gonna explain this?” Jack asks with a fond smile.

“I don't know. But I don't doubt we'll find a way. You're an extraordinary man, Jack Kelly, you know that?”

“No less than you are, Davey Jacobs.”

[sunlightbabe]

PROMPTS: Damiano x Reader // “I chose you.” // Storm Fluff, no warnings

The sound of rain pelting against your windows fills the space of your living room. Occasionally, the dark sky lights up as lightning dances overhead, followed shortly by rolling thunder that you can feel in your bones. It’s utterly miserable outside with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

You feel bad that you enjoy it as much as you do.

You wonder what the others are doing. There was supposed to be a party tonight, some sort of soiree celebrating Måneskin’s newest platinum record on the rooftop of one of the newest and hottest bars in the city. You wonder if everyone is huddled together within the bar, soaking wet and deciding if it’s worth it to wait out the storm or just head home and call it a night.

Well, not quite everyone.

“Okay- Peach and Mango or Lavender Dream?” Damiano asks you, coming back into the room with a candle in each hand. The power had gone out hours ago and you’re thankful that all of your aunts and cousins had gifted you with candles as housewarming gifts when you got your new apartment. Already you had gone through Pine Forest, Apple Pie, and one mysteriously called Speckle.

Damiano sets the candles on the table and gestures to them excitedly. “Well?”

There’s another flash of lightning. You think about your friends, about whether they’ve moved the party somewhere. About whether Damiano wishes he was there instead.

“... we could light them both,” Damiano suggests, crouching down and sparking the lighter in his hand. “Extra light wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“Okay,” you agree, wrapping yourself further in blankets. Damiano nods and lights both candles. It’s not a ton of light, but adding them to the dwindling candle on your coffee table makes a difference. You can see his face more clearly and are able to more easily enjoy the satisfied smile on his face as he glances around the room. It’s dark and stormy outside, but inside it’s warm and comfy.

Damiano sets the lighter on the table and moves to join you in the nest of blankets. You open your arms wide and he easily curls in, pulling another blanket off the couch and draping it over his legs as he snuggles closer to you. Wrapping your arms around him, you hold Damiano closer to you, settling your chin on his shoulder, eyes focused on the flickering flames of the candles.

A moment passes. Then another, and another.

You don’t want to ask it but you do, words stumbling out of your mouth. “Are you mad at me?” Your voice is soft and quiet and you think that maybe Damiano didn’t hear you.

But of course he did. Damiano always hears you.

“Mad?” Damiano asks, turning his head a little and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to your cheek. “Why would I be mad at you?”

You shrug. Your mind can’t stop racing, hasn’t stopped racing all evening since Damiano came home earlier that day. You feel ridiculous about it, truthfully, but you can’t help it.

Damiano senses your hesitation and turns to face you more fully, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. “Baby, why would I be mad at you.”

“I don’t know,” you say, refusing to meet his eyes. But you do know and it’s not long before the truth slowly comes trickling from your mouth. “I just... our friends, they’re out partying tonight, right?”

Damiano hums in acknowledgement, sweeping his thumb against your cheekbone.

You swallow nervously. “Well. They’re all out having a great time and.. and you’re.. here? With me?” Your voice sounds small and quiet and you hate it. “I don’t know. I mean- I know you don’t hate me but... I mean, you’re here, and not there, because of me... right?”

Even in the dim candle light, you watch as Damiano’s face grows serious. It’s in the tightness of his jaw, in the slight furrow of his eyebrows, in the way he holds your face a little firmer in his hand- but still gentle. My god, he’s always so gentle with you.

“You think I’d be mad because you asked me to stay with you tonight?” he asks, head titled slightly to the side.

“Well when you say it like that, I feel... stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he’s quick to reassure you. “Silly, sometimes, but not stupid.” Damiano leans in and gently presses a kiss to your cheek, just by the corner of your mouth. “I’m here because I want to be here, you know that, right?”

“But-”

“No buts. I love our friends, but do you really think I want to spend my night out with them, dancing on sticky floors, listening to too loud music surrounded by too many people?” Damiano doesn’t like parties, you know this, but hearing him say all this reassures you. The weight that’s been sitting heavily in your chest all day starts to ease away as he looks into your eyes with a crooked smirk on his face. “There is nowhere else I would rather be. Nowhere. Any night, without question, I would choose to be here at home with you by my side, okay? I chose you tonight. And I choose you every night.”

You sniffle. Thankfully, another peal of lightning and thunder cover in.

Damiano smiles softly and leans in to kiss you. His lips are warm and soft against yours and it’s easy to lose yourself in the moment, in the warmth of his body against yours, in the way the storm rages on outside.

“You okay?” he mumbles against your mouth.

You nod. Damiano smiles and with a soft “good”, his mouth meets yours more firmly and soon enough, you forget about your friends and what they’re doing, you forget about the storm raging on outside. You forget about everything except for you and Damiano.

[silentsnowflower]

Lazy-bones versus Soft-paws

A slice of life in ThunderClan a year after the Great Hunger, from the perspective of Speckleflight (Speckletail in canon), who was a kit during the Great Hunger. So much of her formative moons - kithood and apprenticeship were shaped by the Great Hunger and as a young warrior, having just lived through a normal leaf-bare, is beginning to see the clan recover - mostly. Except for a few cats.

In this AU, the ThunderClan family tree has been substantially overhauled. Here, Speckleflight and Tawnyspots are littermates and are the offspring of Mumblefoot and Fawnspots (Doestar’s sister), born shortly before the leafbare known to the clans as the Great Hunger. I always imagined the two of them looking similar and this way, it makes more sense to me, for Goldenflower to name her daughter Tawnykit - after her uncle, who was also Goldenflower’s mentor in this AU.

I’m also still trying to practice with Procreate (specifically with coloring and shading) and find my style. Time spent on the drawing is approximately 2 hours.

TW: Grief

Speckleflight lay stretched out in front of the warrior’s den, enjoying the warm of the newleaf sun on her fur. It’d been so long since she’d felt properly warm and she was so close to feeling bundled up in sunshine. Now, if we could just take Sunningrocks back from RiverClan. She flexed her claws, imagining sinking them into the thick-furred, oily pelt of a RiverClan warrior. She would send their warriors screeching from the gray, flat-topped stones, claiming them for herself - and ThunderClan, of course. Purring, she imagined stretching out on the stones.

“What’s got you so happy this dawn?”

Speckleflight rolled over and blinked happily up at Robinchest. The wiry brown and ginger queen stood over her, scraps of moss still clinging to her pelt. “Just enjoying the sunshine.” Her paws flexed, kneading the air happily. Stop that, Speckletail scolded herself. You’re not a kit anymore.

“It is a nice day,” Robinchest murmured, settling down next to the young warrior. With brusque strokes of her tongue, she began tidying her pelt. “Has Mumblefoot sent out any patrols yet?”

Speckleflight shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen.” Her father was sitting attentively next to Pinestar, listening as the ThunderClan leader spoke to him. “I think he’s letting the clan have a slow start today. The dawn patrol hasn’t come back yet. They’re a little late.”

Robinchest chuckled. “Fuzzypelt bet me some fresh moss that Weedwhisker asks to stop and hunt.”

“Did you take him up on it?” Speckleflight looked sidelong at the queen. She seemed happier, lighter today - like her constant grief was not weighing on her as much.

Robinchest flicked her tail as she shook her head. “No. We’re already on moss-duty today. He’s already getting fresh moss for his nest.”

“Seems a pointless bet,” Speckleflight purred. “Weedwhisker is always hungry. You know you’d lose.”

“Indeed.” A heartbeat later, the queen added, “I can’t wait until we get some apprentices. Then I won’t have to worry about gathering moss or helping the elders with their ticks.” She made a face with the last statement.

“You don’t even like taking care of your own. I’ve seen how you beg Fuzzypelt to get them off you,” Speckleflight teased.

Robinchest swiped at her half-heartedly, cuffing Speckleflight’s ear. “Don’t forget - I raised you.” Just like that, grief settled on the queen, as thick and heavy as the snow during the Great Hunger. There was a far-away look in the queen’s eyes. She was haunted by the ghosts of her lost kits. Her milk and her warmth had not been enough to save them. Speckleflight could hardly remember the three kits - two brown and one black. They’d been born tiny scraps of fur at the start of leafbare, when Speckleflight was just two moons old, and died two moons later, while Speckleflight and the rest of the clan struggled through the gray twilight haze of perpetual cold and hunger.

“I know,” Speckleflight mewed, deliberately keeping her tone light. She missed Fawnspots dearly. Too many of the clan had been lost to starvation. At least I still have Tawnyspots.

As though she’d called for him, Tawnyspots slipped out of the warrior’s den. He glanced at Robinchest and tilted his head to the side, in a question. His green eyes were shadowed with concern. Speckleflight shook her head, rising to her paws to greet him. “How’d you sleep, lazy-bones?”

“Well enough,” he meowed. “I didn’t have to go on the dawn patrol.”

“That’s just as well,” Speckleflight chirped. “They’d hear your sleep-heavy paws coming from tree-lengths away.”

“Oh - you’re one to talk.” A mischievous glint appeared in Tawnyspots’s gaze. “Every cat in the forest knows when you’ve stepped on a bramble, soft-paws.”

“Take that back!” Speckleflight ordered, a growl in her throat.

Tawnyspots danced away, his tail flicking in an invitation for her to come and get him. His ears tipped back and he crouched down. “Make me.”

Speckleflight leaped for him, paws outstretched. The two young warriors collided in a tangle of fur and paws, rolling head over tail as they grappled. “I was having a fine morning until you decided to stick your nose in it,” she puffed.

His hind paws battered at her stomach and he kicked her off, sweeping her forepaws out from underneath her in the same move. She crashed to the ground and he was on top of her, pinning her. “How about you take back your lazy-bones comment?” he meowed, thrusting his muzzle in her face.

Her gaze flickered to Robinchest and so did his. The queen was still looking lost, not paying any attention to their mock-fight. Tawnyspots exhaled slowly. “Sometimes it feels like she’s not ever going to get any better.”

“It will take time,” Speckleflight assured him, playfully kicking at his stomach. “Now, come on. Do you really think you can best me in a fight?”

“Seems I already have. I’m not the one on the ground.”

“Not like this!”

She drew her legs back and kicked his hind legs out from underneath him. Tawnyspots crashed down on her - driving the breath out of both of them. Gripping his shoulders with her paws, claws unsheathed just enough to hold onto his fur, she rolled them over, so that he was underneath her now. He twisted, trying to repeat the same move that had allowed him to pin her initially. She reared back, dodging, before diving down on top of him. He stopped her with a paw pressed against her brow, over paw poised to strike.

“That’s enough!” As quickly as the fight began, it was over. Speckleflight scrambled away from her brother, blinking innocently at Mumblefoot, who had finished his conversation with Pinestar. The dark brown tabby padded across the camp, his yellow eyes narrowed. “You’re warriors now. I expect you to act like one.”

“Sorry,” Speckleflight muttered, hoping her father did not call her out on her insincere tone. Tawnyspots said nothing.

“Now, I was going to have you lead your own patrol today, but-“

At this, Tawnyspots’s ears flicked forward. The young tom squared his shoulders, a quiet “No” escaping him, interrupting Mumblefoot.

“Excuse me?” Mumblefoot grumbled.

“Sorry, sir. I was just surprised that you were considering us for patrol leaders.”

“I was - but it seems that neither of you are mature enough to be leading one.”

“Oh - leave them be. I’ll lead whatever patrol you wanted Speckleflight to be in charge of. And she can come with me.”

Only Seedspeck. The mottled gray she-cat was Mumblefoot’s former apprentice and to Speckleflight, it seemed that nothing could scare the warrior. If I could be like her. She turned to look at the other warrior. Seedspeck’s green gaze was steady as she met Mumblefoot’s yellow one.

“Fine,” Mumblefoot grumbled, but his words were soft. “Take Speckleflight, White-eye, and Sunfall. I’ll leave it up to you to decide where to hunt.” As the deputy turned away, he continued, “because apparently no cat will listen to anything I say.”

“Only those who aren’t afraid of you,” Seedspeck meowed sharply. “You should quit terrorizing your children.”

Mumblefoot flicked his tail contemptuously.

I really want to be like you now, Speckleflight thought, staring at Seedspeck. She tipped her head towards her brother and murmured in his ear, “Will you stay with Robinchest?”

“Of course,” Tawnyspots promised. “I’ll see if I can get her to go hunting. Or for a walk. Just something to get her out of camp.”

“Maybe Goosefeather will have something for her,” Speckleflight meowed.

Tawnyspots shrugged. There was no love lost between him and the strange medicine cat. “I don’t think herbs will help.”

“Herbs won’t,” Seedspeck murmured, joining their conversation. “Just time and weather and new, good memories will help.”

“She’s supposed to go gather moss with Fuzzypelt today,” Speckleflight added, suddenly remembering what the queen had mentioned earlier. “Maybe you could take her, Fuzzypelt, and another cat on a patrol to gather some moss? Sparrowfur or Moonflower?”

“I’ll do that. Just be careful that Mumblefoot doesn’t hear you. He might think you’re wanting his job,” Tawnyspots purred, turning away to slip into the warrior’s den. “I’ll send White-eye and Sunfall out to you.”

“Tell them we’ll be waiting in the ravine,” Seedspeck called, padding away.

With a glance at Robinchest, Speckleflight followed. Her ears and tail drooped as she thought about the sorrowful queen.

“You can’t help her - not any more than you already are.” Seedspeck paused before the bramble barrier, her gaze lingering on Robinchest as well. “Caring for you and Tawnyspots is why she’s still here today. I’m glad you’ve never forgotten about her.”

“She’s like our mom,” Speckleflight explained, ducking through the thorns. “I spent more of my kithood with her than with Fawnspots.”

“I know.” Seedspeck stretched, hooking her claws over the top of one of the many boulders scattered along the ravine. Her back arched and the she-cat purred. “But don’t spend too much time worrying about her. Or dwelling on the… on the last leaf-bare. It’s a nice new-leaf day, and I, for one, want to enjoy the sunshine.”

“Maybe we could hunt by Sunningrocks?” Speckleflight suggested, hoping the older warrior would at least consider her suggestion.

“Sure!” Seedspeck nodded. “This way, we can scout out the best sunning spots before ThunderClan retakes Sunningrocks.”

Surprised, Speckleflight broke into a purr. She wasn’t the only cat dreaming of warmth.

Cats featured, in order of appearance/mention:

Speckleflight (Speckletail) - golden spotted-tabby she-cat with amber eyes

Robinchest (Robinwing) - light brown she-cat with ginger patches and amber eyes

Mumblefoot - long-furred dark brown tabby tom with amber eyes

Pinestar - large, dark reddish-brown tom with green eyes

Fuzzypelt - long-furred black and white tom with green eyes

Weedwhisker - pale ginger tom with white fleck and yellow eyes

Tawnyspots - broad shouldered brown tom with lighter, tawny spots and green eyes

Seedspeck (Seedpelt) - mottled gray she-cat with darker flecks and green eyes

White-eye (One-eye) - very pale gray and white she-cat with one blue eye and one cloudy, blind white eye

Sunfall - slender dark ginger tom with a lighter ginger tail and green eyes

Goosefeather - long-furred pale gray tabby tom with blue eyes

Sparrowfur (Halftail)- dark brown tabby tom with a stump of a tail and amber eyes

Moonflower - silver-gray tabby she-cat with dark stripes and very pale yellow eyes

Fawnspots (Deerdapple) - pale ginger spotted tabby she-cat with green eyes

[siriannatan]

How to Calm a fWhip - one-shot

A little before bed, evening one-shot (might have to do with a thing I'm writing on the sly when out of other ideas because S1 lives rent-free in my brain)

I seem to have set myself a dynamic with these three Scott seeing fWhip - a good nap pillow Jimmy seeing fWhip - must mess with the pretty guy

I TOTALLY FORGOT THE AO3 Link

There was a small problem in Grimlands. It was a completely normal day for average residents. Sunny with a light wind making you need a lighter jacket. Very nice weather for Grimlands if not counting dark smoke from all the smithies and workshops but that was perfectly normal for the place. Nothing out of ordinary, so you might ask where the problem is. 

At the count's manor. fWhip, the count of Grimlands, the half-dragon ruling the land and the head of the Wither Alliance, woke up restless. 

He himself had no idea why but before the breakfast was over, he snapped at his helpers more than five times and nearly fired all his house staff. Nothing was to his liking. He slept badly. His bed was suddenly both too soft and too hard. Food was all too spicy, sweet, salty etc. Everyone was too noisy.

Somehow the manor made it through the breakfast time but then another problem formed. fWhip didn't have anything to do. He had no meeting. No local ruler business. Nothing to do to do with other empires. Or his alliance. He wasn't in the mood to tinker - probably for the first time in his whole life. No desire to visit anyone or just go anywhere, even for a dumb walk. So he practically bounced off the walls until Gem showed up. 

It's important to say here that fWhip loved his sister. He grew his hair out to try and be a bit more like her. She was a great leader and often helped him. Much better than Sausage just dragging problems in. Like when he introduced a certain handsome - do not tell anyone he called him that - ruler of the cod empire to him and the fact that the refugees of the Salmon Empire lived in Grimlands. And numerous other problems. He loved both his siblings a lot but they could be a bit much at times. 

Today he really couldn't listen to Gem to nagging him about how to be a better ruler. The constant conflict with Jimmy. How little he did last time Sausage provoked the merling. It was so much he excused himself with having to talk to Scott, ruler of Rivendell's elves. He would openly admit he found Scott pretty and that it hurt him an unreasonable amount that Scott was fond of Jimmy. But he still flew to Rivendell. Hoping that maybe by the time he got there, he would calm down a bit.

He didn't but seeing Scott and all the gold jewellery he wore distracted fWhip's dragon brain a bit. 

"Can I help you? I hope I didn't forget we had anything scheduled," Scott said, letting fWhip into his castle. fWhip was always shocked at how clean it was with the few servants Scott kept around. Had to be magic.

"No, we didn't, I... I just couldn't sit at home and listen to Gem nag me... I can go somewhere else if I'm in the way..." fWhip had no reason to hide his actual reasons from Scott. It might have not been the first time he went to the elf since the whole Xornoth thing and the Salmon King incident did not help in the slightest.

"Is it back?" Scott asked, referring to the anxiety attacks fWhip went through after and for whatever reason came to him with instead of his siblings.

"No," fWhip shook his head,  looking over all the golden decor. Elves really loved their gold... "Just feeling a bit restless the whole day and thought a change of scenery might be good. I can go and bother Jimmy if you're busy," he added, just then noticing Scott was dressed a bit more casually. He still looked a lot more company-worthy than fWhip did at his best.

"It's fine, my advisors forced a day off on me," Scott smiled and fWhip pelt a little bit better.

They ended up in Scott's personal library. With fWhip's head rested on Scott's lap as he slowly calmed down and relaxed. With cold fingers messing with his meticulous braided hair. Not that fWhip cared much. He almost instantly fell asleep, helped by a heavy woollen blanket Scott tossed over him. Explaining that with fWhip around he himself didn't need one. fWhip had no energy to argue so he just let himself relax... Scott's lap made for a great pillow.

/Bonus Jimmy Bit/

Usually, Jimmy had no trouble finding Scott whenever he decided to visit Rivendell. The elven king would more often than not come out and greet him before the merling could even start to wonder where to start looking for him. Not today. Today he had to go through all the more official sites all over the city before one of Scott's councilmen told him the king was having a day off for overworking himself to the point of fainting and was not supposed to leave his castle.

Jimmy rarely had a chance to see more of the castle than the direct path to Scott's bed so that was the first place he checked. For now, he decided to avoid the servants. At this point, he wanted to surprise Scott. 

There was no Scott in the bedroom but the bed was not made. And there were no books anywhere. "Decided to clean up for one?" Jimmy hummed glancing out to the gardens through the big, stained glass windows. No winged elven kings there. With another hum, Jimmy went to look for a library. With how many books Scott always had around his bed there had to be one in the castle.

There was a library housing Scott's over two hundred years' worth of hoarding books. And most of them were in elven. Or several now-dead languages Scott learned before they went out of use. Jimmy was sometimes shocked at how much Scott knew despite being mostly raised to be married off for an alliance. He should not have been shocked Scott overtook the palace library.

Which must be quite the sight, if Jimmy could find the place among the damned labyrinths elven interiors seemed to always be... But his people liked labyrinths as well so it wasn't that much of a problem and he eventually found it. And was met with quite the sight. 

Scott, leisurely lounging on a couch with a fWhip's head in his lap. One hand messing with a mostly undone braid Jimmy loved to pull - both literally and metaphorically. Other lazily switching a page in a book floating at just the right level for Scott to read it, before reaching for a cup of tea. A fancy cup of Glimmer Grove make. A gift from Katherine's great grand mother as Jimmy heard from Scott. Technically for Xornoth but Scott was the king and Xornoth was with Joey in a jungle...

"Shush, he just fell asleep," Scott said spotting Jimmy as he walked closer. It was hard to hide if one was an eight-foot tall merling demi-god like he was.

"I might need a nap myself after how much running around I did while looking for you," Jimmy hummed, quietly to not wake the sleeping dragon. And taking in the thick blanket that was clearly Scott's, it was all of his favourite shades of blue and cyan with white frill all around it. And fWhip was purring slightly which was news to Jimmy, it was damn cute though. "I heard you overworked yourself again," he turned to glare at Scott while taking an entire loveseat to himself. 

"I did, I regretted it, and it'll be a while before I do it again," Scott seemed to shrug as he pulled another blanket out of somewhere and tossed it at Jimmy. "In case you get cold, I'm not moving. He needs a nap," he explained, gently patting fWhip's head.

"Wake me up when he wakes up, we just might get him to cuddle you properly," Jimmy grinned.

Scott merely shrugged. He loved the idea of cuddling with fWhip. He had a chance to do it a few times but was not too fond of the circumstances so something more relaxed sounded great. and he certainly didn't mind having Jimmy there too. Or being stared at as he read through one of his favourite books. Top hundred for sure.

[simiansmoke]

@koopzilla cont

Palming another blue shard of Rainbow Road for a tad longer, he flipped the piece over to study the jagged edges with some muted interest. Whether they were sharp enough to pierce skin, he wasn't so sure...but he knew he'd probably avoid stepping on the pointy ends anyway just in case. "Heh. These are fresh off the track. I dunno when, but they stop glowing eventually." Made him wonder where the light inside them even came from. Turning part ways to see how his 'guest' was faring, he noticed the other's gaze pinned to his stomach.

"Uh...?" When it was clear he was more or less staring pointedly, DK felt his face match the temperature of the steam in his fur and lifted the rainbow shard quickly to cover the warm glow around his naval, and the deeper blue of the shard changed to one much lighter and sky shaded. He didn't need Bowser realizing just what had caused the demise of the crystal coconut lest he get throttled.

"Well, what're you waiting for?" DK snorted, turning his back to the Koopa as he resumed his inspection of the pool and after reaching the end of a long rock leading through the bubbling waters, dropped the carried shard in. He stood at the rock end that ended almost directly in the middle of the pool and watched Bowser wade in, amused to see the waters force a smile out of the tyrant of a tourist. "Nice, huh~?"

Shaking his fur out when enough steam collected as dew at the ends of his pelt, DK decided he might as well take a dip too and used the rock to help lower himself in, arms resting back against the heated stone. "Oh yeeeeah...if this is what soup feels like, cook me - I don't care."

Eyes shut, he smirked at the other's insistence that anything in the Darklands had this sort of worth. Considering his stay there for the past few weeks, DK knew that was...unlikely. "I mean...I prefer my flesh unmelted, but." That was all a magma pit was good for - in his case anyway. Nothing great about watching a bunch of smelly turtles soak in lava while you sat nearby, fur wet and perspiring miserably as the smell of sulpher made you gag intermittently.

With a sigh of agreement, he continued balancing on the rock as his legs and stomach drifted up close to the surface. The glow of his stomach seemed content to light the layer of water over it with the soft cream color of a banana. "So...should I still save the date for your attack on the jungle kingdom?" He mused, partly unsure if the other was still eager to go through with his plans made in anger.

[disasterofastory]

Help (Ivar x Reader)

Help Ivar x Reader Warnings: smut

Somebody stole your clothes while you bathed in the river, and Ivar is the only one who can help you out.

The cold water splashes around you while you stand in the river. Small droplets dampen your hair at the nape of your neck when the waves get stronger around you. You search the land with your gaze for your clothes, but you find nothing on the grass. You hug yourself more tightly, gulping down the growing panic in your throat. The sky gets darker with every minute you spend thinking about what you should do now. You can’t go back to the village naked, but you can’t stay here either.

It is the right moment for Ivar.

He still can’t believe he agreed to his brothers’ plan.

Ubbe and Hvitserk know he has a crush on you for a long while now. They watched him watching you just enough time to have enough of his cowardice. So they made a plan. Ivar can be the hero in your eyes, and you don’t have to freeze in the cold river because of your nakedness.

Is the plan wrong?

Yes.

Ivar agreed because he is too desperate?

Yes.

You look at the bushes when you hear noises coming from the green leaves. Your heart jumps up into your throat, and for seconds you forget how to breathe. You stare at the crawling man not far from you with widened eyes. Your flesh starts to hurt from the power you squeeze your arms. For a long moment, you think about letting the waves wash you away before the brooding man notices you.

“Are you plan on dying there?” He snaps at you before you can do anything.

“I-I don’t find my clothes, my prince,” you answer. Your voice trembles from the cold and his presence.

“Come out!” He orders you still sulkily, grabbing his pelt from his shoulders.

He is lucky that the only thing you can see is his angry blue eyes and not his sweating palm or rapidly beating heart.

You make a few tentative steps to the shore, but as the water starts to lower around you, you stop. One more step and the only thing you can cover yourself is your arms around your breasts.

“Do you want it or not?” He snaps at you again when he sees your frozen form. At this point, he is more afraid of you dying from hypothermia than the fact he is alone with you.

You don’t dare to answer him, so you start to walk again, and to your surprise, he is kind enough to look down at his legs. But he is not kind enough not to sneak a peek while you are busy.

Your breasts are pushed up as you try to hide them, and he can’t help himself but follow your curves till his gaze stops between your legs. He needs every power of his to look away in time before he gets caught.

He hears your soft steps getting closer, and his outstretched arm gets lighter as you take his pelt from him.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, wrapping yourself into the warm fabric.

“You will stand there?” He asks you grumpily, looking up at your shy form.

Your skin heats up under his gaze, and you sit down next to him, adjusting the pelt around you.

“What happened with your clothes?” He asks as if he doesn’t know it already.

“I don’t know,” you answer, looking around once again. “I think somebody plays a prank on me.”

For a moment, when he looks at your almost blue lips, he feels guilty, but his anger soon turns to his idiot brothers and their plan to get him a woman. What did he think? Just because you are next to him almost naked, you are willing to lay with him?

“We should go back before it gets darker,” he says after a while with a disappointed sigh.

“Could we wait a little bit?” You ask him timidly, afraid of his answer. “My legs are still cold.”

“We never go home at this pace,” he says, and without thinking, he grabs your legs to put them over his lap. You squeal at the sudden move, but his warm palms feel pleasant on your cold skin. He freezes for a second when he notices what he has done. His hands tremble on your bare legs, and he has to pray to the Gods that you don’t notice his anxiousness.

“Thanks,” you tell him after a few minutes. As he focuses on your legs, you can look at him better. His hair got longer since you last talked with him a few words at the market, and his blue eyes seem softer, watching his hands on your skin.

He feels your stare on his face, and the only reason you can’t see the blush on his cheeks because of the dim light. He looks up at you suddenly, staring into your eyes. His kissable lips part when you don’t look away, and his hands go up to your knees accidentally.

“Your hands,” you start, and he is ready to take them away from you. “They feel good.”

“Oh,” he says, surprised, and you can’t help yourself but smile at his shy behavior. 

His fingers play at the curve of your knees, and soon, watching your reaction, he goes up to your inner thighs. Your breath speeds up from his warm touch, heat runs through your body, but you can’t look away from the Viking’s blue scanning eyes.

When he sees no displeasure in your face from his closeness, he gets braver. His fingers almost reach your most sensitive part, and you open your legs more without your noticing. Despite you were in the cold water not long ago, you are warm and wet under his gentle fingers.

The air leaves your mouth with a gasp when his movements get more confident as he discovers your most pleasurable parts. You grab his arm but not to push him away but to support yourself. His muscles flex under your grip. From your moves, the pelt on your shoulders opens, showing more of your body to the blue-eyed man.

He gulps down the cold air when he looks down from your neck to your hardened nipples. His lips open, imagining your soft flesh in his mouth, under his tongue.

“Lay down,” he says, helping you with the pelt so you can be comfortable.

You feel insecure as his eyes roam your nakedness. Goosebumps run over your body from the cold air and his hot gaze.

“Ivar?” You ask him after a while when he still watches you hungrily.

“Spread your legs,” he says, waking up from his awe.

He adjusts his body between your legs, moving above you to reach your breasts. His hot breath fans over your heated skin, and soon you feel his lips on your collarbone, moving down to your nipple. You moan his name when he sucks on it. Your fingers find his head, grabbing his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Stronger,” he tells you, and you pull on him harder, panting.

His kisses go down on your body, your stomach tenses with anticipation.

He grabs your thighs, placing them over his shoulder to give himself better access to your pussy. He smirks when his lips linger at your folds without touching them. His blue eyes shine with mischief, looking up at you, seeing your struggle.

“Please,” you plead breathlessly.

With a chuckle, he gives in to your will, leaning closer to lick you from down to top.

You grab the pelt under your palm, your thighs almost close with Ivar between them. He devours you. He finds every little spot to make your moans and groans louder. His grip on your flesh is bruising, and you have to watch yourself not to strangle him with your legs.

“Ivar,” you pant his name repeatedly.

His tongue finds your warmth, and he starts to move in and out of you like a madman. He has to grab your hips to keep you in place before you roll out from under him. He feels your juices on his face, and his eyes roll back from your taste. His cock is hard and leaking. He has to refrain from humping the grass.

If he comes tonight, he makes sure it will be in you.

Your voice is raspy and erratic when you moan his name one more time before you let into the pleasure. The knots in your stomach burst, vibrating through your body. You need long minutes to wake up from your dizziness. When you open your eyes again to look down on Ivar, he nibbles on your inner thighs with a smirk on his lips.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, but you know he knows the answer.

The only thing you can do is hum as an answer, sitting up slowly. As his face gets closer, your skin heats up again at the recognition: the prince ate you out even before he even kissed you.

From the shine in his eyes, you know he is thinking about the same thing. His gaze lingers on your parted lips but doesn’t lean closer to you.

“And I will do much more before I kiss you,” he promises. The smirk on his lips is constant. “Get dressed,” he nods to the pelt under you. “You come home with me.”

[inkspottie]

How about candles with the Afton kids?

Michael glanced at the window seeing the rain pelting down on the glass. It was late, and Michael assumed that meant he wouldn’t be seeing his father for the night.

He would have to hold down the fort while his father worked late tonight.

The pouring rain and the thunder didn’t bode well. It looked like a heavy storm was hitting the down, and it didn’t look like it was about to stop anytime soon.

Lighting crashes, illuminating the kitchen as he was washing the remaining dishes. If he didn’t get them done he knew his father would use that as a way to yell at him.

He can hear the television in the background, no doubt Elizabeth and Evan watching it. As long as they weren’t annoying him and getting in his way as he did his chores, things would be fine.

Until lightning cracks and thunder roars and the lights suddenly flicker. Then, darkness and Michael gives out a annoyed noise, great blackout.

Evan screams and Elizabeth soon follows. Michael wipes his hands on the towel and rushes into the living room grabbing the flashlight and shining it at them.

“Relax! It’s just a blackout, the power will come back on soon.” Michael says as he looks around for more flashlights. He could have sworn there were multiple around the house but now there wasn’t a single one in sight.

“I’m scared…” Evan whimpers and Michael rolls his eyes a bit. When was he not scared? The kid practically was terrorized on a daily basis.

“It’s just the dark.” Elizabeth says simply and Michael sighs.

He didn’t want to deal with whiny siblings so he had an idea. “Here hold this, keep the light, I have an idea.” He remembered his mum kept tea light candles around so perhaps he could light some up and keep them occupied.

“Where are you going Mikey?” Elizabeth asks, she always wanted to know what everyone was doing.

Michael rummages through a drawer blindly looking for candles and matches. “Mmm why don’t you and Evan make a little fort while I look for candles yeah?”

“A fort?” He can hear the slight excitement in Evan’s voice, “out of what?”

“Pillows of course!”

There’s a ‘ohhh’ that echoes between the two of them. Michael can’t help but smirk. This was far too easy, he almost was tempted to scare them, but didn’t really want to deal with them crying in the dark.

“Aha!” He exclaims as he finds the package of tea lights and the lighter.

He heads back to the room seeing Evan was piling up pillows while Elizabeth held the flashlight shining it on him so he could see what he was doing.

“Candles Mikey?” Elizabeth asks, a bit skeptical at the sight of Michael placing the tea lights down at random place.

“Yes candles, it’s to light the place up duh.”

Elizabeth just watches him before turning to Evan, “No silly! The pillow goes here!” She points to a spot getting Evan to nod furiously and do as she says. Elizabeth always seemed to be the one to delegate, she would never lift a finger when Evan was around.

“Let there be light.” Michael murmurs as the lighter clicks and a single flame erupts, he leans it to the wick and watches it quickly light up.

“Ooo.” Evan murmurs stopping in his tracks, his blue eyes wide. “That’s really cool Mikey.”

Michael can’t help but puff his chest out in pride, “Of course it’s cool, this is me we are talking about.” He grins, reaching for another tea light.

“You’re not cool Mikey.” Elizabeth says with a matter of fact voice and Michael makes a noise as if he’s shocked. He puts a hand to his chest holding the lit candle.

“I am, so cool I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says with a huff though he’s not offended because he knows it’s just how Elizabeth is.

Elizabeth just gives a scoff, leaving Michael to put up as many candles as he could. Soon the living room has a soft glow from the candlelight and there’s a pillow fort in the middle of the room.

“Dad’s going to be so mad.” Evan whispers and Michael makes a noise.

He would be, seeing the living room in such a state, but the lightning and thunder would be keeping Evan and Elizabeth up so why not have a little fun? He would deal with father afterwards.

“Who cares, get in the fort.” He says pushing Evan into the little entrance since Elizabeth was already in there.

“Here comes Fredbear.”

With a single toss he throws the plush into the fort and then wiggles his way into the fort hearing Evan and Elizabeth giggle as he makes his way in. It was a bit too small for Michael but he didn’t complain.

Lightning crashes and Michael sees Evan wince. “It’s just the sky bowling, don't worry about it.” He says to his brother leaning on a pillow his feet sticking out of the fort.

“Is it going to stop?”

“Dunno, might be a bit. It’s okay, we are safe here. Nothing can get us here.” Michael assures the two watching Elizabeth move closer, still holding the flashlight.

“Tell us a story Mikey?” She asks quietly and Michael hums looking up as if he’s thinking of one.

“Sure…let me think.”

It doesn’t take long for Michael to come up with some grand adventure. Swashbuckling pirates and a princess in need of saving of course, and then a evil dragon who turned out to just be grumpy because it had a thorn in its paw.

He’s not surprised by the end of it that Elizabeth and Evan are sleeping soundly, the two of them sleeping right next to him. Evan’s cheek on his arm and Elizabeth just about on top of his side. He’s not in the most comfortable position but he’s happy.

Closing his eyes he listens to the breathing of his siblings and the sound of rain.

A good night this was.

[redux-iterum]

A Kindling: Chapter Twenty-Two

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Dodge him!” Bluestar barked.

Firepaw blinked stupidly and tried to shake himself awake, muscles complaining as he struggled to his feet. One heartbeat he had been in his nest, and every beat after that had him somewhere new— dragging himself along after his mentor, then stumbling into the training hollow. Now he was being knocked around by Greypaw. His eyes were too bleary to see through and a single step took every ounce of the dearth of energy in his body.

He blinked again, fiercer, finally able to make out his friend standing across from him. Greypaw didn’t look much better off, but he was standing straight and his yellow eyes were open and focused. That was the only clear part of him; his stripes spun and melted together with the lighter grey parts of his pelt.

“Firepaw!”

He turned his head towards Bluestar’s voice, but stars help him if he could see her properly. Her own yellow eyes were much less friendly.

“You need to focus,” she said sharply.

“Sorry…” Firepaw mumbled, and shook himself again. It didn’t help. “I’m tired, is all…”

“You had plenty of rest this morning, didn’t you?” Bluestar’s blurry tail lashed. “Wake yourself up and dodge him.”

Firepaw looked to Greypaw, who had now crouched, ready to charge again. His own tail was stiff and low, and his ears folded back nervously. Firepaw tried to prepare himself to leap to the side, leaning towards the right. Hesitantly, Greypaw jumped forward, but even at his most careful, he bowled Firepaw over and sent the little tom rolling backwards (though still to the right).

“Firepaw!”

He didn’t get back up immediately—he had to pull himself from the welcome soft sand, still warm from the recently-set sun and soothing his tired and aching body. Greypaw approached, perhaps to help, but he jerked back and quickly cowed before an approaching, angry Bluestar.

“What are you doing?” she snapped. “I told you to dodge him. You didn’t even try!”

“Did,” Firepaw mumbled. With great effort, he got up and looked at his leader. “The walk took a lot out of me, I think, and—”

Bluestar’s paw shot up for silence. “Greypaw and Ravenpaw made that walk with you, and they’re doing just fine. You slept throughout the rest of the day and part of tonight. I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

Firepaw searched for something helpful to say—an apology, a positive remark, a promise to do better. What came out of his mouth was the exact opposite of that.

“Well, you’re getting them,” he said. “I’m tired. I can’t help it.”

Bluestar’s eyes flared. She loomed over her apprentice, tail lashing hard enough to blur out of his vision. “You need to remember who you’re speaking to.”

“I remember,” Firepaw said, much more calmly than he felt. “But I don’t think you’re being fair, that’s all. I’m not Greypaw or Ravenpaw. I’m me, and I need more rest than them, I guess.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the other cats in the hollow were all staring at the mentor-apprentice pair. He couldn’t focus on their faces, but he could guess they were all a lot more nervous than he was.

Bluestar’s teeth bared themselves in his face. “You are out of line.”

Firepaw’s eyes squinted a little on reflex, but he forced them back open to stare the leader down. “I’m sorry I’m making a good point that you don’t like.”

Ravenpaw gasped quietly somewhere to his left.

Bluestar snarled. Firepaw met her eyes, not in challenge, but in observation—and then he realized it, clear as the blue sky.

She was embarrassed of him.

And that stung more than any strike across the face she could have given him.

A lump formed in his throat and his stomach rolled nauseously. He searched her eyes, silently pleading that he made a mistake seeing that, and she was only angry…

No. Embarrassment. Regret, even. Regret of what? That she’d brought him in? Let him argue with her?

Firepaw’s stomach urged him to be sick.

When Bluestar spoke next, it was in a low, threatening growl. “If you’re going to do so poorly in fighting, perhaps you should hunt instead.” She lifted her head out of his face and jerked a nod a little backwards. “Go. Don’t come back to camp until you’ve caught something.”

“Bluestar, can’t he—” Greypaw moved forward again, only to flinch back when her glare turned on him.

Surprisingly, Ravenpaw lifted a paw and said meekly, “M-maybe we can hunt too?”

Bluestar turned his way now and he cowered. Whitecloud stepped up to him and gently placed a paw on his back.

The leader, tall and bristling to twice her size, glowered at Firepaw. “I said go.”

Firepaw’s eyes fell. Silently, paws and tail dragging, he walked past her, not looking at Lionface, Whitecloud, Ravenpaw, or Greypaw. The ferns brushing against his pelt hardly registered to him.

It was still fairly early in the night, the moon barely a claw’s width and the stars glittering cheerfully where the foliage didn’t block the sky. Firepaw glanced up at them once, but lifting his head too high made him dizzy, so he stuck to focusing on what was in front of him.

It was tempting to wait until he couldn’t hear or smell the cats in the hollow before finding a spot, curling up and sleeping his emotions and weariness away. Very tempting. But Firepaw shook his head aggressively and stalked on. He was going to catch something, no matter how long it took. Otherwise, he wasn’t allowed back in camp.

Not that I haven’t broken a rule before…

His nose, at least, was kind to him, sharp enough to catch the trail of a mouse. Firepaw crouched to stalk and instantly regretted it—his sleepiness caught up with him and tried to pull him onto his side for rest. He forced himself, hard as it was, to crawl forward. He barely made a few steps before his paw crunched down on a twig and the unseen mouse scuttled away, twitching a few blades of grass as it went.

Firepaw sighed and shut his eyes. He sensed this was going to be a pattern. With great difficulty, he stood and kept moving, nose in the air and sniffing away.

On any other normal night, the air would feel crisp and bring his feet a little bit of dancing energy. The soft soil would delight him with its rich scent, and the soft rustles of leaves and ferns would ignite his senses like nothing else. As it was, he was cold, his feet were damp and slightly muddy, and he could barely pay attention to anything going on around him, let alone enjoy it all.

Again, he scented prey—a mole this time—and again, he only had to take a step or two forward before he ruined the hunt, now by scraping the ground with his tail. The mole was gone before he could blink. He shut his eyes again, tighter, willing himself to be positive and focus.

Time seemed to halt in its tracks as he continued, finding and scaring away more prey than he could count. Cold breezes nipped at his ears and nose, his feet weren’t even lifting off the ground anymore, and his tail collected mud. There was no point in trying to make out details in the bark of trees or individual leaves; he was seeing blobs of colors now. His mind had the barest of clarity, allowing him small snippets of thoughts here and there. Otherwise, he might as well have been in a dream.

Who knew how much time passed before a stray tree-root snagged Firepaw’s front paw. He couldn’t react in time to save himself, so he fell forward, landing on his chest. He didn’t have it in him anymore to stand back up. Instead, he sank the rest of the way onto his side, head half in the moist earth, and shut his eyes.

He’d be back up in a moment…

 “Honeymouse?”

Firepaw cracked open an eye, turning his head ever-so-slightly to a golden form above him. His mind woke up now, and his vision cleared enough to make out Goldenflower’s worried face.

He raised his head up and squinted—it was much brighter than it had been a moment ago. He was confused, to be sure, but he remembered to be pleasant. “Hi, Goldenflower.”

The matriarch sniffed at the side of his head that had been on the ground. “Oh, stars, you’re all muddy. How long have you been lying here?”

“Um…” Firepaw squinted harder, thinking. “What time is it now?”

“Almost dawn.”

“Then, uh…when it was dark, I guess.” He yawned, stretched, and slowly stood up, much easier this time. “I was too tired to keep track of time.”

“You little thing…” Goldenflower’s massive paw gently brushed away the scrapes of soil on his face, though some was stuck to his fur. “I was so worried when you didn’t come back. Bluestar told me what happened, and…” Her amber eyes narrowed just a bit, but it was enough to completely change the tone of her face—Firepaw suddenly had the urge to back away from her paw. “We had a conversation.” Her eyes softened again, the change reversed. “I hurried to find you, but it still took me a while. I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh.” Firepaw blinked and looked around. It was most certainly almost dawn—the sky was turning gold in the distance and the forest was yellow and night-sky-blue in a striped pattern of light and shadow. “Thank you for coming for me, but… I don’t think I can go home yet. I didn’t catch anything.”

Goldenflower shook her head. “That’s all forgotten. You’re free to come back whenever you want.” There was a slight pause before she softly added, “And I’ll stay out here with you if you’re not ready.”

The change to kindness from anger and morose failure to hunt was a little drastic for a still-waking Firepaw. He took a moment to absorb it, and another to shake himself. This time it definitely woke him up. Refreshed again (to some degree, at least), he looked up at Goldenflower and blinked gratefully.

“I can come back now, I think,” he said. “If Bluestar’s okay with it.”

“She will be,” Goldenflower replied sweetly, “whether she likes it or not. But here, hold on, let me dust you off.”

She gave Firepaw no time to argue—in a heartbeat, she was circling the apprentice, gently pawing the right side of his body as free of the soil as he could be. Some of the wetter parts had clumped up stray clumps of hair, but she did quite a good job, leaving him mostly presentable.

“There.” Her eyes crinkled, pleased with herself. “That will do for now. Let’s get you home.”

“Bluestar really said I can come back?” Firepaw asked as they turned and started in the direction of camp.

Goldenflower nodded.

“Huh.” Firepaw looked ahead, considering. “She was really mad at me. But I guess it’s fair. I made her look bad in front of everyone else.”

“You didn’t do anything, love,” Goldenflower said firmly. “Your friends told me exactly what happened. She should have handled that better.”

Firepaw was thankful for her support, but the image of Bluestar’s embarrassment in her eyes made him reconsider going home. It was ice in his belly, the kind that would make him sick if he’d eaten recently. His head and tail lowered in shame.  

Goldenflower noticed and gave his ear a lick. “You won’t be in trouble when we return, I promise. I made sure of that. Let’s get a meal in you and you can keep resting in your den.”

“Thanks,” Firepaw said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m still that tired, though. It’d be better than talking to Bluestar, I guess, but… I don’t think I should avoid that.” As he spoke, he raised up his chin a little and looked to Goldenflower. “That’d be wrong, right? To just not talk.”

Goldenflower looked down at him with great affection. “You two will talk, I’m sure. But it’s very late, and most of the Clan is heading to bed by now. You just need to eat and rest again.”

That didn’t really answer his question, but Firepaw let it go for now. He just walked alongside her, her maternal aura soothing him.

The pair made it back to camp without incident. When they entered, several cats looked up expectantly… and a little nervously? Odd. Firepaw nodded to them and they relaxed a little, though they still eyed Goldenflower apprehensively. The matriarch did not acknowledge them; she simply returned to the nursery, where Brindleface was waiting outside of the den. Firepaw watched as Brindleface almost skittered away from Goldenflower, who acknowledged her with a pleasant “thank you” before sitting back down in her usual place.

Firepaw didn’t have more time to ponder this—Redtail was approaching, flanked by Lionface and Whitecloud. He quickly stood straight, self-conscious of his dirty coat.

“You alright, chrii?” Redtail asked quietly, lowering his head to Firepaw’s eye-level.

“Oh…” Firepaw nodded quickly. “Yes, thank you. I-I didn’t catch anything, if Bluestar…” He paused and looked around. “Where is she?”

“Our guest wanted to speak with her,” Whitecloud said. “She’s been in her den since then.”

Firepaw glanced at the hag’s spot. Sure enough, she wasn’t there.

“Where’ve you been?” Lionface peered at Firepaw, sniffing. “You’re half-mud.”

Sheepishly, Firepaw looked up at the toms with his head low. “I, um, might have fallen asleep out there.”

Lionface snorted and Whitecloud gave him a sympathetic blink. Redtail shook his head disappointedly. Firepaw feared that he’d made a mistake before the deputy spoke.

“We should have given you the night off,” he sighed. “I’m glad Goldenflower found you. She was insistent on doing it herself.” He grimaced. “I’d be surprised if Bluestar showed up again tonight after that whole thing.”

“Well, it’s over now.” Whitecloud nodded to Firepaw. “You must be hungry. There’s a mole on the prey-pile. I hear you like those.”

“I do!” Firepaw perked up, paused, and then asked, “Am I allowed to eat, Redtail?”

“Go ahead,” Redtail said, sounding amused.

Firepaw bobbed his head to each tom before trotting off to snag his prey. He still didn’t feel very hungry, but it had been dusk since he’d eaten, and he knew he needed something. He took the mole and moved a little away to make room for others before sitting down and eating. The mole tasted like nothing, though the chewy feet brought some small comfort.

After his meal, he silently picked himself up and went straight for the apprentices’ den without speaking to any of the few cats left outside. Greypaw and Ravenpaw looked to be asleep when he came in, but Ravenpaw lifted his head when Firepaw’s shadow crossed him.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. “We were worried, you were gone for so long.”

“I’m alright.” Firepaw bumped heads with his friend. “I just fell over and went to sleep out there. I think I’ll continue now, if I can.”

“Oh, good.” Ravenpaw sagged a little with relief. “Well, I guess we can talk tomorrow, then. Sleep well. I mean, keep sleeping well, I guess.”

“You too.” Firepaw moved past him to his nest with a tail-flick. Ravenpaw curled up again as Firepaw flopped into his moss-bed.

He didn’t expect that he would be tired enough earlier, but the comfort of being home and having a meal soon shut his eyes and relaxed his heartbeat. Still, he went in and out between sleeping and waking, hardly thinking clearly enough to tell the difference between the two.

[kokiseiko]

Fleeting Touches and Unbreakable Bonds

Shouta Aizawa x Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Reader

Song Recommendation: All I Ask - Adele

(Y/N) – Your Name

(L/N) – Last Name

Word Count: 1.8k +

Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku no Hero Academia

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Pro-Hero!Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Pro-Hero!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Angst, Bittersweet

Summary: Is it possible to love someone so much that you can’t let go even after death?

Note: This is a special request made by my lovely fellow Aizawa simp: @nire-chann​.

Thank you for beta-reading this for me Ate Selene @yourgoddessselene​ | @saudade-mayari​

The events that had happened at the start of this fic are a few months after Aizawa became a teacher at UA.

A rush of sudden adrenaline that wracks your body, heart pounding, ears ringing, your entire system shaking with emotions you can’t even pinpoint. Walking towards the white-lined road of the city, the rays of the noon sun spilling all over the bent light posts, the once smooth grey cement on the sidewalks now cracked, malfunctioning traffic lights blinking and crackling, the aftermath: debris of the earlier commotion.

It was an explosion, a burst of dust-filled smoke that pained the eyes of individuals who unfortunately had it opened, then a sickening crash of building facades, window splinters raining throughout the area, injuring civilians from which you’ve catered immediately. Quickly healing wounds and giving directions for immediate evacuation.

You were Frantic. Desperate. Searching throughout the wreckage even when your quirk wasn’t for such. Continuing to move through the rubbles of building you spot the shine of the once yellow gear now cracked, broken into three, not far from it was a mass of black, crimson spilling underneath him, a shine of a bloodied band adorning his right hand.

You knew that it was near impossible even with your quirk to stabilize him, yet you continue, hands glowing in hues of emerald as you move his blood-soaked charcoal locks.

---

He feels lighter every passing second, but your presence grounds him. There’s so much more to say, to feel, to do. He sighs internally, he looks at you with such intent, he wants to let you know, to speak to you, but how can he, when his throat feels restricted. Even lifting his hand to touch your tear-stained cheeks to help ease the furrow in your brows had him use too much energy.

There was so much more, but having to look at you with all the emotions he could muster in his two light-grey orbs are what he could only communicate with. He can’t speak anymore, but he wants to at least taste your lips one last time.

To at least feel your heat and the cool contrast of your wet cheeks.

He’s barely noticing the tingle of nerves, that strange warm sensation he used to feel whenever you used to tend to his wounds, his injuries. His eyes wrinkle slightly when he remembers your pout during a rant a few days ago, your plump lips moving and going on about him being reckless.

He’s doing it again, but it has been too long since he had let himself fall through a never-ending well of questions, of replays, flashbacks, images, doubts, concerns. This may be the last time he’ll ever let himself tumble throughout the dark abyss of just him and his thoughts.

Was he content? He doesn’t know.

He just simply wants to remember your smile, your tears. You.

You were his anchor back then. Back when he was crumbling into a mess of a wanna-be hero who had his friend die during Hero-Work Studies.

You pulled him up when he was too tired to even recognize and register the warmth feeling in his chest that was being overpowered with guilt, regret, and frustration.

He never really accommodated these positive feelings, thinking that they would just be swept away with a whoosh of wind, only to return with a hard blow of hatred, anger, and pain.

He doesn’t want to experience that again, to go through that momentary shock and be hit with the sad consciousness of reality.

His throaty whisper was heard above the ringing in your ears: “Thank you…” for loving me, he wants to add, for being with me… I’ve loved you, tears cascading his cheeks

“I’m sorry…” for not acknowledging these wonderful feelings, for taking so long to let you know that, looking to your also wet cheeks, eyes pooling with tears from frustration? Sadness? Pain? Maybe a mix of three he guessed, “… I love you.”

He feels the gradual easing of his muscles all throughout his body. The blood rushing throughout his veins were subliminally slowing. The wet pelts of your tears dropping down his features would be a mere afterthought if he wasn’t focusing so much on you, but alas, his own mind was keeping him from doing so.

Even within his last seconds, his mind kept him prisoner.

His mind where everything was being played. His head spinning with the rapid successions of memories he subconsciously held dear. The majority of the replays containing you, your comforting touch when he needed an anchor, your soft kisses during those casual dates back in his favorite café, the hitch of your breath when you momentarily stopped the cute cooing noises you made whenever you petted the cats as you trailed your eyes on his kneeling form, your whispered ‘yes’ when he finally popped the question “Marry me?”, your wobbly smile when you walked down the red-carpeted aisle, the crack of your voice as your eyes that were holding nothing but love and adoration staring right at him as you began to state your vows began to pool.

Smiling.

He never thought that in his last moments he would be smiling. You’ve made him do things he thought he’d never do in this short life of his. And for that, he’s thankful.

You are truly something else.

***

Breathing was hard. His every inhale didn’t even feel like air, it’s akin to something much more condense. Black was all that surrounds him: a pool of nothing but midnight skies. A weird sensation constantly falling down to a never-ending night is what grounds him to- what exactly.

Though his throat was constricted, a single sound not able to flutter out his lips, his thoughts seemed loud on this vast plain of nothingness.

Where was he?

How can he even breathe?

“You’re still bound.”

What?

“You need to let go.”

Looking around him to at least locate the voice’s body was futile. Was this in his head?

“No. You’re in the middle. Stuck.”

Middle?

“Your time’s done, but you’re still tied down… by your bonds. Let go.”

Realizing what this meant he answered the disembodied voice in his head, I can’t.

A chilling gust of an unknown wind made its way throughout his existence.

***

It can’t be. He knows it can’t happen. He died. How can he still be standing- oh.

He doesn’t know whatever the wind did to him, but he at least deduced that it returned him to you.

You who was now kneeling in the mix of wet gravel and grass whilst staring into the distance with streams still flowing down your puffed eyes, cheeks streaked with layers of endless tears that managed to drip down your wobbling chin, your neck covered in his scarf that had splats of dried hazel-vermillion.

How long was he falling back there?

Two new sounds of weeping.

He sees that the usual gravity-defying golden hair was now instead streaking down the shoulders of a black leather jacket-clad voice hero. Mic. A figure kneeling down beside your form, hugging your side, whose body shook with great intensity together with yours. Midnight.

He aches. Thorns felt like they were encasing him within.

For a moment he wants to hold you, to comfort you, placing his hand to your other shoulder, placing the loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you don’t seem to sense him.

***

It’s been a long month of just watching, of just seeing but not being able to do anything. He hates the unfairness of it all.

He tries. Convincing himself that his touches were felt, that his hugs were warming your numbness, that his kisses were making the sting dwindle little by little, that him laying by the other side of your bed while you sleep with a pillow covered in his old shirt lets you know that he’s still there, that he still loves you, that he still can’t won’t let go.

His touches on your shoulder, which were supposed to reassure you just in turn made you shiver and look confused, bewildered even.

He wants to be heard, to be felt, to exist, but his traces no longer lingered, only a mere susurrate, a short-lived touch in your still graying ambience.

He wants to hold you while you cry and let all of the frustrations out of that head of yours, where he knows that like him you’re stuck, in your own scribbles of granite thoughts, that you too were deprived of the other’s warmth, that you too felt like a shell stuck with all of this sand you called your chaos, your blurring mix of feelings.

And as weeks turns into fleeting months. Months of winter blooming into a spring of years, left on autumn, in auto-pilot, watching, always nearby to see you recover. Recover from the debris and aching splinters that his existence left behind, while he still remains crumbling, pieces of him falling.

“Thank you Hizashi… you grounded me when it all felt like a dream.”

He should’ve been the one doing what Hizashi is now. It should’ve been black instead of gold that you were nuzzling into. It should’ve been his deep baritone rather than the smooth and gentle voice Hizashi uses whenever he encourages, supports, and anchors you.

He should’ve been the one holding your hand whenever you sit in a creaky wooden bench in a nearby park to admire the sunset.

“I know that it’s impossible to reciprocate what I’m about to say, but I at least wanted to let you know-”

“I like you too, Zashi’.”

He should’ve been the one you’re tending, taking care of. Your tears of frustration and aura of concern that was once reserved for him was now for another blond.

“Zashi’ you should start being much more careful you know?”

“I promise I will- ow!”, your smiles at his friend’s idiotic antics just adds jealousy to his mix of resentment and longing.

He should’ve been the only one who sees your gaze of fondness swirling in your beautiful solemn orbs.

But he can’t. He can’t anymore.

And to that he goes back to that midnight swirl, that feeling of falling, to that voice inside his head that was constantly questioning him, encouraging him to release the rope that was still bruising his slowly crumbling heart that he’s put at the back of his mind, not yet wanting to face the reality of the other side, a world without your soft hands holding his cheeks, an existence without your love.

“Surrender Shouta…”

It all felt like déjà vu. Your pretty face blurred with the sheer veil. Soft smiles and salty droplets of tears. The gold-lined red carpet. The people present. It was all like back then, but instead of that classic black tuxedo and a black bow tie, it was a white suit and a navy blue tie.

You’re smiling… at him. Looking directly at him.

It was a whisper, a message just for him; words that helped him to finally let go, to accept, and to be patient.

“Shouta… I hope that you still remember that you will forever be a part of me. Until the next life Shouta Aizawa. Wait for me, we’ll start again; continue what we can’t finish.”

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

I hope you all liked this piece. My requests are (finally) open.

[acourtofsnakes]

Cabur - Rogue, Chapter 6| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: A few weeks have passed and after landing on a small planet to collect a bounty, you and Mando decide to take a little trip to the market to stock up on some things. Nothing will come up here.. right?

Warnings: Angsty angsty annnnngst, (Sorry, I don’t mean to be so horrible to dear reader), Swearing (mild), brief mentions of death, touching on the same things as chapter 4 but not as heavy but I’ll still add the trigger warnings ♥︎ These chapters will get lighter, I promise,

Not beta read, I wanted to get this one out because I love it so apologies for any mistakes, I’ll be going in to edit a little later

Trigger warnings: Anxiety, horrible thoughts/insults, triggering comments maybe, thoughts of not being able to cope. 

Words: About 6210

AN: Okay, okay, so, I was listening to my Rogue playlist on Spotify (link coming soon) and a certain song came on that just fuelled this chapter. SO, I highly recommend listening to Leave A Light On by Tom Walker if you want the vibes for this chapter. Just… honestly, please do it (I may have had tears)

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:  @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur |

Mando’a translation: Cabur - Protector or Guardian

A few weeks had passed since that night you saved the Mandalorian’s life, since he threw away the bounty puck to keep you safe. 

You’d stayed that night grounded, and then when Mando was able to get up in the morning, he flew you off of that dump of a planet. 

He didn’t ask anymore but how you had managed to save him. Whether he knew you were lying or not, he hadn’t pushed it, choosing instead to respect you. Kind of like how you respected him and his Creed. 

You’d fallen into a sort of routine around the Razor Crest, without either of you realising it. Mando would fly the ship, and you could be found seeing to Grogu and Duru, or tidying things up. Sometimes you would clean the weapons in the cabinet, making sure they stayed in pristine condition. 

Now and then, Mando would head out to get a bounty and when he got back, he would let you help patch him up. You never saw his bare skin, respected that. You would look away or close your eyes, pointing out the best things to use or how to administer them. The man was good at first aid, but his answer to everything was to shove the cauteriser on it. So, when you had been passing through some shops one day, you had stocked up on medical supplies, even found a shop selling the same herbs and plants that your mother had taught you about. 

You’d even been on a few of the hunts with him. 

Of course, you had argued first. When you’d asked him about it one day on the way out of Nevarro, Mando had simply said no. 

Which had immediately riled you. You were not a girl who liked that word. You despised that word. 

Which is how you’d spent the whole night and next two days bickering, over the question of your safety. When he lost that front, (“Seriously, Mando? I’m a fugitive. And after all, I’ve got a big, strong Mandalorian to protect me”) the Mandalorian had moved on to your lack of thinking before throwing yourself into the firefight.

He lost that one too. 

(“Says the man who stole back a child surrounded by Stormtroopers.”

“You’re not coming. End of.”

“Did you want me to bring your pulse rifle over?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“You’re right. Pulse rifle and an extra blaster.”

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Sure you do, Lori. I’ll see you at the ramp.”)

That nickname had slipped out by accident, and he’d regarded you, for a long time. He’d gone still, and you almost swore you heard a hitch of breath through his helmet and then he just nodded and murmured softly, “See you down there.”

There had been a lot of little moments like that but they were so fleeting that you were almost convinced you’d imagined it. You were imagining a lot of things lately. 

Sometimes, when you were walking through forests or towns, you thought you spotted something lingering at the edges of your vision. 

A tall figure, cloaked in a hood that was embroidered in either silver or gold, depending on the light. 

You’d even asked Mando about it a few times, but he hadn’t seen anything so you simply put it down to a trick of the light or sleeplessness, nightmares still plaguing you now and then. 

Regardless of the nightmares and your vision playing tricks on you, you were doing… okay. You were warm, safe, had a comfy place to sleep. You had things to keep you busy, things that weren’t hunting for food or a good spot to hunker down in for the night. 

Duru was happy too, having become fast friends with Grogu and the two of them ran rings around you and the Mandalorian. Well, mainly Mando, which you found hilarious because he was such an exasperated dad with them both. 

It was a rare reprieve from your life, letting you slow down and… live. Rather than survive. 

~~

“I do not talk in my sleep.” 

“Yes, you do!! Sometimes, I think you’re awake but you’re just having a fully-fledged conversation with your blanket.” 

“Oh, shut up. I know I don’t talk in my sleep, tin can. You were probably just having dreams about me again.” You examined the fruit in front of you, then handed over a few credits to the kind vendor, slipping the fruit in your bag. 

The sound of fabric hitting the floor sounded from behind you, and you turned to see that the Mandalorian had dropped the bag you’d made him carry. “I do NOT have dreams about you!” He stooped to pick up the bag, then rose to see you standing with your hands on your hips, eyebrow raised and that damn smirk on your lips. 

“Mmhm, is that why you always have to pull something over your lap when I wake you up?”

He stared at you, and you had the very correct feeling that he was looking at you in mild shock, too caught out to come up with his usual cocky response. “I -you.. That’s completely..”

You burst out laughing, rolling your eyes at him and then dropping him a wink, “Come get me when you’ve thought of a response, Lori.” You turned and carried on walking through the market. 

The two of you had stopped off on a nearby trading planet, to gather supplies. Mando had recently secured a bounty with your help and it had paid well, giving you enough extra credits to stock up and treat yourselves. Grogu was already half-way through a packet of blue macarons, which would no doubt come back to bite you both later when he was pelting through the ship whilst you tried to catch him. And it would be your fault because you had taken one look at those big ears and eyes, determined not to break but when the little womp rat had cooed at you… Of course, he had gotten his own way. 

It felt good, to wander a market and not be scrounging for things under the cover of a hooded cloak. You still had one on, you couldn’t bear to part with this item, the most beautiful piece of clothing you had ever had. You just didn’t have the hood up disguising you. 

A gift, from Mando. 

The first time you went out with him after the puck was destroyed, Mandalorian had insisted you wear yours. However, it had been covered in his blood from his injury, and you couldn’t get it out, no matter how hard you had tried. It hadn’t bothered you that much, though you were.. not sad as such, but it felt a little strange because it had been one of your few possessions for so long. But, maybe it was a symbol. That things had changed, and that was in the past. 

A couple of days later, you had just walked into the cockpit when you noticed there was a package on your seat. When you picked it up, it was squishy, bound in a sort of thick papery material and tied with a length of string. 

You’d glanced at the Mandalorian, who was watching you, the picture of calm but his hands had been fiddling with something on his belt, a shockingly nervous gesture you weren’t used to. 

That simple, uncertain gesture had risen your pulse and you unwrapped the package, trying not to show how your hands were shaking at the first gift you’d received since being a child. 

A gift from the Mandalorian. 

Pulling away the paper had revealed a mass of fabric, a blue so deep it was almost the same colour as the night sky. You’d lifted it out and it had unfolded and revealed itself to be a new cloak. The material was soft, thick enough to keep out a biting chill. You’d made a noise of awe and surprise, but had immediately fallen in love with it, pulling it on. It fell to about the middle of your calves and secured at the base of your neck with a small silver clasp. 

The inside was lined with a thin layer of heat-reflective material, and when you’d run a hand over it, Mando had finally broken his silence, “I noticed you were always cold, even if you had layers on so I.. wanted to make sure you weren’t cold anymore..” 

You swore you could almost feel the heat creeping up his neck, and that softened you. He was nervous about giving you this cloak, like he didn’t know how you would take it. 

You had smiled at him, a soft smile that made your eyes glitter like the surrounding stars and placed a hand on his knee lightly, “Thank you, Lori. I adore it, I truly do.” Then you’d spent the next minutes admiring it, putting the hood up and realising it shielded your face in shadow. 

So, naturally, you had moved around the cockpit and upper level like a phantom, pretending to be a shadow in the night. 

You’d even earned yourself a laugh from the great wall of beskar that was fast becoming your friend.  It was only a soft chuckle, just picked up by the vocoder, but all the same, it had lit something within you. 

It still echoed in your ears now. 

A few moments later, the Mandalorian was back at your side, Grogu in his little bag and Duru walking next to him. “The point still stands. I thought I might finally get some silence at night, but you talk just as much.” His raspy voice had a softened edge, one of teasing and you might even have heard the hints of a smile playing at his lips. 

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, “You love it when I talk. I have to talk to you, otherwise I’d be worried you had turned to stone. You’re so quiet sometimes.” You stopped at a stall, admiring the fabrics here – not to buy, just to look at the different things in a place you had never seen before. 

The Mandalorian made a soft noise, “No, sweetheart, that’s just called quiet time. You might want to try it sometime.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but something behind Mando caught your eye. Rising up on tiptoe, you peered over his shoulder… but there was nothing there. Weird. You could have sworn you saw someone wearing a hood just… watching you. 

You shrugged, assuming you had imagined it like before and then looked back to the man before you, “I can be quiet. I just choose to fill your hours with my wonderful voice.” You flashed him a grin, eyes dancing. 

A voice cut across before Mando could talk to you, “You.” It was a snarl, tinged with recognition that wasn’t exactly the most positive. It was bitter, aggressive and almost… pained. 

Mando turned quickly, his hand flying toward the blaster on his hip, instinct overriding him. His movement allowed you to see who had just interrupted the conversation. 

A lady stood there, with curly magenta hair twisted up into a braid. She had tattoos along her neck, and her eyes were a shocking green. She was breathing quickly, staring at you with such disdain that it made your neck prickle. 

How did you know this woman? You’d never been to this planet before.

You blinked, holding up your hands as a surrender gesture, “Uh… I’m sorry but I don’t know you. I think you must have me confused with someone else…”

The lady shook her head fiercely, making the whisps of her hair that had escaped bounce wildly. “No. I do not have you confused. I would know you anywhere.” Her eyes were wild with fury, pinning you to the ground with just a stare. 

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t know who you are. Maybe you could tell me your name?” You extended a hand, trying to diffuse this situation and help the woman understand that you aren’t who she thinks. 

She flinched back from your reach, even though she was still a good few feet away. “How dare you. You don’t even know who I am?” She made a noise of disgust, looking you up and down in such a way that you were surprised the skin didn’t flay from your bones, “Typical. I don’t know why I’m surprised. She was probably just another tool to you, wasn’t she? Another person to use and discard like trash.”

You blinked, your hands dropping to your sides. Your skin began to tighten, your blood turning a little frosty. You looked to the side, seeing a few people start to stop and watch this altercation happen. 

The Mandalorian seemed to pick up on this at the same time as you. He turned more toward the lady, his hand still within reach of his blaster, “Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”

The woman barely even looked at him, “Don’t get involved in this, Mandalorian. You’re just as bad as she is. At least to do what you do, you have to have respect and creed. You have morals, no matter how murky they are.” She jabbed a finger at you, “Unlike this savage monster.”

Your breathing immediately shallowed, getting a little unsteady as she spat out that word, that hateful word that followed you around and hounded at your feet. “I’m sorry? For whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry if it’s hurt you. I didn’t mean it, truly-”

She laughed, a cold and cruel laugh, but her eyes were slowly turning glassy with tears. She took a few steps closer, “You don’t even remember her name, do you? Shall I remind you? Help you distinguish her from your kill list?” 

You didn’t fail to notice the way the Mandalorian’s stance shifted. His body tightened and he stood closer, shielding you slightly with one of those ridiculously broad shoulders. He was going on the defensive, feeling the situation start to spiral. 

The woman barely spared him another glance, “3 years ago, you showed up on Trask. You stumbled around the market for a few days, bleeding from a wound in your leg and you passed out.”

Realisation was beginning to filter through you. It sparked in your mind and you remembered a dark street and rain, your leg heavy and cumbersome beneath you. It had burned like fire and when you went down, you couldn’t get back up again. 

The woman was still talking, “Someone picked you up, took you to their home. My sister. She was there for work, and saw you lying in the street, like some kind of dumped animal. She nursed you back to health, gave you somewhere to stay.” She could see it as it began back to you, “You took her aid, her comfort and then, there was a warning put out in the village. There had been a high-risk fugitive spotted in the village. Anyone with information was to come forward immediately.”

Your hands curled into fists, your chest shuddering as guilt and darkness began to swirl within you, “Stop.” 

She chose not to hear your quiet plea, “I was supposed to meet her. But she sent me a comms message. She would meet me, but she would have someone else with her. Someone who she couldn’t tell me over a comms message. Someone in trouble. People said this girl was dangerous, to be handed over with no hesitation but she didn’t see that. No, she said this girl was terrified, that she just wanted to live.” She tilted her head, walking closer again, “But the next day, this special little girl was gone. And then the Imperials came.” Her voice shook, her expression unreadable. 

You shook your head mutely, not wanting to hear this, memories flooding your brain. 

“Someone had tipped them off that my sister was harbouring a fugitive. They tore through her home, destroyed it and dragged her in for questioning. They demanded she tell them, beat her when she denied it. She never gave it up.” 

The woman was right in front of the Mandalorian now, who extended his arm out, ‘That’s close enough.” 

Nausea roiled your stomach, and you weren’t sure if you were going to pass out or throw up. There were too many eyes on you, too many people watching as this woman revealed you bit by bit. 

The woman lowered her voice, deadly soft and it shook, but carried in the silent square, “My sister was murdered because of you. Because of what you are.” 

Mando froze, his head tilting back to look at you slightly. You still hadn’t told him. 

She wasn’t done. “They told me a few weeks ago that you’d been captured by a Mandalorian. I wept with relief that day, because I knew the Mandalorian wouldn’t fail. You’d be taken to whoever wanted you, and you would finally repent for every single sin you’ve ever committed. Your life is littered with them. My sister, my beloved sister is dead because of you. A killer. A beast. Your hands are stained red, girl, and they will always be stained red. I admit, I’m disappointed that you slithered into his head with your poison too but you will kill him too and then… You deserve everything that will ever come to you. And more.” The woman was breathing almost as quickly as you, her eyes glinting in sick delight at the pain she was causing you. 

My sister is dead because of you. 

A beast.

Her words mingled with that seductively dark voice in your mind and you gasped for a breath, knives feeling like they were digging into your lungs. Your eyes darted around, noted the strangers looking at you with horror and that shared disgust. A father pushed his daughter behind his legs as he caught your stare, hissing at you. 

A flinch ran down your body and without a second thought, you turned tail and bolted. The sunlight was too bright, obscuring your vision harshly and making you stumble every now and then. 

You were distantly aware of a male’s shout, then a harsh thumb and the Mandalorian’s voice snarling, “Stay down.” He stopped to check your pursuer was down and then he was running after you. “Hey, wait.”

You ignored him, boots pounding into the dust as you ran through the market, needing to get out of this place, get away from her and the memories. Where the hell was the ship? It was right here a minute ago. I haven’t gone the wrong way. This is the way we came. 

You could still hear Mando behind you, knew he was hot on your heels. “Drop it, Mando.” You led him around people and stalls, knowing if wanted to be in front of you, he would be. He was letting you flee, stopping anyone coming after you. 

Dodging around a crate of fruit, you almost sobbed. There it was, the Crest, gleaming in the sunlight. You slowed down as you reached it, stopping a little way away to let the ramp come down, let you inside to sanctuary. 

Nothing happened. 

Bastard. 

You took a breath, trying to get past the tightness in your lungs, “Let me in.”

“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” His voice was firm, arrogant, in a way like he knew best and you’d listen to him. 

~“A killer. A beast. Your hands are stained red.”~

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, staring at the Crest, at where the ramp was tucked in tight. Your heart was pounding, not from the run, but from the realisation that no matter where you went, there would always be someone you had touched with that curse. “No. I’m not telling you anything. I don’t owe you anything.”

He laughed behind you, but it was a cool laugh, nothing humorous in it, “I’m not saying you owe me anything, princess. But some woman just cornered you in the street and spat abuse at you. I thought I would be prying you off of her, not chasing after you.” 

A wolf. No. A beast.

You spun round, eyebrow raised, “Because I’m some wild animal that would rather fight than talk my way out of a situation?” 

If he had no helmet, you would have seen him blink, “No, I’m not saying that. But, well. You have to admit it, don’t you?”

Something was beginning to prickle up the back of your neck, his words threatening to cut a little close, “Admit what?” Venom laced your tone and you tensed, as if bracing for a punch.

The Mandalorian walked closer, oozing confidence like he somehow knew you better than you knew yourself, “You don’t really think, do you? You never calculate the risks of a fight. You just jump straight in with no regard for your own safety. I mean, when I came for you on Sorgan, anyone smart would have seen a Mandalorian and run.” He wasn’t saying it in an arrogant way, he was saying it as fact. And he was right. A Mandalorian appeared on the street and you turned around and crossed to the other side. You didn’t engage him a fight and flirt with him. 

A cold laugh rocked though you and you tilted your head, “Anyone smart? So you’re calling me stupid now? Is that it? Beast or stupid?” You took a few steps closer to him, ignoring the villagers milling around that had started to look, having heard the fight in the centre of the market. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t calculate risks. You think I’ve had time to calculate risks in my life? I don’t have time to sit with my little notepad in my ship and jot down the pro’s and con’s of engaging in battle. I didn’t have the luxury of being trained like you.”

Bitter astonishment filled the Mandalorian’s voice, his own body going rigid, “The luxury of training?! You think I chose to become a Mandalorian? That I woke up one morning and skipped along to Mandalorian school?” His voice rose, the rough rasp turning to stone with every word.

You observed him with a steely gaze, something in you needing to push him away, to protect yourself before he got too close. So, you aimed for what you knew would work, his Creed. Your eyebrows rose, looking him up and down as you leaned your weight on one leg, “You’re telling me you weren’t born with that thing already stuck on your head?” Spiteful sarcasm dripped from your voice and you pointed up at his helmet. 

The Mandalorian let out a snarl that no doubt usually sent normal people running. He stalked toward you with predatory grace, a hunter toward his prey.  “Don’t you dare.” Like he read in your eyes where you were going with this. 

Ugly triumph filtered though you as you stood your ground, not afraid of him, “It’s all the same with you Mandalorians, isn’t it. You have all your training, don your shiny armour and suddenly you’re better than anyone. That helmet goes on, you don’t have to face the consequences of what you’ve done. No one knows who you are, so you don’t need to take the blame.” These words were spiteful, beyond cruel and you hated yourself more and more for each one, but he was starting to get into the cracks, starting to see you. You couldn’t see him die. 

Mando was right in front of you now, towering above you with all his broad-shouldered posture, frustration roiling off of him in waves. “You think I don’t feel remorse for what I’ve done?” His voice was so low, barely leashed. 

You nearly purred, tasting the promise of a fight, even if it did twist a knife into your heart. “I’ve never seen it.” You tilted your head back to look up at him, letting every ounce of spoilt, cruel brattiness melt into your expression. 

A soft growl rumbled through the helmet, so muted you barely heard it in the noises of the market behind him. 

Yes. Yes.

And then he relaxed, his shoulders eased and his hands uncurled. 

What? No – Disappointment, maybe even shock registered on your expression. You’d been sure, so sure that aiming for his beloved Creed would get him to fight you. Why hadn’t it worked?

Mando shook his head, the sunlight bouncing off of the shiny metal, “No. I’m not doing this with you. You can’t push me away, no matter how hard you try. You don’t mean anything that you just said, I can see it in your eyes.” He pressed a button on his vambrace, and the ramp opened behind you. 

He saw you. 

That dark beast was starting to awaken, its ears pricking up. You needed to get out of here, away from him, away from this, now. You just shook your head, turning around and walking up the ramp, watching Duru as she ran ahead of you. 

Footsteps sounded from behind you as the Mandalorian followed you. He took Grogu from his little pouch, popping him on a cargo crate and Duru immediately jumped up next to him. “Don’t walk away from me. I’m trying to help you, but you keep shutting me out. Why did that woman say those things about you?” His gloved hand enveloped your wrist, his grip not tight or authoritative, but it began to break something in you. 

“Let me go, Mando. I mean it.” You let ice creep into your tone, trying to disguise the cracking inside you, the darkness that was beginning to stir and whisper. 

And the damn tin can saw it all. Your back was to him, but he still fucking knew, “Please… You know I would never judge you for it, for whatever you did to make her say that.”

Excuse me?

Anger flared through you now, igniting into a blaze and you snarled, “Whatever I did?!” You didn’t give him time to respond, not before you swung around, using his grip on your wrist for leverage. You had spent enough time around him now to become familiar with the plates of his armour, so you knew you aimed correctly when your fist connected with the side of his ribs between the front and back plates. 

He grunted, jolting a little but he still didn’t let go. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant-” His voice had softened and, in your rage and hurt, you mistook the pleading tone for a condescending one. 

Before he could finish, you punched him again, harder, “Don’t. Don’t try to start spewing excuses at me. I knew perfectly well what you meant. You thought that she had been hurt by me. That I killed her sister with my own hands. Probably slit her throat and bathed in her blood.”

“No, no, I didn’t. If you would just listen to me and stop shouting, please-“

Your foot connected with his shin, making him stumble backwards. You followed after him, “You didn’t even stop to think that maybe, for once, I didn’t actually do anything. But no. Like always, you looked at me and saw the worst. You assumed that I was a monster.” You chopped down at his inner elbow this time, causing him to let go of you in reflex. 

Mando tilted his head, his voice coming out sharper this time, “I assumed?” He laughed, the bastard laughed, “What else am I supposed to do, sweetheart? You’ve been on this ship for nearly a month now and I still don’t know anything about you. So yes, I was wrong for assuming, but can you blame me?”

Your eyes flashed and you were on him again, “So it’s my fault that you thought I was a monster? You’d met me for all of two seconds on Sorgan and started whispering in my ear like honey, that death followed me wherever I went. There was a bounty over my head and that’s all you saw.” 

Mando went still, his shoulders tightened, and his voice came out lower, “You’re still bringing that up? I told you that you weren’t my bounty anymore.”

Before you could answer him, that velvety voice inside your head started to whisper in your ear, “Oh no, oh my sweet darling. He sees you. The real you.  He knows you’re a monster.” 

You shook your head sharply, lifted your eyes back to the Mandalorian’s stupid face. Helmet. Visor. Whatever. “I’m not your bounty but you believed that woman. So say it.”

His confusion was palpable, “Say what?”

You took a step forward and your chest butted up against his, “Say it! Say that I’m a monster. A murderer. I kill everything I come near.” You laughed, coldly, the words coming out with your voice but in your head, they were being repeated in that cruel, silken whisper. “You regret it, don’t you? Throwing away my puck. You wish you’d kept it, then you could get rid of me, be free of what I’ve done, why I���m being hunted.” Those steel bands were still wrapped round you, crushing you, swallowing you whole again. 

Something broke in him, his composure as the anger rose again and he leaned down to you, “Stop.” The command was a growl and he lifted a finger, pointing at you, “You’re a fucking hypocrite.” 

Yes. Yes, fight back, fight me. Tell me what I know I am. 

You raised your eyebrows, smirking at his finger and then back up at him but your expression was bitter, “Am I? Why’s that, Mando?” You tilted your head and practically purred, “Tell me.” 

The tension in the room was tight, the air almost crackling around you with this outburst of emotion, the threads of your entwined lives pulling taut. 

The light bounced off of the plates on his shoulders, betraying his slightly ragged breathing, “You just screamed at me for assuming the worst about you, yet you did just that to me. How can I want to be free of you, when I don’t even know who you are.” He lifted his hands to your shoulders, to try and calm you down, to push you away maybe. 

The smirk began to slip from your face, “Does it matter who I am?”

His grip tightened, “Of course it does. Because you’re not a bad person. Let me help you, please. Just tell me something. Anything.” His voice turned pleading, and he lifted a hand from your shoulder, like he was going to cup your cheek. 

You’re not a bad person.

Fire blazed within you again, protective and destructive. This was too close. He was getting too close. You had to stop it, now. You had to get away. 

You reached up, grabbing his wrist and using the element of surprise to slam him against the wall behind him, pinning his wrist there and then your blade was at his neck, dull light glinting off of it, “Back off. You can’t help me. I’m not some broken doll to add to your ragtag collection.” Your own breathing was ragged, coming in sharp pants as the room started to spin. 

The Mandalorian flinched, like you’d hit a nerve and his free hand moved. Bingo. 

Yes, you thought, almost begged, Punch me. Fight me, please. 

But he didn’t. He just curled his fingers around your wrist and pushed you away, dislodging your knife and knocking you back a few steps. Like you were weak.

You couldn’t do this, he was starting to slip through the cracks that were forming in you. He was looking at you, seeing you. He always had, from the moment you were nothing but hunter and prey, he knew exactly how to get through your intricately woven net of silver-tongued quips and cocky arrogance. 

No. 

Your voice cracked, echoes of the dark beast’s laughter in your ears “No! Stop pushing me away, stop taking it. Fight me!!” You surged for him again, your hands curling into fists, slamming against the beskar plates again and again. 

You didn’t care that it hurt, that it made pain explode across your knuckles. 

You liked it, you liked the pain. Deserved that and so much more. 

And the Mandalorian… just stood there. He shook his head, just slightly, “No.” He stood there as you hammered your fists against his chest, even when you started to kick him. Just watched as your eyes became glassier, your punches harder but less accurate. 

Why wasn’t he fighting you? 

Your hazy mind began to overwork, searching for something, anything to provoke him, “Why? You don’t want to fight a girl? Too proud are you?” You slammed your knee into his, pulled at the armour plates, honed your pain and fury into him but he just absorbed it. “You’re as weak as I am, you’re running too. You’re the hypocrite, Mandalorian, not me.” Your words were stilted, made no sense as you spat out words as cruel as you could, just needing to provoke him. 

Nothing did. Nothing. There was no noise in the cargo hold but the sounds of the people outside, beeping, the dull thud of your fists, your spiteful words and your own ragged breathing. 

And the whispering in your head that had turned into a full-on symphony of bitter taunts and sniping truths. It rose with memories, flashes of your dead parents, the battered bodies of those that had tried to help you, people who had been caught in the cross-hairs of your life. Innocent people that had turned into nothing more than collateral damage. 

Blood had started to smear on the beskar, your knuckles splitting open with the repeated impact. You could hear Duru meowing, Grogu gurgling in worry but you didn’t care. 

The beast and its army rose, tasting the scent of blood and bringing you visions of the future, of the Mandalorian, dead on the ground. The blood from your fists turned into his own, painting the ground red. Duru, fur soaked in scarlet and Grogu, his tiny little body broken on the floor in a pool. 

And above them, you stood, soaked in the blood of these three. Relishing in the pain and torture that you had caused. You could taste their blood. 

The room began to spin further, the whispering detonated into a roar and it unleashed a heavy roiling cloud within you. It choked you, squeezed fists around your lungs, clouded your eyes and snuck into your head. It whispered to you, such cruel taunts, sucking out the deepest, most vile thoughts you had about yourself and spat them back out, combined with these visions of the future. It leeched the energy out of you and with a choked sob, your knees gave way. 

Duru let out a yowl of concern, springing off of the cargo box. 

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be confident, or strong. I can’t be brave and cocky, I can’t keep throwing myself into every fight, I can’t run anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t-

And then a pair arms caught you. 

Mando caught you. He didn’t haul you up against him. He didn’t try and pull you up. 

No, he sunk to the floor with you, supporting your weight in his own body, leaning against the wall and letting you collapse against him. 

You froze, your body stiffened as he did. This… people didn’t touch you like this. They didn’t put their arms around you unless they were trying to drag you somewhere. 

You hadn’t been hugged since you were a child, and yet here you were. The Mandalorian was holding you, but loosely. 

Waiting, for your consent. For you to be okay with this. 

And as his gloved hand brushed your back, such a tender warmth broke through you, caressed your pain and you couldn’t resist. You sunk into him, the last saps of energy leaving you as tears flooded your cheeks. The armour was hard, digging into you a little bit, but the feeling of just being held was more than enough. 

He wrapped his arms around you, coaxing you against his chest. His legs were either side of you, one stretched out on the floor and the other resting up to support your back. Distantly, you were aware of four clawed feet padding over your lap, Duru settling into the space between you and Mando’s arm. 

The armour disguised the frantic beating of his heart, your tears and shaking of your body held the trembling of his own hands, but he didn’t mention it. Didn’t mention the fact that this was the first time he had held someone like this that wasn’t the kid… since he was a child himself. He was just as starved of touch as you, even more so because he had no skin-to-skin contact either. He could feel your warmth through the fabric of his clothes that weren’t covered, could feel the weight of you leaning into him. 

He didn’t speak, just held you in the dimness of the cargo hold, keeping you together as you fell apart, kept the promise of death away, just as you had done for him. 

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[sophiashortcake]

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑'𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: more tsukishima content because i can’t kiss him at midnight, but i guess this will suffice 😞

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of alcohol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

𝟏𝟏:𝟑𝟎𝐩𝐦

“i can’t believe that you’re drunk.”

“i can’t believe you aren’t.”

you sighed as sugawara cackled to himself, the champagne he had been downing since the party was evident in his behavior. his head was rested on your lap as his flushed face gleamed at yours. you quipped an eyebrow at his grin, knowing all too well he had something mischievous running through his mind.

“who are you kissing at midnight?” he chirped. ah, so that was what he was thinking about.

“the dog, if i’m lucky,” you replied, flicking his forehead. he whined at the impact, and scrunched his face in disapproval. you giggled, spotting daichi’s dog curled up on asahi’s lap, not too far away.

daichi had thrown the new years eve party as a reunion of sorts, so you and the former volleyball club had piled into his new apartment to countdown to the new year. sugawara had been up to no good since the party had begun. but to be frank, he was always up to no good, but it seemed his mischief was directed at you particularly. he had been trying to coerce answers about your love life out all night, but you hadn’t budged. not yet, anyway.

“i know who you really wanna kiss,” he sang, his voice high and bubbly.

“oh, and who is that?” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“a certain tall blonde beanpole named tsu- mmph!”

“keep your voice down!” you hissed, clamping a hand over his mouth. sugawara was too loud for his own good. hopefully the boy in question hadn’t heard, but from the way he was chatting casually with yamaguchi in the kitchen, it seemed he hadn’t.

sugawara pulled his face away from your hand with a shiteating grin, “oh, so i was right?”

“fine,” you groaned, “how’d you know?”

“how couldn’t i? you’ve had googly eyes for him since you two were wittle tiny first years!” he giggled, smiling at the thought of you two all those years ago (really only three, you’d just started college together this year.)

“now you two are adults with unresolved feelings!” he dramatically sighed, throwing his arms in the air for effect. he narrowly avoided smacking you as you sighed.

you supposed your feelings for the middle blocker weren’t as hidden as you thought. since your first year, you’d been teased relentlessly from your friends about your crush for him. while your crush seemed obvious, tsukishima was oblivious to it. it was a miracle that he would even give you the time of day, much less have a crush on you but it was okay, being friends was more than enough.

“unresolved feelings, really?” you sighed, “it’s not that deep, i just never got over my tiny crush is all.”

“tiny?” he scoffed, “i’m pretty sure you’re in love with him.”

“shut up!” you hissed, smacking his head, still laid on your lap.

“i’m right, i’m right!” he sang as you pelted him with tiny smacks. “you love him!” it was funny to think he was now an elementary school teacher, responsible for children, when he was acting like a kid himself.

but he definitely was right, you might be in love with him.

𝟏𝟏:𝟒𝟎𝐩𝐦

sugawara had climbed off your lap to go find bother daichi. now abandoned, you found yourself digging through the kitchen for something to pair with the cheap champagne you all had been drinking throughout the night. your head was stuck inside a cabinet, rifling through the shelves. seriously, who plans a party without snacks?

“looking for something?”

“yeah, something to eat- ouch!”

you hit your head on the shelf as you tried to turn around to the voice behind you. you clutched your now throbbing head to meet tsukishima. you nearly groaned, just your luck.

“great job, dumbass,” he chimed, not bothering to hide the amused grin plastered on his face.

“yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, rubbing the corner of your head that you had hit.

tsukishima snickered, grabbing the nearby ice bucket and towel that had been thrown onto the counter, “sit up on the counter.”

“huh?”

“do i need to repeat myself?” he replied, rolling his eyes, “i don’t wanna bother reaching down, so go sit on the counter.”

realizing he had grabbed the ice for you, you jumped onto the counter to let tsukishima play nurse. you giggled to yourself as he wrapped the towel around some ice, he looked down at you with a questionative face.

“should i be worried you got a concussion too?”

“no, just didn’t think you’d care about my boo-boo,” you grinned. the alcohol in your system made you a little bolder, so why not tease?

“well, i can’t let you go around getting hurt like the other idiots around here,” he mumbled, holding the ice to your head, eyeing the ruckus hinata, tanaka, and nishinoya were causing in the living room. hinata had fallen on the floor after drunkenly trying to do a handstand on nishinoya’s shoulders. tanaka had tried to catch hinata, only to run directly into nishinoya and end up on the floor himself.

you blamed the alcohol for the way your cheeks burned, he was just being nice.

but you had to admit, you liked him being nice.

𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟎𝐩𝐦

“you think we should get back in there?” you asked, glancing at tsukishima.

“nah,” he replied, “i don’t think i could deal with all the noise.”

tsukishima had dragged you outside with him onto the balcony, claiming the cold air outside would help your head, but you knew he was using that as an excuse to escape the chaos inside. daichi’s apartment was on a high floor that overlooked one of the busier parts of miyagi. buildings were lit up with festivities, and you could see the bustle of the crowd celebrating the holiday below. despite the muffled sounds of the party inside, the cheers and bustle below you, and the distant sounds of fireworks being lit every so often, a comfortable quiet fell between you and tsukishima.

“do you have any new year's resolutions?” you questioned, attempting to make some small talk.

he hummed in thought, his eyes still trained on watching the people below on the streets. the soft light from inside made his skin glow, and the soft wind rustled through his hair. behind his glasses, his eyes were noticeably softer than they usually were, the harsh glare he wore had been replaced with much kinder eyes than you were used to. you knew tsukishima was attractive, but right now, he looked somewhere near beautiful. you shook off your thoughts when tsukishima replied.

“i guess it would be working on my feelings, being more honest with them.”

“you? honest with your feelings?” you teased, “never thought i would see the day.”

“oh yeah?” he scoffed, “and what’s your new year’s resolution, huh? bet you can’t accomplish it either.”

“it’s stupid.”

“probably not as stupid as you.”

“hey!”

tsukishima laughed, and it was noticeably different from his typical laugh. usually it would be quick and condescending, and maybe it was the alcohol, but it seemed lighter and more happy, almost as if he momentarily let down the guard.

“well, what is it?” he questioned.

“i guess, being honest with my feelings too,” you answered, “but more so towards someone.”

tsukishima’s grin faltered, causing your heartbeat to stop. shit, you accidentally admitted that to him. that damn champagne!

“as in you like somebody?”

you had backed yourself into a corner, hadn’t you? his eyes stared at yours for an answer, and under his heavy gaze you could only bring yourself to nod. what was he being so questionative for?

“you know, i think we could help each other accomplish our new year’s resolutions.”

from inside, and from the people on the streets below you, you could hear the countdown begin.

“10, 9, 8, 7!”

you could only manage to stutter out a meek, “w-what?”

“6, 5, 4!

“do i have to spell it out for you?”

“3, 2, 1! happy new years!”

tsukishima brought his lips to yours.

𝟏𝟐:𝟎𝟎𝐚𝐦

after a few breathless seconds, you both pulled apart. tsukishima’s eyes were still focused on yours, and normally you would have felt smaller underneath his gaze, but with his eyes on you, you felt like you were on cloud nine. you could still taste the mint chapstick he wore on your lips and the aftertaste of the cheap champagne you all had been downing all night.

“i heard you and sugawara earlier, do you like me?”

no use hiding it, was there?

“considering i just kissed you, i think i do.”

tsukishima’s mouth opened to retort back, but the way you were smiling was enough to shut him up. you giggled as you enveloped him in a hug.

“happy new year, tsukki.”

🏷 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @tetsurolls @zumisace @savvamuraz @tsukisemi @dai-tsukki-desu @wisteriarain @shittykawaa @owlnymph @kiraakaashi

[furblrwurblr]

Kaeya x reader, nonsexual body worship

Warnings: nudity, kissing of feet (not at all fetishized), heavily implied sex, explicit mention of intimate body parts, if you tag this as foot fetish I'm blocking your ass /srs

Reblogs are appreciated!

Blue hair, blue eye, blue vest. A blue gem glinted in the moonlight, leaving flecks of starlight across his cheek. Candlelight flickered across his features, bringing the soft indent of his dimple in and out of view. He was smiling softly, eyes calm and loving.

His calmness was a pleasant surprise, given his normal reaction to you stripping before him. You hadn't done anything special, only going a bit slower than usual to gauge his new and unexpected reactions. Even as your undergarments hit the floor, his lovesick eyes never shifted. When all clothing was shed, you took a moment to truly look at him. 

He had pulled a wooden chair to the foot of the bed, posture relaxed. A blue vest, cape, and pelt were draped nicely over the chair's back, leaving his low-cut button-up, tight black pants, and field boots. Your lip quirked upwards at his shirt being cuffed; it was nothing out of the ordinary but ever since you expressed your appreciation of his exposed forearms it felt more special seeing his sleeves rolled up.

"So," you breathed, bouncing on the balls of your feet. "This isn't our usual routine."

He laughed, lips settling into a lazy grin. "Hmm, check me out all you like but we're doing something a bit different today, lovely."

The nickname made your heart swell and he could see it on your face. 

"Get on the bed, darling. Nothing fancy, just get comfortable over the sheets."

The mood shifted into something more intimate than carnal. Your heart wasn't pounding as it normally was when he uttered that first command, but it was clenching and soaring all at once.

You settled atop the sheets face-up, elbows supporting you in order to look at him. He rose from his seat and leaned over you. With a stern hand, he pushed you down, laying you flat against the bed.

"Now don't you move, love. Let me do the moving for you," he said before settling back into his chair.

Your brow raised at his even tone, but you were slowly getting accustomed to the reverent mood he was setting. A contented sigh parted your lips and your eyes drifted shut.

He hummed in satisfaction. A smile made it's way onto your face as you heard him open what sounded like a large jar. His hand suddenly and gently grasped your left ankle, causing you to tense a bit before relaxing once more. He lifted your leg a bit, cradling your Achilles' tendon.

"You've been working so hard, my love. Helping so many people," he began before bringing his other hand to your heel. "Even the knights have heard praises of your work for the Adventurer's Guild." 

His free hand slathered something, presumably the contents of the jar, onto your heel and up the bottom of your foot and began working it into your skin. "I've missed you. And while I may be a bit upset my favorite adventurer doesn't seem to have time for me between commissions, the kindness you've done for Mond cannot go unrewarded." 

Once he finished working the oil into your skin, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the bottom of your foot, where you knew there was a decent-sized freckle. It tickled, and even though your eyes were still closed you could feel how he smiled at your abrupt giggle. He set your leg down gently, then repeated his actions on your right foot, this time pressing his lips to the dark mark on your heel. The bed shifted under his sudden weight, feeling one hand dip the bed next to your leg and the other move to the back of your left knee. Bringing his lips to your calf, he laid his lips on your shin.

"I'd forgotten about that one," you half-mumbled, drunk on the overwhelming feeling of his love.

You felt his smile just before he pulled up just enough that his warm breath still rolled over your leg. Wordlessly, he moved to kiss your thigh, hardly pausing to brush his lips against the freckle on your left knee. The hand under your knee glided upwards, coaxing your leg to shift and grant him access to you. His thumb caressed the inside of your thigh in slow, deliberate strokes, all meant to tease the sensitive skin. He crooned at the goosebumps his actions produced.

You felt his hot breath quicken ever so slightly as he neared your sex, grazing his open lips over the dark mark that rested just where your sensitivity began. A gasp escaped your lips, jaw slack in anticipation. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, your chest heated, body responding to Kaeya's presence— until he lazily pulled away, whispering a laugh. Your eyes slowly opened and you looked down at him.

"Tch, lovely! So impatient," he huffed, a large grin on his face. As he dipped his head once more, you expected his lips on you again, but they didn't come. Instead, he pressed his nose to the soft tissue between your thigh and hip, heaving a sigh. For a moment, you believed his heavy breath as contentment, until he spoke once more.

You strained to hear it. "Please," he whispered. "Let me have you." Heart throbbing, your right hand carded through his hair, eliciting another, lighter sigh. Once he gathered himself, it was as if nothing had happened. He raised his head once more after placing your hand back onto the bed, keeping his fingers loosely wrapped around your wrist. He looked up at you with clear intent to continue, but you could see the longing in his smile. You let him resume his doting wordlessly, closing your eyes again at the firm kiss he pressed to the freckle outside your hip.

He shifted to straddle your hips, just low enough that any stimulation wouldn't come from him. Carefully, his grip on your wrist tightened and brought your wrist to his mouth. He kissed the freckles up your arm, leaning over you as his affection went up your body. Wrist, elbow, bicep, shoulder. His breath teased your neck before his head dipped to your chest to lay a kiss on the freckle that rested on your chest. Lips open, he left a gentle trail of wetness before breathing an open-mouthed kiss beside your nipple. He smiled at the way you arched into him, enjoying the momentary tango of push-and-pull, never pulling away but never giving you the kind of solid contact you craved. 

All at once, his presence over you left. Opening your eyes, he was still seated above you, this time reaching for your left hand. You met him halfway, curling your fingers between his. His expression softened (an impressive feat considering how star struck he looked already) as he ran his thumb over your pointer finger before pressing a kiss to the freckle that rested there. Another smile, but this time he looked into your eyes. 

His deep blue gaze pulled you in like the depths of the sea, broken by crystal highlights of moonlight filtering through his earring. Flecks of dust floated through the air only served to make him look more ethereal, as if the world itself had become a churning mass of blue and he was your refuge. He continued down your arm, and chuckled at the mirroring of your marks. Wrist. Elbow. Bicep. Shoulder. Nestling his nose into your neck, he paused. You were happy, comfortable underneath him and content to receive his affection— he quickly attacked the four freckles on your neck, sharing light laughter between you both. 

You felt his wide smile relax against your skin before he trailed his nose up your jaw to breathe hot air onto your ear and nip the freckle there with his sharp incisors, causing you to shudder in pleasure. His presence was heavy now, his head casting a shadow over your closed eyelids. He softly pecked the last freckle, on your forehead, before you felt him settle above you.

"...Hey."

You cracked an eye open to meet his. "Hey," you giggled.

He let out an airy laugh before wrapping his arms around you and breathing you in. Head in your neck, he spoke. "I love you," he whispered, voice veiling the same broken tone he'd had earlier. Again, your hands were in his hair, and you held him close. He'd been so kind to you and you thought to return the favor. You allowed him a short respite before flipping him beneath you, and for a moment he looked surprised before his suave walls reared their heads.

"I'm going to repay your kindness, my dear captain."

"Are you now? Am I to expect repayment in full?"

"No," you said in mock-thought. "With interest."

A hand trailing down his low-buttoned shirt slowly began to unbutton it. Just before the mood shifted, a loving smile spread across your face at his hearty laugh.

You'd gotten up for a drink of water after all was said and done. Facing him, you laid down. 

"No," he mumbled, half into the pillow, "turn around." 

A strange look was the only protest given. His playful embrace took you by surprise.

"I can't believe I missed two!" He kissed the last two dark marks on your right shoulderblade. You two stayed like that the entire night, feeling you'd properly made up for lost time.

[kim-monsterlings]

Kiana - F Werebear x F Human (Reader) // SFW Monster Match

Monster match for @hannabisssssssss​​ with request here <3 thank you so much for the ko-fi!

Matches will be under the read more!

Content: SFW/Citrus; reader caught in a rope trap, saviour trope, light flirting and fluff, fear (of another bear), fluff and faint allusions to intimacy, close touches, cuddling, kissing

Masterlist // Monster Match Info + Masterlist // My Ko-Fi

Headcanon

Perhaps venturing farther into the woods than you had before wasn't so smart, not with dusk clouding through the amber canopy.

Though, that had been your reason for coming, for creeping deeper from the tree line on the day the leaves finally began falling to blanket the roots almost tripping you.

The thin veins of leaves made for beautiful canvases, nature's palette ready to be decorated.

With the forest floor concealed, so had been the thick netting triggered by your misplaced footing.

Dangling from a splintered branch and dizzying with each spin made you seize tight. Every muscle locked in an effort to halt the swinging, with your fingers curling tight to the rough rope in the hopes it wouldn't burn so badly as it dragged down your bare arms and cheeks.

With every struggle, the thin rope suspending you twisted, until you forced yourself to still.

You could free yourself with exertion, but to free yourself at such a height would no doubt fracture something, at the very least, and your phone had fallen as the rope snatched you from the ground.

Not to mention the creatures living in these woods, those that wouldn't hesitate to let you drop only to trap you once again. Those like fae, waking now at the sun setting lower, so the quiet clearing of a throat behind you - beneath you, had you rushing for a plan, some way of escape.

"Thank you," they said, a warmth to their gruff voice. "I believe that trap was intended for me."

The netting swung wide and your stomach knotted.

You were held only by the rope twining through her hands - paws, rather, as it rose along her furred forearms.

One wrong move, and the rope would catch on her claw.

"I've got you," she breathed, before lowering you an inch - if that - when you gripped the rope tighter. "I've got you, I promise."

As captivating as she was - with strong arms tensed, muscle leaning back on heavy thighs, you favoured closing your eyes than seeing the hard ground near. Any second now you could fall, slip from her hold, and-

Land softly.

Paws helped shuck the rope tangling around you, pressing gently to your waist in lifting you to an unsteady standing.

You drew in a breath as deep as you could, relishing that freedom now without a dragging burn, though it was warmed by the sweeter scent of the were-creature leaning closer, standing almost a foot taller on her hind legs.

The back of a paw stroked to your cheek. "Are you lost?"

You couldn't help but swallow hard, the adrenaline waning. "As opposed to wanting to be trapped?"

Her claw pressed to your cheek. "I'm sorry you wound up in it. I found these," she said, and brought forward your bag - albeit squashed, and your phone. "Think you can make it home okay?"

You could, easily, but asked her to accompany you back. With polite introductions passed, Kiana left you at the tree line, her soft ears twitching when you whispered goodbye.

Armed with a serrated kitchen knife the next day should any rope traps ensnare you once more, you found Kiana where the trap had been laid.

Not the Kiana you had seen yesterday.

Winding the rope to her arms and bundling it tight, the sunlight on hair the same honey as her fur stole your breath. She turned at that, freckles warm on her dark cheeks.

And you watched her near, following up from her thick boots and round hips to her full chest, meeting bright eyes when she came to stand before you.

"I think I'm lost," you said. "Walk me?"

Kiana drifted with you deeper into the forest, until it blossomed into a company of reciprocated questions.

You asked to see her again when her fingers had brushed through yours when leading you home; hopefully not in need of saving again.

Though if it brought you to her, you wouldn't mind.

Drabble

Evenings prior to curling against a blanket of fur had never been better spent. Kiana's tawny pelt warmed you against the whistles of wind only steps beyond the cave - one she often lured you to with the promise of a sweet evening together, more so with the knowing of it passing tucked beneath her chin - or muzzle, as she was now. 

Though you much preferred the nights resting along your sofa with Kiana still wrapped around you - always the big spoon, her palm gentle on your soft stomach, breathing deep now and having only her rich scent embracing you filled you with the same comfort. 

One, slow stroke of her paw from your back down to your thigh roused you from that peace. She always parted from you the same; her nose cold snuggling against your chest, somehow leaning closer yet retreating all at once. 

"You stay here," she said, a rush of heat from her hot breath turned against your cheek, cold now without her scruff. "Stay here looking pretty, okay?" 

The trouble with you came in being human and needing warmth a little hotter than only Kiana. Without firewood, the temperature of this cave fell - no matter how thick the blankets tucked close were. 

With your fingertips slipping from her smooth paw, you hummed. "Where else would I go?" 

It was so easy to slip into a state not yet sleep - and you wouldn't let yourself rest without Kiana by your side, not out here, but you weren't yet fully awake. The light tapping of claws to stone lifted a smile to your lips and you were stretching out, anticipating the nuzzling growl soon to come, though none came. 

No flaring of sparks burned beyond your scrunched eyes, but the dim fire reflected off of a darker pelt shadowing the entrance of the cave. 

Not Kiana. 

What little experience you had in calming a bear stemmed from spats with your girlfriend, easily solved by a quiet period apart or a light scratch to her fuzzy ear, and her whispered apology returned when needed. 

You couldn't defend yourself against a wild bear. 

A male, no less. 

No back entrance to the cave would lead you away, and each creeping step of his large body brought him nearer to you, scrambling back now against the hard wall. You distanced yourself as well you could from the hamper. 

Was it better to remain in the focus of Kiana's faded scent, or try and run? 

The low huff hadn't emanated from him, still scratching at the cave wall, and as of yet he hadn’t noticed you, clutching at the dinner knife stolen from the hamper. The deepening growls rang in the cave until the intruding bear raised himself as much as the stone ceiling allowed, a returning growl greeting your girlfriend. 

Times like these, as desperate as you were to be anywhere but here, you were reminded of why you loved her: not only for her strength and nature to protect her home, but for how precious you were to her.

And it was entirely reciprocated.

Only one, heavy swing of his paw struck her chest, though Kiana was far lighter on her paws in forcing him away. He rose in a last effort to his full stance before retreating with a final grunt. Trembling warmth snatched you close once the intruder faded into the distant woods, the firewood thrown aside.

With the rush still coursing through you, the words tumbled free. "What took you so long?" 

You cradled her face to yours in softening against her with a kiss. Kiana eased into you, only wincing when you stroked over the red flush of shallow claw marks on her bare chest.

"We'll stay at mine tomorrow," you mumbled, leaning down to brush your lips to the dip of her bare chest. "And I will be looking after you."

Her grin nuzzled to your crown. "Can't wait."

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Rakshasa Girlfriend: Zarita 2

Part 1

Support me on Ko-fi!~    -   Patreon

Female monster x female reader (OC)

The Lioness of Maetrine Part 2

“My little Queen,” Zarita’s voice was deadly soothing, brushing your hair out of your face with a free paw. “Oh, how much I have missed you.”

“Zarita.” Your voice was steadily cool, ignoring how your heart jumped a step ahead of you when you felt the blade press into your throat. “Would I need to question how you escaped?”

“Your guards are slow and old, I’m afraid. Whilst they were distracted by the onslaught of my group, they were too busy up top, not below in the cells, watching,” she gave a low chuckle, melodically raspy. “It was easy to slip past.”

“Yet despite these odds, you have not killed me yet,” you murmured. “Or have I mistaken this all?”

“My friends have raised their defences, the siege on your little capital has already begun.” She pulled you taut to her chest. “They have only asked of one thing.”

You snorted, “For my head?”

“No, though they may find that suitable to end this skirmish,” she chuckled. “They ask for you and only you, my little Queen, alive and unharmed.” There was a feeling of pulling you close to her chest, your back pressed up, keeping you from lashing if the threats got worse. “I will not let them get to you.”

You squirmed in her grip, wary of how the sword pressed into your throat further, “I beg to differ.”

“You think I am not an honest one? I am hurt, Your Grace,” Zarita purred low against your ear. “My countrymen aren’t so loyal, you see. They can change their minds like the flip of a coin. So vile and dishonest. They will tell you they keep your safety whilst backstabbing you in a bed you think will protect you.”

The blade at my throat tells me otherwise. “You’re telling me you are attempting to drive me away from your people just so you can save me? In a highly fortified castle, my guards are out defending for these walls to remain high, but you think you can whisk me away without a soul noticing?”

“I am more than quick, little Queen. I can always knock you out, easy to travel,” you whimpered at the suggestion before she added. “With the right remedy, of course.”

“What will you do with me?” You questioned. “Since you wish to keep me away from both our people?”

There was a pause, the heavy toll of the bells that rung mournfully for your capital, the sound of cannons and swords clashing, the fear that your countrymen were dying trying to protect you, not knowing you were easy to reach. “I can be of some help, perhaps if you will allow me,” Zarita compromised. “Perhaps even a personal knight.”

The laugh that came from your parted lips was unexpected and startled both of you, promptly continuing with what you had thought, regardless of what your situation was. “That is like having the jewel thief be head of protecting the crown jewels. Do you think your proposition will be allowed for your attempt of assassinating me? Or so… how will your proposal go for the people of my council?”

“Rats,” Zarita hissed smoothly. “Men are rats and born to fester, to plague your lands. Like your old father, he was blind to be guided by fools and he will lead his own daughter to be driven to chaos by foolish men too.”

Your father had registered the best of men from around Ereon to help lead you to the best of wisdom. All ranging with many skills, the only issue you found was that they had been around your father’s age or even older, putting ahead what were old beliefs and acts that would please the people and lands regardless if you thought otherwise. New things needed to cut the old out, you always thought… but something like this seemed preposterous.

You smiled automatically, choosing the right words as the grip of the blade loosened further, “What are you trying to say, Zarita?”

The Rakshasa purred right into your ear, sending the shudders of what you couldn’t help but feel were of delight when she replied, “Who wants to listen to an old fool of a man when you can listen to another woman?”

She wasn’t wrong with this, but why did you so badly want to agree? A clawed hand came to wipe back a fallen strand of your hair, gentle and soothing. “You have a good way with words, Zarita,” you began. “But what else can you provide?”

“Someone who knows these lands best, from those who speak wrong of you and allying spies for your power,” she whispered lowly. “Or I can be a shoulder for you to cry on, a friend… someone to keep your bed warm when you’re lonely and cold.”

Your cheeks flushed, but she continued. “I can be a great help for many things, My Queen, so long as you have me.”

“If I say yes, what would you do with me as soon as you release me?”

“Perhaps we can celebrate,” her laughter rumbled through your chest. “Wine and cheese, or even chat whilst the men continue their fighting.”

“We can dine when this siege is over,” you corrected. “For now, I know of a place you can lead me to, one far from the eyes of both our men.”

Zarita purred excitedly, kneading her head against the back of your neck, “I’m listening.”

-

The twists and turns of the endless dark hallways were how you remembered them to be: when you had been ten and wandered through below whilst trying not to be caught by guards on their nightly duties. It was an easy escape when you had one built into the foundations of your room some couple of centuries ago.

The matted fur of Zarita caught little of her shadow or movements as she moved in front of you, leading the way with the small torch provided, indeed, it was certain she moved along the shadows with her dark attire and pelt blending seamlessly.

“You say this will lead us to the sanctum?” Her voice echoed through the narrow walls, the soft timbre to lure you out of your running thoughts. “The sanctum has been the safest part of the Keep, holding the fortifications and secret tunnels to lead to the shores.” You announced coolly, wracking your nerves against your tense fists. “I’ve seen it myself.”

The Rakshasa chuffed, “You know of war?”

“I’ve known of sieges, but not ones that lasted so long into the night,” you replied. “With sieges like these, it took days before I could finally rest, not from hearing the bells ringing for our doom. But my aunt’s army has been quick to come, thanks to the forces surrounding the Stormholme Keep.”

“Ah, the Moors,” Zarita hummed. “They are just as preoccupied in banishing my kind away. A couple of thousand years ago, when the first iron giants fell after helping to build the keep, the distant relative, an iron lord, decided in his best interest to control the population of Rakshasas.”

You felt a build of uncomfortableness build in your stomach, unsettling your nerves further, “Lady Ryllae never taught me of this history.”

“No-one really does, it’s kept secret,” Zarita hissed through her pointed teeth. “They like to keep the history of some out from humans so it looks like your race are the only ones suffering.”

The end of the hallway grew lighter and lighter with little light being cast through the crack of the wall. You moved in front of her, pushing past the bookshelf as silence fell between the two of you. “Zarita… I never knew-”

“That is fine, little Queen,” she responded dejectedly, but the whiteness of her teeth shone through. “You were not even needed to be told. Your old father made sure to keep it out of your history lessons, and to make sure no child born would know.”

It boiled your blood all the same from hearing of these tails of the past. The tenderness of your hand came to rest on her shoulder, feeling through the iron of her doublet made you question how she retrieved it. “I apologise on behalf of my ancestors who came before me. No more, when this is over, people will know of what happened, of the blood that was spilt and how no soul has been at peace since.”

“You needn’t be so kind, little Queen.” Zarita made the move to come in closer to you, the rumbling in her throat brought further shivers through you. So up close you could see that her eyes were not only a lovely chestnut hue but were flecked with gold.

The secret door was opened with a loud groan as the two of you stepped through into the large room. Glass candles surrounded the room with its high frames and columns that reached the sky, fake windows that always seemed to be open constantly were framed with hues of blues and greens, giving the ceiling a beautiful contrast to what would’ve been happening outside.

In the middle of the large room, sat the statue of the Matron Mother statue, a hooded figure knelt praying silently, almost in a state of oblivion when they turned to face the two of you. Quick as a fox, the figure had stood, slashing open the bronze of their sword as a threat to not you, the person behind, but you caught a glance of the silver in their hair.

You stepped forth cautiously, “Aunt Ryllae?”

“You’re not harmed?” The Lady of the Moors was quick to run to you, enveloping you in her arms and kissing your brow. “Gods be merciful, Hell surrounds us, sweet Caecia.”

“Will we ever see the end of this turmoil? I will not allow the Maetrine Keep to fall.” You admitted with dignity still strong in your heart. “Yes, my little cub. It will, however,” Lady Ryllae turned her gaze to the Rakshasa standing close to your side. “We must discuss… these matters. Your assassin is free.” 

“She is,” you sighed. “But, although questioning how she escaped can be a matter of discussion with my guards, my concern lies with how we will flee in this predicament.” The Rakshasa had a deadly gaze sent on your aunt, glaring with her ears bent back and flat against her head, eyes narrowed into slits. “I have been told of my utmost safety from her.”

“Oh, I can see for certain,” Lady Ryllae didn’t budge. “You would make her a knight then? Personal to you?” You exhaled deeply, turning to glance at her from your side. From her, Zarita was calm and steady as a river, growing low and soft in the back of her throat, her side brushing against yours. You felt protected already somehow. “Indeed. That was the deal we signed. My safety for her loyalty to be sworn as my knight.”

“Very well,” your aunt seemed wary as she pointed her gaze to Zarita. “Though know this, turncoat, if you dare lay a hand on your Queen and I hear word, I will hunt you to the ends of Ereon.

“Of course, Lady of the Moors.” Zarita coolly responded.

The Protector of the Stormholme Keep turned her gaze back to you, the tired smile replacing her features, worn from battle and skirmishes. My Queen, perhaps our place, for now, is here. You should rest, you must be worn.”

“As for you, Aunt Ryllae. Try and rest up as much as you can… All of us.”

The silver-haired lady nodded and bowed, not looking back on Zarita and she took her place back in front of the statue, continuing to pray as if she had been disturbed. “She prays a lot, doesn’t she?” Zarita noted not so softly in your ear.

“She prays because she worries about our fate.” You replied, going over to sit by the bookshelves, sitting down with Zarita not far to copy you. “Do you not pray?”

“I stopped a long time ago,” she was absent in space, drawling. “I suppose I lost many things that I forgot how to pray.”

“That is fair,” you slowly began gracelessly, turning to try and get comfortable, Zarita taking notice. “You are not comfortable, are you, Little Queen?” It took a small laugh to bubble over from your dried lips, glancing back to her. “You took notice?”

The Rakshasa put down her weapon to the side of her, opening her arms with a smoothness to her words, “Come here, I can warm you.” You didn’t object even when remembering too late that she had been rotting in an iron cell for who knew how long, crawling into her arms, resting your head into the crook of her shoulder and neck, surprised by how warm she had been with little on. Her fur was matted and short, but was fuzzy and soft against the flesh of your cheek, making your squirm momentarily. Zarita chuckled, not daring to move as she cradled you like a babe, a soft purr coming from her chest that reverberated through her into you. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.” You mumbled against her, trying to keep your eyes shut, ignoring how your heart stammered in your chest, hoping you couldn’t hear. Hers was steady and strong, pulling you to listen to it and only it, whilst the sounds of war continued outside.

When she believed you were sleeping from the lack of movement, Zarita glanced back to see whether any eyes were on her, before kneading her head into yours, nuzzling the side of your head and happy to feel you nuzzle back.

“Sleep well, my little Queen.”

[darthmarrsgf]

monday night tumblr fic

or: big game hunting for fun and friendship

i love qyzen. i was so jazzed to do his alliance recruitment mission with my consular because we're buds, and this resulted. (more theron/consular. i'm being boring but this is what i have the most written/unpublished for, and also, this is Very Scary to me, so i'm easing into posting, lol.) unbeta'ed as always; probably repeated words without realizing which is one of my biggest personal demons.

~~~

“Caf?”

Sohlara responded with a single raised eyebrow.

“Fine. There’s a little whiskey in there, too.” Theron rolled his eyes as the Jedi huffed out a laugh and turned back to scan the landscape with a pair of downright antique-looking macrobinoculars. “It’s really not as bad as you think.”

She hummed noncommittally. "Should I be worried about you drinking and shooting?”

“Nah. This is just enough to pretend you’re staying warm. Besides, I’ve shot my way out of a fight with a lot more alcohol in me.”

“I can't decide if that’s reassuring or not. Here,” Sohlara said, passing the binocs to Theron. “Due north.”

Theron tucked away the flask as he squinted into the viewfinder. “Big. Think Scorekeeper will approve?”

“We’re about to find out,” she replied, offering Theron a hand after smoothly moving to stand. “We’ll go on foot. If there are more around, I don’t want to draw their attention yet.”

Theron had to pick up his pace to catch up to the woman, who had already outpaced him with seemingly silent strides through the snow. Actually, he reasoned, they probably were silent.

“You probably could have talked him into coming without offering to hunt,” he observed as he reached her side.

She shrugged. “I know I could have. But he’s a respected warrior. It’s only fair that I prove I can regain my score, the same way he did. And hopefully, it will show his men that we're worth helping.”

“So when he calls you Herald—"

“Scorekeeper’s Herald. Qyzen was an old friend of my master’s. I assume you’ve heard that story?”

Theron nodded. Between his close affiliation with several members of the Order, his history in the SIS, and details Sohlara had mentioned herself over the years, Theron was familiar with the unexpected trials that had led to her designation as Barsen’thor.

“He was on Tython when Yuon first fell ill. He helped me without question, but he was captured.”

“Which is bad.” He remembered that much.

“It’s a forfeiture—worse than death. When I freed him, I convinced him that he should try to regain his score by helping me hunt Lord Vivicar.” Sohlara stepped deftly between boulders and snow drifts, moving quickly enough to avoid the beast’s gaze. “He determined that Scorekeeper chose me as her Herald to guide him through a second chance.”

“Well… he wasn’t wrong.”

“I won’t take for granted the trust he gave me, even as a Padawan. A soft thing.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “He has honor. It’s not exactly honor in the same way you or I might see it, but I do my best to respect it.”

“Herald, Barsen’thor, Commander... You’ve racked up quite a reputation.”

“You know what the Esh-ka called me?” She paused, peering around an enormous spire of ice with her binocs.

“I truly have no idea.”

Sohlara leaned toward Theron, expression deadly serious. “Silent Teeth,” she whispered, snapping her jaw shut centimeters from Theron’s face.

“Blast—" Theron flinched, rubbing his ear as Sohlara laughed quietly and turned back to face the tundra.

“They let me pick that one, though. Oh, and there was a group of Gree ambassador droids on Coruscant—I never thought being called a ‘black bisector’ could be such a compliment."

“A black—never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Theron mimicked Sohlara’s slow crouch as they edged their way from behind the boulder. The animal was just yards away, back turned to the pair as it crunched on the bones of some unfortunate, smaller creature with a cracking sound that ricocheted through the icy canyon.

Faster than Theron could blink, she rushed forward on feet bolstered by the momentum of the Force. He sighed—he hated when she did that, because it always took him an extra second to catch up. But he couldn’t help but admire her like this. As much as they both groused about the planet’s climate, Sohlara had seemed particularly at ease since they arrived on Hoth. Between reuniting with her old friend and spending time away from the constant pressures of the Alliance base, the Commander was clearly… lighter.

As he fired off impeccably aimed rounds at the beast, Theron reflected with a twinge of guilt. He should have been paying closer attention to the clear stress Sohlara was exhibiting. She was always getting onto Theron for working too late into the night, but when was the last time she’d been able to snatch more than a few uninterrupted hours to herself?

Theron closely monitored the fight, but Sohlara took the beast down with ease and a particularly theatrical flourish of her saber.

“When was the last time you went on vacation?” Theron asked, slipping his blasters back into their holsters as the Commander wrenched a square of the animal’s pelt from its body with brutal efficiency.

Sohlara blinked up at him, sending a sudden pang of longing through Theron's chest like lightning. He willed himself to commit as much of the moment to memory as he could—the bright pink of her cheeks, brought to the surface by the combination of exertion and Hoth's frigid wind; the strands of chestnut hair flattened against her forehead with sweat; the tingle of awareness at the base of his neck as the protective Force barrier she'd cast around them retreated into her body. Even now, seeing her so vibrant and full of life felt like a miracle after all the time he'd spent trying to forget the way her eyes sparkled when they met his own.

“A vacation? Besides the five years I spent as Arcann’s wall decor, I— No. Sometimes we would stay an extra night to rest if we passed through a big city, but I suppose I've never been on a real vacation.”

Theron stepped forward, letting his fingertips brush her shoulders as he leaned in close to her lips. “Let’s take one. When we get back. Even if it’s just a couple of days.”

Sohlara’s eyes drifted shut, just for a moment, and she swayed into Theron’s space. “What exactly about hunting predator animals for sport on a desolate ice planet inspired this?”

“Nothing to do with the ice ball,” Theron declared, moving out of the way so she could shove the trophy into the sack the hunters had provided. “Although seeing you fight is always sexy. I’m serious, Sohl. Lana is more than capable of handling things for a few days, and we should go while—"

Theron swallowed. He hadn’t meant to say that part out loud, but it was too late now. “While we still have the time.”

Her expression was soft as she turned to face Theron. “Okay,” she murmured, brushing a feather-light kiss over his lips before stepping toward the main trail.

“O— Wait. Okay?” Theron blinked in surprise.

“Okay. Where are you going to take me on vacation, Agent Shan?”

Theron grinned, jogging to close the distance between them. “Somewhere warm. Somewhere private.” He reached forward to brush his hand against her ass, smirking as she nearly stumbled. “Watch it.”

“Watch—" Sohlara jammed her shoulder into his. “You can apologize on our vacation.”