#that on top of a real fever as well

[darlin-djarin]

yk when babies have that small grumbling purr when they breathe, almost like a snore. consider grogu lying on din’s chest. they’re in their little cot, din’s taken off most his armor, grogu’s head right underneath his chin. din has a hand on grogu’s back, feeling the way his little body rises and falls with every breath. grogu’s sleeping, snuggled into din’s chest, because din couldn’t sleep earlier and grogu wanted to help. baby starts doing that little grumbling purr, the breathing through his nose and chest that makes just the smallest noise and just the tiniest rumble against din’s chest and soothes and calms him. it slowly lulls him to sleep, the vibration from grogu’s chest, the small rumbling noise coming from his nose. helps din relax, even on worse nights where he feels restless. the quiet noise fills in the silence where it used to be all the time.

din hates waking grogu up, and he’d rather have his whole body go numb than try to move grogu off of him. worth it though, just to see baby so relaxed, to feel and hear baby breathe against his chest. it feels right, to din at least. he’s unsure about a lot of things, but this feels right.

[cynoswifey]

Cockwarming Genshin men

Characters: Althaitham, Kaveh,Cyno,Tighnari, Scaramouche and Kaeya

Warnings: NSFW topics involved

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Althaitham-

Althaitham is very busy as the acting grand sage most of the time leaving you to your own devices. But here he is looking real pretty reading a book on the couch . So what else can you do but palm him through his pants earning a glance from then finally unbuckle his pants and sit comfortably on his dick. Moments like these are Alhaithams favorite he gets to read a book while being in your gummy walls that provide him with such warmth that he doesn't want you to move. Oh but after hes done with his book you better believe hes giving you the fucking of a life time

Kaveh-

Kaveh has had his mind so occupied with designing something that's he has worried his pretty wife. There he is drawing up ideas while looking stressed. Why not be a good wife and give him a blowjob hm? He try's to focus on the drawing but the way his dick is hitting the back if your mouth is driving him crazy earning yourself a mouth full of cum and a fully erect dick. Go ahead and sit yourself on him. He won't last long like this soon his focus is completely on you.

Cyno-

During a late TCG game with Althaitham, Kaveh, and Tighnari at the usual bar. Cyno uses the excuse that there is no chairs to have you sit on his lap to which he moves your panties to the side and slips his dick into you. He claims it helps him focus on the game your glad the skirt your wearing is covering where you both are connected. Then Tighnari points out how your cheeks are red and ask if your okay while putting a hand on your forehead which like all your body jd warm. He assumes you have a fever and suddenly the night of TCG is finished... thank goodness right?? Nah Cyno is going to have is way with you when you both get home

Tighnari-

Tighnari had just shot his load into you it still wasnt enought though. Even if his mind is hazed with lust from his heat he knew you were tired. So he gave you the option to take a nap on his shoulder. And so you did with his pretty dick still inside you. It takes every fiber in his being to not thrust up into you. He is able to only last an hour before he grips your hips and begins to thrust into you. Waking you up from your nap.

Scaramouche-

You sat on Scara's lap. Actually he was the one who sat you there. He dragged you early to a harbinger meeting sat down unzipped his zipper, moved your panties to the side and sat you on his dick. The meeting started soon towards the end Pierro asked you a question. Mid way through your answer scaramouche thrust into you causing your voice to raise a pitch. No one asked questions about it. But Scara teased you about it while he stuffed you full of him after the meeting

Kaeya-

Kaeya had you bended over his desk while he took you from behind. You had a hand placed in your mouth to control you moans. You felt the familiar feeling of your oragasm approaching and so did Kaeya. But then there's a knock at the door. Keaya smirks sits down his chair and seats you on top of him slipping himself into you again. He tells the person to come in. The person is Jean and came to tell Kaeya something you could care less and had your focus on Kaeyas dick inside you. Kaeya answers Jean so smoothly your honestly surprised at how well he is. Eventually there conversation comes to an end and then Jean acknowledges how red your cheeks are and ask if your feeling sick. Kaeya does not you hear the end of it after that

^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•

Reblogs likes, and ask are appreciated!

Thank you!!!

[cloudshuffle]

cuteness aggression. yan!penacony

Sunday

"This feels... dumb. I'm not a Halovian."

Sunday looks up from last-minute paperwork, pausing. Something unfamiliar stirs in his chest. He tugs on his gloves.

"It's not dumb," he replies smoothly. "You look... wonderful."

A small pair of wings sits just behind your ears, like his own. They're not real, of course, but they function just fine - letting everyone know who you belonged to.

He rises from his seat, moving toward you. You step back until your back hits the door, shrinking away from his hand.

But Sunday simply tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, rubbing a thumb gently over the inside of your wrist with his other hand. He leans into you slightly, radiating heat like a small star, blowing sweet breath across your face.

"Adorable..." he mutters, half to himself.

"Sunday," you say, voice weak, though you aren't sure what you need to tell him. You feel very much like a small thing being cornered by a predator, his eyes dark, pupils blown.

Then he pinches your cheek, so swiftly and out of character for him you blink.

Before you can protest, he massages your face lightly with both hands.

This must be what street cats feel whenever you accost them with your affection.

He releases you just as suddenly, patting you on the head as he passes. "Prepare yourself. The guests will be arriving anytime soon."

Well, you suppose there's a first time for everything.

Aventurine

"Good evening, my sickly angel."

You scowl at him from under blankets, a cold compress on your head. "You're not funny."

"On the contrary." He lifts your medicine. "I think I am very funny."

You complain audibly, but that's about as much as you can do with your energy drained by the fever. Aventurine feeds you as patiently as a mother with a small child, though perhaps with twice as much condescension.

"Stop staring," you grumble. "It's weird."

The bed sinks as Aventurine leans over, gathering you up in his arms. "You're like a kitten when you're sick. All angry and no claws."

You hiss when he squeezes you, only belatedly realising that you're proving his point. "Kittens have very sharp claws, excuse me."

"A declawed kitten, then." He rubs his cheek onto the top of your head. "You smell different, too."

"That's weird!"

[anantaru]

DAY 12 — COCKWARMING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — heizou, alhaitham, baizhu

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, cockwarming, tit play, teasing you to the brim like staaaaaahp, a sprinkle of brat taming because why not, mean genshin boys

𖧡 — HEIZOU

"ah- i could get used to this."

and needless to say, it feels good, largely to heizou though— especially when he shadows his skilled fingers over your bare chest because he knows it'll drive you insane, his hand slowly settling down on top of your breasts, squeezing and massaging the mounds before groping your tits, together with his cock slipping past the solidness of your slit— throbbing, pressing and stretching inside.

you cling to him for your dear life, the fulfillment of his erection jammed within the bounds of you swelling pussy, candidly battering your cunt when you attempt to press down on his hips, or perhaps move for that matter, instead whimpering sweetly as heizou stills your hips with a solid arm whilst the other pinches your aroused nipple and tugs on it ever so slightly.

you pout out deliberately, yearning for him so terribly you cannot help yourself but moan into his neck, "heizou.." you say, stumbling over your words, "don't tease me now.. please." and it's not necessarily something your boyfriend would consider teasing— especially since in his opinion, you should be utterly aware on how his real taunting looked like.

in the span of no time, it had gotten to the point where it became a game between you both, one which he would most likely end up winning the moment he shushes your cute sniffles with a kiss, idly shuffling in his seat before unintentionally (it was very much intentional) moving his cock and thrusting up hard against one cloying, pressing, spot.

"fuck— well, you faced worse before, haven't you?" his words, although dripping of artificial consideration, vibrate all the way from your pouty lips, to your sensitive nipples being played with, to your wet messy core slicking up his buried shaft, shortly gushing around it so much that a white, thick ring of whites took shape around the base of his cock— he’s still entirely buried in you, with that single thrust hitting you like a sudden hot fever dashing on top of your shoulders.

heizou continues to keep you pressed against his cock, one hand long since branding the flesh of your juddering hips— and it's almost bruising to you, long fingers plunging into the skin hard enough to make you wince out and beg again, only to be met with a cocked up brow, a wet smirk and an even deeper throb of his erection.

your quivering body was exceedingly past recovering by now and you helplessly swallow down a bubbling sob from your throat when he grinds inside you again, yet with barely any strength aiding the move— the stiffened veins of his erection melting with your walls that the combination of those very sensations heizou brought forth focused on intermittently inching you into madness.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

your thighs clamp against each side of alhaitham's hips while one arm freely closes around your waist, the last thing he'd want is for you to move and disturb his peace— whilst the other, well, was occupied in holding a book he was currently reading, adventurous eyes deciphering each and every little letter printed on top, eagerly memorizing and pondering about a much deeper, more crucial interpretation behind the portrayed story.

yet you're taking him just like he needed you to, raw and hard, while he barely gifts you any attention. ugh, some sort of punishment coming from the scribe? might be, but you knew alhaitham very well and that his mind simply wasn't wired that way, instead he probably thought that it would cost him far less effort to put two into one, pleasure and knowledge, as he referred to it, stitched together with both sides unable to slip past his grip.

it's mostly exhausting around your legs, specifically the insides of your thighs that began to stiffen and ache, forcing you to taste subtle early signs of lightheadedness from your desperate attempts to not move nor clench down on him so strongly.

another breathy gasp, and you let him know that you're obviously struggling with his cock being way too big and heavy to remain in that way without moving at the very least— a warm puddle of your arousal exuding from your hole and divulging at the foundation of his shaft, sending droplets of the mixture on the office floor.

"please, oh, please." you whine, suddenly flustered when you realize you just blurted those frenzied pleas out loud, establishing them right against the shell of his ears, his headphones since long disposed of and placed on the table next to you— whilst beyond questioning, besides the fact that alhaitham was wholly absorbed into the fantasy novel in his hand, he'd never pass up on an opportunity to listen to your short-lived whines, the cute weeps or the loud thuds of your heart beat reverberating against his chest.

"already?" he speaks softly before you meet his eyes, surprisingly enough his pupils were blown wide and you cannot even fathom this level of discipline when it probably hurt him too to not move at least an inch up and down your fluttering hole. "i barely started this chapter."

"then read faster!" you interrupt him, no, practically snap at him, nervously licking your lips as your hands run over his cheeks to make him kiss you, his raw erection throbbing at the bold move as he for once redirects his entire attention from that pestering, bothersome, annoying book in his hand that you would love to just dispose of entirely.

"okay, okay," the man shuffles around, "you better make it worth my time then." and he teases you, always, then drinks up a trembling moan that spumes up on your mouth as his quick tongue darts out to run around your lips and wet them with his saliva, your throat aching in excitement for what's about to come. 

alhaitham bites back a groan when you swiftly mould your walls over his cock, needful and slobbering your arousal once more— you're so soft there, ah, it never fails to amaze him. but to get himself on top of things again, most importantly to not lose himself in you, he traces your back up and down with his palm before teasingly rutting into your wet sex, it's barely perceivable to you and maybe that's what would ultimately tip you over the edge if alhaitham does not stop those cruel tactics.

although, pondering over his honesty, it's quite cute when you're frustrated and bitter because of a situation he put you in, or how much harder it was to stay disciplined in focusing on his book when a coat of a heavenly expression litters across your bristling cheeks— it just feels so dreamy to be inside you.

alhaitham might just look past the little shifts of your body that you sneaked between pauses, despite them offering you the tiniest teases and moments of friction on your overflowing hole, and yes, your leg muscles were screaming for some sort of pleasure, regardless keeping yourself still and happy to take his perfectly shaped length.

𖧡 — BAIZHU

you brace yourself, without further questioning settling on baizhu's lap before lining your slit up with his leaking cock— his pre like a translucent film sheer on top of the rosy tip.

and for the most part, this scenario appeared to be quite familiar to you— at the end of the day, your boyfriend could never be entirely satisfied when you ride him for hours, he needs it without pause. it warms his heart when you’re on top— as if you were somehow claiming him, his groans exuberant with lust, a velvet tune on your ears so exciting as you watch how he succumbs to the touch of being engulfed by a warm, soft cunt.

this time, although, something didn't align with previous scenarios— because the second you had pushed him in, touched up his shaft with your wetness, baizhu instantly places both hands on your moving hips, breathily laughing in both bliss and an ulterior emotion as he squeezes the flesh of your ass, your pretty noises almost making him decide against doing this right now.

of course, you try to lift your hips so you could bounce up and down, his cockhead snugly enclosed and piercing your swelling flesh as he spread you apart by his girth, your body desperately clinging against his chest and it's only then, when you realize what's going on, your hot, breathless moans garnering his gentle attention.

"uh?" you tilt your head to the side, then wince when his cock reaches impossibly deep and nudges over your sensitivity, the infused tingles of that singular drag holding you captive, intimately trapped within his arms, "ah— is something wrong?"

"no, nothing." baizhu coos, mouthing a wet spot over your jawline before slotting his lips over your own. you fall into a kind of daze when he keeps you strong against his thudding cock, your hands on his shoulders when you press your nails into the clothed skin, breathing deep, slow, at least trying but your attempts immediately fall flat when he offers your body some teases of friction.

"is something supposed to be wrong?" you're sweating at his words, your leg muscles screaming when you gaze at him through confused, widened eyes, "i- i'm not sure," you babble, the shivers in your lower area doing everything in their limited power to keep the pleasure going for as long as possible, anything to make you feel at least something but baizhu wouldn't let you.

"think harder, darling." he grins, letting the exposed warmth of your cunt wrap around his cock as he lifts you up, "is this better?" no, of course not, you panic, this was even worse and you whine at the lost fullness, leaning against him to wrap your arms around his neck, his cock head still nudging at your slit.

"it's not, it's not, it's not.." you can hardly move, and baizhu swallows down your mewls with a lick into your mouth, nibbling at your bottom lip before smirking when he feels how you're rolling your hips, or at least, try— despite that, you're being met with strong resistance again, wondering how someone such as baizhu, who was perceived as a frail man, suddenly claimed such sturdy force in his arms.

"easy now.." he whispers cruelly, and you can practically taste his amusement on your tongue.

"maybe then "i'll move."

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[sonyapaxtonapologist]

ann walker, who at such a young age lost her brother and both parents in quick succession, only to be cast aside by her extended family, sent her sister-in-law blackberry syrup for her cough and her wife’s aunt asparagus for her leg ulcers, and calls her wife’s aunt “aunt anne” like any other niece, and has meals and plays cards with her in-laws while her wife is out of town. ann walker, who had been manipulated by nearly everyone who was ever supposed to look out for her, married a woman who began as nearly self-serving as her own family to ultimately becoming ann’s biggest advocate and compass in all things. ann walker, who had been dismissed as an unhinged invalid incapable of making her own decisions, not only stood up to her abusive family so she could get proper medical treatment, but also developed the skills needed to continue protecting herself and her loved ones. ann walker, who truly believed she would be publicly executed for being in love and having sex with another woman — a fear that escalated into night terrors and hearing spirits cursing her — fought with everything in her so that she could ultimately accept not just a marriage proposal from another woman but to begin accepting herself as well. ann walker, who has been mocked behind her back and to her face by people she was nothing but kind to, chose graciousness over being cowed by their cruelty even after a lifetime of people being cruel to her. ann walker, who lived a sheltered life and felt herself “insipid” and inexperienced, enjoyed being read to by, as well as learning another language and travelling abroad with, the wife she never thought she would be good enough for. ann walker who risked her family, fortune, freedom, and future all so she could be with a woman she admits to having fallen in love with during their very first meeting — at a time when the woman in question was perhaps at her most visibly transgressive while ann was perhaps at her most sheltered as a teenaged girl. ann walker, who radiates humility and gentleness on the surface while simultaneously possessing hidden depths of remarkable courage and curiosity, has revealed herself to be capable of much more than anyone has ever given her credit for

[thestarry-nights]

mark’s love language is physical touch.

well, only after he met you.

to mark you’re a walking goddess. the fact that you’re real and not a figment of his imagination actually blows his mind. so the fact that he gets to touch you, let alone be around you, feels like a fever dream to him.

mark loves stroking your hair when you come home from a long, stressful work day. he loves resting his head on top of yours while out in public with friends. he loves holding your hand and swinging it forward and backwards while walking down the street.

and when you try to escape his grasp, he immediately gets pouty. “babe come back” “do you not love me anymore?” “kiss me and maybe I’ll feel better.” god he’s whipped for your touch. he’s never felt this way before. no, not until you came into his life.

[keqism]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑!!

⌇ feat. scaramouche, xiao ⌇ premise. your boyfriend and a child? a match made in hell ⌇ cw. modern au, fluff, gn!reader, children

notes. baby fever is real and i'm feeling it

apples⌇kunikuzushi

The last thing Scaramouche expects to see when he enters your apartment is a child waiting for him at the door. He immediately backs out of your place, slams the door shut, and then whips out his phone to text you.

kuni [12:43pm] there's an intruder in your apartment

you [12:44pm] ???

kuni [12:44pm] there's a child in your apartment what the fuck

you [12:44pm] oh shit hang on i'm on my way!!

you [12:45pm] can you watch her for me?? i'm supposed to babysit today 

And so Scaramouche finds himself glaring at some stranger's daughter on a Saturday afternoon.

"Up!"

"No," Scaramouche deadpans.

Two small hands clutch onto the fabric of his pants. "Please?" 

"Absolutely not," he grumbles, but he begrudgingly picks the child up, one arm supporting her back so she doesn't topple over backwards. "What the hell do you want, brat?"

"Can you make me a snack?" she asks, hands coming up to yank at his purple strands.

"Say please," he scolds, indigo eyes narrowing as he shakes her grubby hands out of his hair.

"You're mean, I'm not saying please."

"Oh, what the fuck," Scara mutters under his breath, but he playfully pinches her cheek before heading to the kitchen to ransack your fridge for a snack suitable for a six-year-old.

And although he preaches loudly about how much he hates children, Scaramouche remembers to wash the kid's hands before wrestling her onto a chair (although he accidentally knocks her head against the dining table in the process).

It's the effort that counts, he tells himself. 

When you rush in through the front door, the first thing you hear is a child's laughter and your boyfriend's quiet swearing. And then you see Scara peeling an apple, eyebrows furrowed as he focuses.

In front of him is a plate of apple slices, shaped like bunnies.

polychrome⌇xiao

Xiao doesn't know how to do a lot of things.

Working an air fryer, keeping a plant alive, entertaining children—all of these fall out of his expertise, and you know this. But somehow he finds himself alone in your apartment with your neighbor's daughter, and Xiao doesn't know what to do.

It's your fault, for shoving the kid into his arms and racing out the door while muttering something about forgetting to buy groceries. But you promised him that it wouldn't take long, and Xiao prays that you'd come back soon. He nervously glances at the clock hanging on the wall, pointedly ignoring the two round doe eyes peeping out from beneath the table top.

"Mister?" There's a small hand tugging at his sleeve now, and Xiao feels his heartstrings getting pulled as well. 

"...You can call me Xiao," he says gently, leaning down to look her in the eye.

"Xiao!" The child beams, displaying two missing front teeth, and pulls him into the living room. "Can I color the picture on your arm? Please please please?"

"I guess," he says flatly, and awkwardly sits on the couch while the child rummages through her backpack. There's a brief moment where the kid pulls a pack of permanent markers out and Xiao panics, but after fumbling to snatch the markers out of her hand, he settles back down (kid in his lap) with a few washable markers that he found in a random closet. 

When you come back from your impromptu grocery run (hours later than you promised), you find Xiao on the couch with colorful scribbles covering his tattoo and a sleeping child in his lap.

You owe me one, Xiao mouths, glowering when you take a picture of your boyfriend and the drooling child. 

reblogs and feedback are always welcome :)

[dollietes]

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა mimi’s fic recs !

in summary these are my fav fics that i’ve read recently and are living within the depths of my brain. this is just a way for my to show appreciation for the writers who had written them <3 please support their blogs and check out their other works as well!

please minors dni with the smut works. respect writers and their boundaries!!

f :: fluff / a :: angst / s :: smut

pretty girls make graves by @ijtaimes f

OBSESSED with this series!! the blend of the summer camp setting, the love triangle story, and the clever incorporation of horror elements?@)2)2) and the interactive storytelling it has with the outfit choices and other general choices?? ivy, cousin i love you and your sexy brain. i can’t get enough of it actually!

two peculiar swans by @astralnymphh f / s

WHEN I TELL YOU ALL I RAN LIKE THREE LAPS AND SAT IMMEDIATELY WHEN I SAW IT WAS POSTED. the writinggg!! so top tier! the dialogue, inner monologue how the story just flows so seamlessly?? i’m so excited for the rest of this series bro like aestra ate😋 HYPE IT UP YALL!!

loser!abby by @abbyscherry s

when i tell you all i profusely **** and ***** while reading both of the loser!abby works. like if i speak I would be deemed as insane, a mad woman it’s crazy. read them like bedtime stories before bed😭

cowboy!ellie + this by @catfern s

SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWGIRL! COWBOY!ELLIE NATION RISEEEEE. these hcs had me foaming t the mouth like i need someone to hold me back before I ramble about how much I love these hcs and eat them up and will continue to eat up anything cowboy!ellie 😋

in for it by @brackishkittie s

ONE WORD. DIVINE. DELICIOUS. SCRUMPTIOUS. i could not stop smiling like a school girl while reading this it’s embarrassing actually. also vivian’s smau’s >>>> got me into the fandom actually

rockstar!ellie + this by @phantombriide s

i could write a thesis about how much i love this and rockstar!ellie works. like this is what i breathe, i eat, i consume everyday. it is the mantra i read to start my days. my daily reading to begin the day. god bless.

academic rival!abby by @beforeimdeceased f / s

ACADEMIC RIVALS CLENCHES FISTS. RAHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE ITTTTT. every bit of this series had me craving for more oml. like i need academic!rival abby in my bed immediately!

being pregnant with wife!abby by @bayasdulce f

baby fever has hit me once again what can i say?😞 I need wife!abby to take care of me so bad it’s getting sad at this point. I just this broke me down and worsened my baby fever (had me making a pinterest board and everything goodbye😞😞)

neighbour!ellie + this by @loaksky s / f

NEIGHBOUR!ELLIE NEIGHBOUR!ELLIE NEIGHBOUR!ELLIE MY FAV FAV FAV! i remember the influx of them on my dash and trust i was eating good 🍽️ both parts had me folding, giggling, smiling, swinging my feet everything and everything.

try it on by @moncherellie s

another work that got me into the fandom!! I remember reading this for the first time and hiding my face and giggling into my pillow and the audios lord i felt so giddy that night lmao😭

doctor!abby texts by @eightstarr f

doctor!abby has me in a chokehold like that’s my wife and mother of our three children everyone can leave pls and thanks😁 and i mean that with my whole chest. those texts are actual REAL evidence of what our convos look like you all can move (im joking pls don’t take what I’m saying seriously😭) I just am in love with everything zoe puts out because it’s so good and so dear and special to me

cutty love by @totheblood f

anything star puts out tbh >>>>> absolutely in love with cutty love actually! I am a whore for any fluff and PINNING (GIVE IT TEW ME). this is just so soft and sweet and it’s everything I need like uggggh. the audios too just chefs kiss love everything about it!

streamer!ellie hcs by @inf3ct3dd f

SIERRA’S HCS 🔛🔝 SO GOOD EATS EVERYTIME YALL like gen they all have made their home in my brain and I can’t go to bed without at least reading one of them before i hit the hay.

knight!ellie by @heavenbloom f

FIRSTLY written so beautifully?&* i love everything about this and i tend to go back to this work when I’m in need of a fluff fix! I absolutely adore how everything is written yes I’m reiterating my point because ‘green eyes thirsty for the well that was your beauty.’ LIKE WORLD STOP. ARE YOU SEEING THIS?? ‘she was utterly dedicated to you, body and soul, and she would be by your side until her very last breath. it was a fierceness, this love that consumed her, and it was all yours.’ LIKE WTF

partition by @whore4abby s

reserving my *clears throat* thoughts for now but just know * **** **** *** *** ***** **** * **** ***** *********!!! 😁😁😁 everyone should read this ASAP!

sun don’t set by @hier--soir f

another heavenly piece omg!! so in love with the writing in here oh my god. it’s so soft and sweet and it just felt like a warm hug on a cold winters day i just. please read this!!

you love it when i play with you by @ourautumn86 s

i think i like passed out and had three nosebleeds because of this. i think about this more than i should. I think about in the morning, throughout the day and night. my daily read at this point like it’s just sooooo😋😋😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

my love mine all mine by @doepretty f

this one is special to me too like. for one the writing is so beautiful and it made me shed a tear and secondly I melted into a puddle like i want Abby so bad I’m going to be sick.

[thatanimewriter]

COULDA, WOULDA, SHOULDA, DIDN'T (ALTERNATE ENDING).

➳ synopsis: aventurine has never lost. that's what he tells people when he makes bets and in passing conversation about gambling. but every night when he lays in bed, he will always think about the day he almost lost you. angst version.

➳ character/s: aventurine

➳ warnings: 2.1 spoilers, aventurine backstory spoilers, aventurine real name spoilers, mentions of death, slavery (it's not romanticised, you're safe-), mentions of torture, blood, hurt/comfort, marriage, sleeping together (literally), reader described as beautiful

➳ word count: 0.7k

➳ notes: here's the happy version for those who were asking for it LMAO also i jumped on the bandwagon of fic writers inspired by aventurine official art-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

aventurine will never forget the day he met you. he himself didn't know much better than you did as you ran for your lives as children, but he knew he never wanted to see you like that ever again. that night, he thinks he fell in love.

even with the heavy metal cuffs crushing your wrists, he thought you were beautiful. in the most horrible circumstances, you found solace in each other's arms. aventurine made it a habit to kiss your brand mark and then your forehead as he let you use his arm as a pillow. any screams of pain either of you made as you were roughly dragged from your cell to undergo 'disciplining' haunt your minds in the rare moments of emptiness.

the day aventurine was bought away by jade, he's never felt fear quite the same as looking back and seeing you be dragged away by your cuffs, calling out for him as he left while you were pulled further down the abyss of pain and agony.

"i'll come back for you, wait for me!" he yelled behind him. he was desperate, he didn't know if he would ever get to come back for you and ultimately, that scared him more. the idea that his last interaction with you was filled with despair only fueled his desire to rise to the top. he would free himself and ensure that when (if) he freed you, you would have everything you needed immediately.

aventurine remembers the day he came back for you. he'd beat up a lot of guards, and possibly killed a couple, only to find you unconscious and bleeding onto the cold concrete floor in your cell. scrambling to his knees, he held you in his arms and bolted out the door, desperately praying to whatever god would listen that you were alive.

he lived a nightmare as you recuperated in hospital, but nothing came close to making him cry since leaving you than holding your hand and kissing you all over again as if it was your first time. each night as he slept in the chair beside your hospital bed, he wondered what would've happened if he never got to you or was too late.

when he proposed to you, it felt like a fever dream. when he woke up the next morning to see you beside him, ring glinting in the morning sun and cheek pressed into a silk pillowcase rather than dusty concrete. he smiled in adoration, pulling you closer by the waist and chuckling at your sleepy whine of protest before burying your head into his chest and falling back asleep. taking your hand in his, he kissed the ring he'd given to you as a token of your engagement, resting his chin atop your head.

his phone rang and he sighed, blindly reaching behind him to check who was calling him. dr. ratio.

groggily, he answered. "you're calling early, don't you know i'm spending my paid leave with my wonderful fiance?"

aventurine could practically hear the eye roll from dr. ratio over the phone. "i am well aware, i just thought you would want to be informed that i have located your old master that was missing from the premises when you were searching for them," he said, probably polishing one of his marble busts to occupy himself.

"...keep an eye on him. i'll figure out what to do with him when i get more sleep." and with that, aventurine hung up the phone. he returned his attention to you and caressed his thumb over your hip as he pondered this newfound information.

he could've lost you if he didn't get there when he did. he's grateful for that, because he can have you by his side forever and a little bit more. he would've come looking for you to discover you'd died if he didn't push himself harder than recommended to rise to the top. he should've lost you, for that is what the sick gods on some alternate plane of reality deemed reasonable for his kind.

he didn't.

[chelscait]

we back. | Alexia Putellas

category: fluff, baby fever major fluff.

summary: where you and Alexia return to football from two entirely different reasons.

word count: 5.1k.

You were sat at home when you got the call regarding Alexia's knee injury. You were both set to guide Spain all the way through the euros yet neither of you participated.

Alexia was on the sidelines and out for the next 9 months whereas you were 'injured' for the next 9/10 months.

The truth is you were injured, just not to the same extent as Alexia's. You had picked up a slight ankle injury towards the end of the 21/22 season, only a sprain but you dragged it out. The real reason was that you were a month pregnant.

Alexia and you had decided that you had wanted a baby and you were willing to give up the euros in order to do so, Alexia was not so sure it was the right time but you reassured her promising her you'd be fine on your own and to update her.

The ankle injury was the best excuse to hide the pregnancy, pretending you were staying in Barcelona to do your 'rehab' while everyone was in England.

When Alexia's injury was announced it had brought great dread upon you, an ACL tear is a big deal and it would not be easy growing a child inside of you and looking after her at the same time.

Although you could see her struggling through the mental aspects as well as the physical, she was trying her best to look after you as well. The thought of her unborn baby inspired her through her rehab to get back in shape as quick as possible.

The black and white outline on the sonogram that was revealed to you both every appointment seemed to make Alexia's comeback near closer and closer.

Finding out you were having a little girl made Alexia even more excited, wanting to become an inspiration for your daughter even though you told her many times that she's not going to have a clue in the world Alexia was a top player for a while.

"When you grow up you are going to be one of the best footballers in the world." Alexia giggled as she felt the baby kick hard for the 4th time in a row.

"Just like her mama." You interrupted their conversation, while stroking her hair.

"Mamas, you mean?"

You just smiled as you turned back to reading your book, Alexia carrying on her conversation after finding out after tons of research that the more the baby hears your voice the more relaxed they'll be around you when they're born.

"Bebé, can you please stop talking about football the more you do it the more she kicks and it's getting uncomfortable."

"Sorry." She whispers against your stomach, pressing a light kiss before sitting up.

Whilst doing so you didn't fail to notice the wince on her face.

"Are you in pain? Want me to get you some painkillers?"

"No. i'm fine." Her face turns emotionless at the attention of her discomfort, getting up to hobble to the bathroom.

You got up after her to go and get her some meds as well as water to leave on her bedside table, opening the freezer and grabbing her an ice pack to rest on her knee.

Alexia had her surgery a couple of months back, though she was still struggling with the pain and it made your heart crack seeing her like this.

"I don't need that." Glaring at you as you walked in. Your rose your eyebrow, telling her to carry on.

"Do you really want to dismiss a pregnant women? You need it, it'll help." You scolded pulling the covers off her bottom half and placing the ice pack gently on her knee, herself hissing at the coldness, and gently lifting her leg to rest on a pillow.

"You've already got the motherly characteristics."

"Yep, i'm practicing on you." You gave her a humorous look as you pulled the covers back over her, "Now take." You practically forced her to take the pills with the stare you were giving her.

"See? What would you do without me? Pretty sure you'd be dead by now."

"Ha ha." You gave her a successful smile and turned back to walk towards your side of the bed.

Before you felt a sudden pain in your side, "ouch." You hissed as you bent over on the bed.

"¿Estas bien?" Alexia looked all over your face to check if your okay.

"Estoy bien, i think she kicked a bit too hard. Don't worry, it's okay." You reassured her as you got into bed and cuddled into her side.

"Have you thought of anymore names yet?" You ask to clear the air.

"No, it's too hard. We have to make sure that it's not the same as any of the girls we play with and that's literally every name!"

You giggle at the known fact that any of the girls name being used will end up with a fight or an argument about being the favourite.

"I've come up with a few. I really like Ada but it is the name of the best player in the team we will hate until death."

"Yeah, definitely not. I think something more Spanish traditional, you know? Like... Sofia or something."

"Mhm," You hummed before you yawned. "It'll come."

3 months later, you hit your late 8 month mark while Alexia was getting stronger and stronger, herself now training separately on the pitch beside the others. The team were wondering where you were though, Alexia having stayed quiet about you the whole time they've been back from being knocked out in the quarters.

All she has said, as well as the trainers, was that you were on a health break. You had both told Jonatan and the trainers the truth when Alexia started her rehab, they were all ecstatic and couldn't wait to have another baby in the team.

"Amor, where are you?" Alexia shouted throughout your house, expecting to find you right in front of her, instead just Nala bouncing at her feet.

"Nursery!"

She made her way towards the room with the ball of fluff trailing behind, to find you in the middle of a mess of baby clothes.

"Hola." You grinned up at her as she appeared in the door way.

"Ay dios mío. Do we need this much?" Alexia's shocked face looks around the room, bending over to pick up some tiny socks.

"I couldn't resist! I went out with Alba and tu mama and we couldn't stop fussing over all of it and how little it all is! Like look at the size of these shoes!!" You crawled over to pick the small converse up and shoved them in her face with a small pout.

"This is going to be one stylish baby. She's very lucky." She held her arms out to help you up, your bump now much bigger which limited your mobilisation.

"She is one lucky baby." You bit your lip as you stroked your stomach, "I'm so excited."

"Me too, Cariño."

"How was training? Venga, i'll start dinner." You took hold of her hand and dragged her into the kitchen, giving her a questioning look as she didn't reply.

"The usual, girls asking about you and how your doing and a lot of strengthening." Alexia plopped onto one of the stalls as she spoke, yourself going quiet as you got some ingredients out to make your favourite pasta.

"I feel really bad. Do you think we should have told them?" You whipped yourself around, hugging the bunch of ingredients in your arms as you lip wobbled.

Alexia's eyes widened, knowing how emotional you have been lately the hormones fluctuating drastically.

"Baby, baby, hey. It's our life, our choice. We wanted to experience this privately and so far it has been amazing, it feels normal. Besides, they all love kids and once they see our beautiful girls face all accusations will be thrown out the window. Prometo." Alexia was now in front of you slowly removing the ingredients from your arms before they are all chucked everywhere, anger was a big one of your hormonal moods.

"Okay."

"Bueno, do you want me to do dinner?" She felt you nod against her shoulder, herself lifting your head up with your cheeks squished and pressing kisses all over your face.

"Estoy cansada. I want baby out now."

"I know, i know, t'estimo tant. Go sit down, we'll have dinner in the living room."

She frowned as she watched you wobble off towards the destination.

"You're having the next one!"

The next day, Alexia was training anxiously. She had left you that morning with some minor pains in your abdomen, a clear sign of near labor. You had convinced her to go to her rehab to not cause any suspicion and promised her that you'll be fine as her mum was coming round after she leaves.

In the physio room, she didn't want to leave her phone behind, staring at it for a good 20 minutes before she had to go out.

"You can take it out with you." Alexia's one on one coach told her with a smile on his face. "It's getting close, it's probably best."

"Gracias."

"No hay problema, i remember when my wife gave birth... i was with her the whole time, might not have been the best time of her life but it was mine. Helping my boy come into the world, she made me so proud."

Alexia smiled at him as his thoughts drifted off, going to get a ball of the side of the pitch.

"Also, remember to not take anything they say to heart during labor. I had some pretty mean things thrown at me and the grip of the hand hold is hard, so try not to break your hand."

"Of course, i've already had some pretty stern telling offs. Pretty sure that after she's born i'd be mothered, still, more than her." 

The feeling of the ball at her feet distracted Alexia from her worries, there being no update from her mum or you, her phone staying relatively quiet during her session.

It wasn't until she was heading in for lunch when she started to feel her anxiety creeping up again, not allowing her phone screen to go dark.

"Hola.." Mapi caught up with her, shoving her arm around her shoulders.

"Hola." Alexia smiled at her quickly before returning her gaze to her phone, Mapi following on.

"Are you okay? You never have your phone at training, you don't like distractions?" Mapi's hand travelled down to the small of her back, her head tilting in front of Alexia's.

"Sí, todo bien. Just waiting for an update from my doctor..." They continued on walking towards the cafeteria, Alexia then putting her phone in her pocket to grab some food.

Mapi immediately went to sit down next to Ingrid, stealing her apple.

"Hey!" Ingrid stole her apple back after Mapi took one bite, giving her a weird look.

"I think something is wrong with Y/N."

"What do you mean?" Frido now joined in the conversation, concerned over the state of one of her best friends.

"I'm not sure, but Alexia seems anxious... she keeps looking at her phone every two seconds and... just look at her!" They all turned their heads towards Alexia, Mapi's point being proved with Alexia resting her elbow on the table with her forehead being rubbed by her palm.

"I'm sure it's nothing too bad... right?" Claudia, having come over with Patri and a few other girls, tried to reassure herself, as well as the others, worried about her missing team mum.

"Hopefully... i just really wish that they'd say something. Like, Y/N has been gone for ages and hasn't spoken to us once. It's ruining us and our focus is not on football." Ingrid placed her hand on Mapi's back, rubbing it up and down soothingly in response.

Suddenly, a loud blaring of a ringtone erupted in the room. Mapi's head flew off of Ingrid's shoulder and found Alexia frantically getting up to answer it. With a determined look, she got up and slowly followed Alexia out the room.

"Mapi!" Ingrid scolded, knowing Alexia won't be pleased with the lack of privacy and respect Mapi is showing.

"Is she okay? Is she coming?" Alexia slowed in the hallway, placing her hand on top of her head.

"She is?? Okay.. Okay.. erm.. joder! i'll be there soon i just need to get my stuff, are you on the way to the hospital?"

"Hospital?" Mapi whispered to herself as she rested against the wall around the corner.

"Okay, give me 20 minutes. Tell her i'll be with her soon, and that i love her and she's so incredibly strong and she should be so proud of herself." She rambled through the phone, pacing the small width of the hallway. "Okay, right, see you in a bit."

Alexia tucked her phone back in her pocket, rushing round the corner to bump straight into Mapi.

"Maps? What are you doing?"

"Erm.."

"Were you spying on me?.. You know what forget it." Alexia interrogated before she continued her fast walk down the hallway towards the locker room, Mapi following close behind.

"What's wrong with Y/N?"

"Nothing she's fine."

"Alexia!" Mapi took a hold of her arm to stop her from going any further, "Dime, do you not think this is affecting the team? We're all so worried and it's hurting us thinking she's going through something terrible and we can't help her!"

"Mapi, i promise you she's fine." Alexia reassured, tugging her arm out of her hold wanting to get to her wife as soon as possible.

"I heard the phone call Alexia. Why is she going to the hospital?" She tugged her back towards her gaze.

"For fuck sake, Mapi. Let me go."

"Just tell me!"

"She's pregnant, okay!?"

Mapi slowly let her arm slide out of her hold, Alexia slamming the changing room door open and frantically packing her stuff away.

"You guys are having a baby?"

"Sí, yes we are. She's gone into labor her water broke, we wanted to keep it private. Happy?" Alexia shoved her shoulder into Mapi's and made her way out.

"Omg... Omg!"

"Don't tell anyone yet, Mapi!"

"¡Prometo!" Mapi squealed to herself, already excited to meet her bestest friends baby.

"So, did you find out anything?" Claudia eagerly whispered to Mapi after training, watching as she packed her stuff away.

"She's okay, trust me." Mapi smirked to herself, Claudia and Ingrid both giving her a weird look.

"Why has she been so distant then?"

"You'll see."

"Why not tell me?"

"Because it's not something for me to tell." Mapi patted Claudia on the shoulder, "I promise you, she's okay."

Claudia flopped onto the bench with a huff as she watched Mapi and Ingrid stride out of the changing room. Her mind in continuous thought about what may be the reason to why you had been gone so long, the knowledge that her football mums have gone this long without revealing anything to her made her feel unwanted. Though she couldn't feel like that, she was an adult after all.

Many hours later in the early morning of the next day, you were sleepily watching your loved one cradle your newborn to her chest. You smiled as you watched her bend her head down to rub her nose against hers, her eyes appearing glossy as she looked back at you.

"Oh, mi amor... she's perfect." Alexia bit her lip at the sight of her relaxed daughter.

"She has your eyes, and nose... practically all of you as she was your egg." You rolled your eyes jokingly as you shuffled in bed.

Alexia chuckled with a sniff, wiping some of the tears from her face.

"Elena." You whispered, you face displaying adoration for your little family.

"¿Que?"

"Her name. Elena? Elena Putellas Segura?"

You could see Alexia's smile widen, her face revelling in a small glow as she nodded.

"I love it." Alexia got up to pass the sleeping baby back to you, yourself moving over to allow her to join you. "I love you. I'm so proud".

"Oh and by the way, Mapi knows."

"Of course." You huffed at the lack of secret keeping between the two best friends. "She was going to find out sooner than later."

That whole night Alexia didn't sleep a wink, wanting to watch over the most precious thing she has. As well as you. She didn't allow her touch to leave hers, wanting Elena to feel she's wanted and protected. "I am never going to let anything bad happen to you, mi amor."

In response, she had gripped her finger so tightly, almost as if she remembers Alexia's voice. The whole night they stayed like that, no distractions just pure love.

The next few weeks were bliss, your daughter turned out perfect. You and Alexia had slept through most nights, Elena not kicking up no more than just one small fuss a night for a feed. The secret still going while Alexia trained, although with the continuous annoyance of Mapi pestering in her ear.

You had also started your rehab, though also in secret. You didn't want the interrogation yet and would rather do so with Alexia, your post natal emotions still not up to speed. You had been going into the Joan Gamper, the trainers helping you with avoiding any of your teammates, and training on a separate pitch.

After a few months, you both were back to standard fitness. The physios having cleared you to go back to training now after Alexia did a few weeks back. She was glad, you not so much.

"They've seen you! They know you're okay! I have been avoiding them for a straight year nearly!"

"Baby, it's okay. We'll explain everything." Alexia tried to calm you down as you were having a literal melt down in the kitchen after finding out the news.

"Oh hey, i'm back yes i've been gone ages, i've had a baby with Alexia and we decided not to tell you all, i know it's full on but we are happy and we don't care about what you think." You blabbered in the conversation, making out to her that this is a big deal.

"Why don't we take her with us, she's a bit bigger now." Alexia sighed rubbing her hand over her face.

"And what would we do? Who would look after her?"

"How about we meet them before?"

You stopped to think for a second, looking at the floor. Your trail interrupted as you heard a strangled cry coming from the bedroom, you and Alexia both snapping your heads towards it.

"I'll get her."

"No, i'll get her. I need to think." You rounded the kitchen island, placing your hand on her shoulder to push her back down gently in her seat.

Picking the chubby baby up from her crib, you rocked her on you hip to soothe her, pressing kisses on her head.

After she had let out a giggle from your silly faces, you laid her down to change her and grabbed her some clothes.

After you had done so, you pulled her up into a sitting position and she stared at you with a wide toothless smile.

"What am i going to do?" You ask her rhetorically, sweeping you hand through her messy dark baby hairs.

She just gurgled and slapped her hand onto your face, which she seemed to find funny. With a scrunched face, you removed her small fingers and picked her up once again taking her downstairs.

"ahh, bebé is awake." Alexia put down the snack she was eating on the counter and brushed her hands away of any crumbs before reaching out, Elena doing so too.

"Hola, pequeña." She had settled on her lap straight away, intrigued with what was on her plate, while Alexia pressed kisses to her cheek.

"I think i've figured out a plan..."

"Mhm, go on." She listened to you, swiping her hair behind her shoulders away from Elenas reach.

"I'll pick you up from training tomorrow. I'll be in the changing room waiting for you with her... but you got to be the first one in and you have to promise me that." You pointed your index finger at her with a serious face.

"That sounds like a perfect plan, cariño."

"Yeah... i just hope they aren't too mad." You exhaled as you turned to lean on the side.

"Hey..." She grabbed a hold of your hand and pulled you closer towards her. "Don't worry, even if they are mad they can't be for too long. Besides Mapi will fight anyone off."

You gave a small scoff of a laugh and allowed Alexia to bring you in for a small kiss. "A little hostility is nothing compared to what you've brought to the world."

Elena also agreeing with a loud squeal, making her presence known once again. You both jumping slightly at the high pitched noise, as well as Nala who was cosied at Alexia's feet.

It was near the end of Alexia's training the next day and you, to say, were shitting it. You and Elena were sat in the car park in your usual spot before time changed, your leg bouncing up and down as you stared at the sleeping baby in her car seat from the rear view mirror.

"Okay, vamos. Calm down, we'll be fine. Everything will be fine." You hyped yourself up as you came back to reality, reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt and get out the car before rounding the other side to carefully extract Elena with her car seat.

Being careful not to disturb her you slowly made your way towards the front entrance, your hands shaking was not helping to keep her steady and you didn't notice that she was stirring awake.

"Ay dios mío! It's so good to see you again!" One of the photographers you'd come to know quite well spotted you entering before her eyes trailed down to what was in your hands.

"No you did not."

"I did." You giggled as you turned the car seat towards her view.

"Y/N... she's perfect." She crouched down to Elenas view, tickling her finger across her cheek which elicited a cute giggle.

"You have kept this cutie a secret all this time?"

"Yep, now i'm going to surprise the team." You huffed with pursed lips, still not excited for their reaction.

"I'm sure they'll be fine." She got up from her position still eyeing your baby with a big smile on her face. "Anyway, i'll let you get going. See you later."

"See you."

You continued your way down the long hallway before the changing room sign entered your view, pushing the door open. The sight of the changing room brought back memories, it hadn't changed one bit. Your locker still had your name on it and was still next to Alexia's, you moved over to it to finally place the heavy carrier down and look around.

You sat down on the allocated bench seat in front of your locker and hastily undid Elenas seatbelt to pick her up, needing a bit of emotional support. You placed her in your lap, grabbing one of her toys from your bag to distract her with.

You saw the time on your phone and it was about 2 seconds until training finished, your heart racing as you leant your lips gently on her head.

Your trance was knocked away when the door opened, you snapping your head up to see Alexia making her way over to you.

"Hi baby, you alright?" She leant down to press a quick kiss to your lips before pressing one to Elena's head.

"No." You answered, biting you nails with the hand that was not keeping Elena steady.

"It's going to be fi..." Your wife started before the door flung open once again an overjoyed Mapi coming bounding over to you.

"You stupid bitch! How could you keep this beautiful little thing from me!" Mapi giggled as she pushed Alexia out of the way to be able to sit down next to you, Elena seeming to like her bubbly personality and wanting to climb over to her.

"Hola. You must be Elena, it is very nice to finally meet you." Mapi started a conversation with the babbling baby as she got settled on her lap, fisting her training top.

"Is it only you training or something? Where are the others?"

"They're coming.."

All of a sudden, a loud racket appeared into the room, but turned silent once they spotted you.

"Where have you been?" One of them asked before you answered by looking at the baby in Mapi's lap who was trying to twist her body around to see what was going on.

"No way."

"What the fuck."

"A BABY."

"Everyone, meet Elena our daughter." Alexia slowly introduced the few month old, grabbing her from Mapi who pouted at the loss of her presence.

Everyone clambered over to Alexia and your newest addition to the family, all but one. Claudia was shocked you could tell, diverting her gaze between Elena and yourself.

"Claudia." You attract her full attention and reach your hand out, as she got closer you could see her glossy eyes.

"Clau... hey, talk to me."

"I thought something really bad happened to you... ¿Que cojones?" A lone tear fell down her cheek, you hand immediately swiping it away before pulling her into a hug.

"I'm sorry Clau, i'm so sorry. I didn't mean to leave you all in the dark, i promise, but it was too late. It felt too late."

Claudia sniffled into your shoulder, relieved to finally be in your hold after all these months.

"Can i hold her?"

"Of course you can, cariño. She's practically your little sister." You rubbed her back as you let her go, making your way over to Aitana who was sitting with her on the floor.

"Times up with the play time." You clapped as Elena looked up at you, picking her up and placing her onto your hip. You were just about to turn around when you were engulfed in a massive group hug, them all obviously being careful to avoid suffocating the baby in your arms.

"Oh... guys." Your heart warmed at the gesture, still feeling the love you have always felt.

"We're all so happy for you Y/N, even though you kept this all from us and made us think you were dying... we're proud and we love you." Marta pressed a kiss to your cheek and made it clear to you that all your worries were wrong, your post natal emotions were still strong and you were fully in tears, letting out a wet laugh of relief before they all returned to their lockers.

You made your way over to Claudia and Alexia who were having a deep conversation as they sat on the bench.

"You still want to hold her?"

"Sí, por favor."

Once you had placed Elena into her arms, you had never seen her react more positively. She took a straight liking to Claudia, wanting to be as close to her as possible and placing both her chubby hands on her cheeks.

"Oh wow. She's chosen a favourite." Alexia and you looked at each other in surprise, as you heard them both giggling, Claudia having found a random toy from your locker.

"Sisterly love."

Coming back to training with your beloved team made you feel on top of the world, your life becoming more and more the better. Having a ball at your feet to having baby snuggles at night, you couldn't see it getting any better. Until your and Alexia's debut came.

Jonatan had decided that it would be the best moment to substitute you both on at the same time, making the comeback just that little bit more perfect for the fans. You both were ecstatic you could be involved in the game that could decide the title run, especially when your daughter was in the stands.

Once the substitutions were both announced by the 4th official, the crowd went wild, mostly for Alexia as they were chanting her name the most. You looked at her with admiration, you loved her and you loved that Elena had her as her mother.

"Te quiero."

Alexia turns her head towards you, reaching to grab your hand without gaining much attention.

"Yo también, te quiero mucho. Ets la millor mare que pot tenir l'Elena i estic molt agraït que ho siguis." (You are the best mother that Elena could ever have and i am so grateful that you are.)

"Para, em faràs plorar." (Stop, your going to make me cry.) You slightly wipe your eye before running onto the pitch with Alexia trailing behind, looking to where Alexia's mum said she'd be with Elena.

The game ended 3-0, which meant you won La liga F. Hugging every single teammate that came into view as you made your way to your wife.

"Welcome back, Mama."

"Back to you as well, amor." She wrapped her arms around your waist and picked you up, your legs wrapping round hers as you buried your face in her neck.

She released you to find tears flowing down your face, her own softening as she reached out to wipe them away.

"Shall we go find la pequeña?"

You nodded as you felt her guide you over to the stands with her hand placed securely on your back, only revealing your face once again when you heard the familiar squeal.

Alexia had taken her into her arms from her mother while you pulled yourself together, exchanging thank yous and congratulations with your families. You could hear fans around you speculating about who the child getting so much attention from you both was, you basically giving the hint when you kiss her cheeks.

You held her close as they were celebrating Alexia’s come back, you refusing to be lifted up in the air, especially as your insides have not been the same since. Elena’s face was a look of pure worry as you pointed out the action, until you started laughing and she started too, one of the media personnel getting it on camera.

You and Alexia didn’t mind the attention, wanting to be as truthful to the public from now on after hiding it for so long. So, when she did her speech, she announced the newest addition to the team and confessed to where you’d been, Elena clapping as she heard loud cheers for herself before fiddling with your medal.

“We did good, yeah?” Alexia asked you later that night when she climbed into bed after settling Elena down, you snuggling up to her.

“Yeah, we did good.”

[lovelytsunoda]

the man with the hex // liam lawson

summary: he stayed to hand out candy but actually just wanted to make out. unfortunately, hungry kids won’t wait to ring the doorbell.

pairing: liam lawson x female! reader

warnings: allusions to sex, liam is a horny teenager, very suggestive but no smut, reader gets baby fever real fast and liam has a dirty mouth. I am incapable of writing anything wholesome about this man, apparently.

"jesus fuck!"

"y/n y/m/n y/l/n, watch your language!" her mother shouted from the kitchen

next to her on the couch, liam snickered, pulling her closer. guillermo del toro's 'cabinet of curiosities' was playing on the screen, and y/n had been jumpy throughout the whole episode.

y/n was a gentle soul. she preferred cozy mysteries, and humorous action thrillers as opposed to straight up horror. sure, the pillars of the slasher genre were wonderful films (she's first in line to see any new 'scream' movie), but she did not do well when she was genuinely scared.

"sorry, mom!" she shouted, resting her head against liam's shoulder. "liam has bad taste in movies."

"it's one episode!" the kiwi laughed. "i'm sorry, you can pick the next movie."

y/n rolled her eyes, getting up from the couch to hug her parents goodbye. she and liam had agreed to stay in that night, allowing her parents to go to an annual charity event thrown by one of her fathers friends. her sister was at a party, and as someone who had a quiet, peaceful life and wasn’t always invited to things, y/n was extended a chance to stay at home.

of course, learning that they would have the house to themselves, liam was all too quick to tag along, for less than wholesome reasons. while y/n had planned a couple's movie night, complete with matching hotel transylvania costumes and a stack of scooby doo movies, wheras liam had planned to get her to scream in more ways than one.

y/n got up from the couch, her nylon-clad feet skidding across the hardwood as she went to hug her parents. "bye guys, i'll see you in the morning."

"have a great time, mr. and mrs. (your last intital)!" liam shouted

"no funny business with my daughter, lawson. and no drinking." her father scolded, pointing his finger towards his daughter's boyfriend.

"dad! we're adults, i think we can handle ourselves." she laughed, giving her father a hug before her parents went out the front door.

she closed the door behind them, leaving it unlocked and the jack-o-lantern on the front porch turned on before backtracking to the kitchen and refilling the candy dish she and liam had been snacking from.

"you'll have to keep an ear out for the front door, but other than that, do you want to put beetlejuice on when this is over?" she suggested, bringing the candy bowl back over to the couch and curling into her boyfriend.

"i dunno, your parents are gone, i kind of hand something else on my mind." liam grinned, one hand trailing up her thigh.

"oh yeah?" she purred, maneuvering herself into liam's lap, poking his nose before kissing him softly, her blue lipstick smearing against his skin.

liam cupped her face with his free hand, his other arm going around her waist to pull her closer. she hummed contentedly as she nestled her body into his, taking his top lip in between her own.

“your lipstick tastes good.” liam remarked, lips ringed in the dark blue cosmetic. “like blue raspberry.”

“you’re such a dork.” she giggled, brushing an errant blonde hair out of his face before kissing her lover again.

liam moaned into it, feeling himself grow harder every time that her thigh brushed over his crotch. she was driving him wild, the end of cabinets of curiosities forgotten as they made out like teenagers.

the doorbell rang, startling them both as they jolted on the couch. y/n pulled away from liam, wiping the smudged gloss from her swollen lips before getting off the couch and reaching for the bowl of cadbury chocolates across from her.

“trick or treat!”

there were three kids standing in the doorstep, each dressed as a different superhero as they held pillowcases out in front of them as she dropped handfuls of pocket sized chocolates into the bags.

“you kids have a great night.” she chirped, waving not just to the kids, but to the parents waiting on the sidewalk before slipping back into the house.

she left the plastic candy dish on the front bench, a grin on her face as she went back to the living room. liam hadn’t mailed from the couch, one hand over his eyes and the other clutching a throw pillow over his crotch.

“seriously, liam?” she laughed, reaching for the tv remote. “come on, we have to be aware of our surroundings. little kids are going to be knocking on the door all night.”

liam groaned. “sounds like hell to me, babe.”

she shook her head, grinning as she used the remote to navigate over to the amazon icon to rent ‘beetlejuice.” she was just about to hit rent when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist.

“liam!” she shouted, giggling as he nuzzled his cold nose into the tender flesh of her neck. “you know you’re just gonna get interrupted again, right?”

“don’t care.” he hummed, pressing kisses up and down her throat. “babe, we finally have the house to ourselves and I am so fucking horny for you right now.”

she giggled, extracting herself from liam’s hold to teasingly bend down near the coffee table, placing the realtor back on the glass top. at the sight of her skirt riding up over her orange and black nylon tights, the lacy hem of her panties visible through the nylon as she bent over, the kiwi could hardly contain himself.

especially when there was another ring of the doorbell.

this time, liam offered to get the door, almost dropping the candy bowl as he tried to get the door open, shaking hands unable to grasp the doorknob as be tried to get his breathing under control.

“woah, are you liam lawson?” one of the kids shouted, his voice echoing through the street. “I watched you on tv last week!”

despite himself, liam laughed. “right on, kiddo!” he held his fist out for a fist bump, kneeling to the kids level. “hang on just a second and I’ll get my girlfriend out here to take a picture of the two of us, yeah?”

“you seem cheerful for a man that didn’t want to hand out candy.” y/n chuckled from the doorway. “come on then, pass me his iPod touch or whatever and I’ll get the best fan pics he’s ever seen.”

the kids eyes lit up as liam moved to crouch next to him, matching his height almost exactly as y/n snapped a few pictures.

“your girlfriend is really pretty.” the kid said, giddy as he took his iPod back. “are you guys going to get married?”

liam laughed heartily, tactfully avoiding the question as he asked the kid what his favourite part of the race in qatar had been, dropping a handful of cadbury chocolates into the mummy shaped bucket.

once the kid was gone and the door was closed, he wasted no time in pulling y/n close and sliding his hands up her dress.

“someone’s eager. if anyone should be exited after watching you interact with kids, it should be me.” she giggled, kissing his cheek.

her lipstick was dry now, and liam found himself slightly disappointed that it didn’t leave a mark.

liam raised an eyebrow. “oh, yeah? so in addition to making you scream my name tonight, should I fill you up with my cum? start practicing for when it’s time to get you pregnant?”

she nodded eagerly, wishing for nothing more than liam pressing her up against the foyer wall and taking what he wanted. what they both wanted.

“fuck.” liam breathed, his breath warm on her skin. “you’re really hot when you have baby fever, you know that? and that kid wasn’t even a baby, he was like five.”

“shut up and kiss me, lawson.”

but just as liam leaned in, the fucking doorbell rang.

he cursed, throwing his head back in a groan as y/n gave him a sympathetic smile. she picked up the candy bucket, dutifully opening the front door and greeting the horde of kids who had chased each other up the driveway and around liams bmw.

while her back was turned, distracted by handing out candy, liam reached his breaking point, scrambling to find a piece of paper and a pen.

please take one handful each, and ring the doorbell if bowl is empty. we are home but enjoying a scary movie night and my girlfriend is jumpy :)

when y/n turned away, closing the door behind her, liam was quick to grab the bowl, whisking it away to the kitchen and ignoring his girlfriends confused look as he practically overfilled the bowl, taking on the sign and leaving it on the cast iron bench outside the house.

“now, where were we?” he grinned, pulling her in for a kiss. she broke out into a smile, knowing exactly why liam had done what he did. “that bowl is almost full, it will keep the kids occupied for a very long time.”

“what if someone takes the whole bowl? what then?” she giggled, playfully teasing her lover, hands gently rubbing at his shoulder blades.

“then I’ll buy your mom a new one.” he decided, paying the matter very little attention as he swept his girlfriend off her feet, carrying her bridal style towards the stairs. “now, my fair maiden, you bedroom awaits.”

TAGS

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @sidcrosbyspuck @httpiastri @clemswrld @love4lando @scuderiamh @lorarri @cartierre @silverstonesainz @arshiyuh @twinkodium

[hornedqueenofhell]

Steddie Sick fic pt. 3

Pt 2

When they make it to the parking lot Steve is clearly having a time freeing himself from octopus Eddie who has decided to latch onto Steve with a single-minded determination. Gareth wishes he had a camera.

He can’t see what Harrington does to make Eddie let go but whatever it was was very effective as Eddie finally releases his grip and allows Steve to lay him down in the backseat. Dustin hands his keys back and accepts a hug from Steve before the freshman trots back over to them as Jonathan pulls into the parking lot. The boys wave to each other and then Steve is gone, taking Eddie with him.

“You think he’ll be okay?” Grant asks worriedly, they did just hand Eddie the Freak Munson, weak as a kitten, off to King Steve. The enormity of what just happened starts to hit them all and they start to panic.

“Oh fuck, oh god what if he kills him?”

“He wouldn’t do that right? The kids wouldn’t have called him if he would, right?!”

A sharp whistle cuts them off and they all turn to Lucas who pulls his fingers from his mouth, he gives them all a disappointed look, his hands settling on his hips like a small, angry soccer mom. “Steve is getting certified as an EMT. He’ll keep Eddie safe.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Gareth explodes, he was ready to tear his hair out worried about his friend.

“Steve doesn’t know that we know.” Mike says as he hands Dustin his backpack, Will is already off to go talk to his brother.

“Huh?” The band collectively replies.

“He’s scared he’ll fail. Doesn’t want to tell anyone until he’s sworn in, like there’s any chance he won’t be top of his class. He doesn’t know that we all know already, we’re planning a big party for him once he graduates. Of course Dustin has all the subtlety of a brick to the face so how Steve hasn’t figured out that he knows yet is the real surprise.” Lucas explains, giving Dustin some major side eye.

“Hey!”

Well that was kinda reassuring, didn’t people who did medical stuff have to take a vow to not hurt people or something like that?

“What’s going to happen when Eddie wakes up?” Oh boy.

~O~

Munson was scary light as Steve got him through the front door and onto the couch. He’d mumbled a few things into Steve’s neck when he got jostled as Steve kicked the front door closed behind them but settled down again shortly after.

“What was that?” He asked as he pushed Munson’s sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Had… dream…like this.” He mumbles and yeah Steve needs to get his fever down. He walks into the kitchen and finds a frozen bag of peas he used to use for sports injuries and after wrapping it up with a towel from the stove he plops the bag on Munson's face.

"Blindfolding me 'lready, sssso bold."

“You really never shut up do you?” He rests one arm on the couch arm, chin propped on the other with a slight smirk. He leans over Eddie and watches as the older boy drags the bag of peas to his chest to hold against his overheated core and blinks up at him with foggy, wet bambi eyes.

“C’n think… a feww ‘ays.” Munson tries to give him a flirty look back but his fever makes him uncoordinated so it looks more like his face just scrunches up uncomfortably. It makes Steve chuckle softly and Eddie lights up in response.

“Pretty… pretty boy.” He tries to reach up but Steve catches his hand and gently places it back on the pea ice pack. Munson was smart, pressing his wrists against it to help cool him down. 

“I know I’m gorgeous Munson but let’s get you feeling better before you try to kiss me okay?”

“Promise?” Well, Steve feels like he should be surprised but considering Eddie has been basically spilling his sexuality in his fevered state, he’s just going to wait it out and see if Eddie remembers any of this later. And if he doesn’t then he will keep the older boy’s secret.

“We can talk about it when your fever breaks. Do you think you could keep some food down for me or would you rather take some Nyquil and sleep?”

Eddie looks queasy at just the mention of food so it’s not a surprise when he asks for sleep. Steve stands and goes to dig through his medicine cabinet, he knows he stocked up when Dustin had a cold from all the stress after Starcourt. After filling up the little cup with the medicine he fills another glass with some gatorade mixed with ice for him to wash it down.

Eddie’s breathing is still a little shallow when he returns, but hopefully the medicine will help with the fever breaking. He is able to haul Eddie up enough to get him to drink the medicine but struggles with getting him to sip the juice. Eventually Eddie places his hand over Steve’s to steady him so he’s not feeling waterboarded. 

“Spose it’ss too late t’ ask, you di’n’t poison me right?”

Steve sets the glass aside since it seems like Eddie is done drinking. “No Munson, I’m not that jealous of you stealing my kids yet.”

“Nooo, not jel’uss. Kids luv you.” His slurring started to get worse as the meds kicked in.

“We can debate that in the morning, for now let’s get you in a bed.” He takes the melty bag of peas and sets them aside before scooping Eddie up again. Getting up the stairs leaves Steve huffing a bit, Eddie is light but he isn’t weightless. He says as such and gets a bite to the shoulder for his trouble.

“...u callin’ me fat?” He pouts and weakly tries to squirm away.

“No Eddie you’re the prettiest princess at the ball I assure you. I will search the whole kingdom to find out who could ever fit into your scuffed up Docs.” Steve snorts but Eddie looks pleased as punch at Steve’s proclamation.

“Damn straight.” Eddie sighs tiredly, his head lolling against Steve’s shoulder. “Don’ wanna wake up.”

“Wake up from what Eddie?” He asks as he lays Eddie in the guest bed, he kneels down to tug off Eddie’s boots and set them aside. Talking to Eddie is like conversing with a sleep talker at this point.

“Dream, you bein’ niccce.”

“What would you like me to say in this dream of yours then? Before you wake up.” He asks, looking up at Eddie from where he’s kneeling in front or the other, hands gripping his shins to keep his balance. He’s not expecting Eddie to reach out and touch his cheek with icy fingers.

“Ssssuch a crussh on you…school.” 

Steve’s cheeks explode with color at that admission and he quickly stands up to lay Eddie down and tuck him in. Eddie is out as soon as he hits the pillow. Steve runs a hand through his hair and sighs as he watches Eddie Munson curl around his pillow in his sleep and let out a loud snore.

Shaking his head he leaves the door cracked open and heads back downstairs to clean up and watch some tv before bed.

Pt 4

[malereadermaniac]

Fever ~ Ukai x male reader

Your husband takes care of you while you're ill, in more ways than one

Fluff & Smut! Minors & fem readers DNI!!

"Why d'you think coach leave halfway through practice?" Shoyo looked up at Daichi as he questioned the taller man

"Not a clue... but he looked real worried, and he left in a hurry, I guess" Daichi responds, a quizzical look on his face

"Are you on about coach Ukai? Kiyoko told me that he had to leave to be with his husband. She was with him when he got the text that his husband was sent home with a fever" Yaichi says with a small smile as she makes her way into the conversation

"Really?? How bad is it?" Daichi says

"Really?? HUSBAND??" Shoyo says unanimously

"What? You didn't know? Coach never shuts up about 'the love of his life'" daichi says in a funny voice, mocking Keishin

The highschoolers laugh about at their conversation - in contrast to their coach, who had just arrived home in a slightly worried state

The dishevelled blonde barely took the time to remove his shoes, kicking them off in random directions as he darts towards your shared bedroom

He finds you in bed, completely covered in blankets and still shivering while visibly sweating and bright red

"Oh babe... you should of just told me yoh weren't feeling too good" Keishin coos at you, feeling bad that he let you go to work - you'd even packed his lunch for him

"Nggghh... I didn't feel this bad this morning though..." you whine, visibly uncomfortable from your cold

Ukai continues to baby you as he sets out on his plan of action

You'd think the man was running the navy at how seriously he was taking his caring for you

The muscular, older man had opened a window slightly to air the room out, brought you cold, wet towels, gently placing them on your forehead as he stroked your face lovingly

Ukai brewed you a quick soup and kneeled down next to you in bed, sitting you up slightly and feeding you the warm liquid

It was moments like these that reminded you of the many reasons you loved your husband to death and back

Ukai was so caring, he didn't mind looking after you, he even enjoyed it

You could see it in the blonde's eyes, the love and compassion he felt strongly for you - He's such a cute hunk of a man

After spending most of the afternoon looking after you, Ukai finally took a little break, changing out of his work clothes into a tank and some grey sweatpants

But just as he sat down for a quick second, Keishin heard you calling for him

However, he could tell from the tone of your voice that you weren't calling him due to your cold...

And his suspicions got confirmed once Ukai caressed your cheek asking "what's up, baby?" - and you responded by biting your lip and looking up at your husband with a look he knows all to well, grabbing his arm gently with your boiling hand

It makes sense for you to be horny in this moment, work stress and the cold coming onto you had made you not want to engage in sex with Ukai

Now that you had a moment to relax, that pent up sexual frustration had caught up to you...

"Heh... baby you can barely stand up, we're not fuckin'" Keishin chuckles at you, pouting slightly

"Ughh pleassseeeee~ Keishin I need you... I need your big dick in me right now! I wanna feel you~" you practically beg your husband to fuck your guts up

And Keishin can only deny the best feeling he's ever felt (fucking you to high heaven) so much

And whats even better is that because of Ukai's caring nature, the blonde won't allow you to put in any effort due to your fever

Hey, you're not complaining!

In a matter of seconds, your clothes are discarded to the floor along with your muscular husband's tank top - his muscles on full display for your hazy, tired eyes to oggle at

You lie on the bed, breathing slightly heavily as your body is slightly flushed and sweating - Ukai touching you as gently as he can as he bends down over you and goes in to kiss you

You sum up all of your strength and effort you have left for the day to block your mouth before Ukai can kiss you

The now horny man moves away and gives you a confused look

"You shouldn't kiss me, I'll get yoh sick..." you say with a sad smile, moving your hand to your husband's broad shoulder and toned chest

Ukai smiles sadly and chuckles, moving his mouth to your boiling body instead

"Doesn't mean I can't kiss your sexy body~" Keishin mumbles, making you chuckle as the sensation of your husband's lips on your overly sensitive body (due to your cold) makes your dick go rock solid instantly

Ukai's lips somehow feel cold on your body - the heat of your body fucking up your sense of temperature

By the time the blonde had reached you desperate dick, Ukai's fingers were already covered in his spit and prodding at your hole

Your lazy moans bounced around the room as Ukai licked and sucked your cock as he fingered your hole - his long, masculine digits pushing against your prostate with every move

"Shit babe, your ass is fuckin' warm, my fingers are melting~" Ukai mumbles against your dick, grinding his own against the bed - excited by the thought of getting his dick inside of your oven of an asshole

After what felt like hours, Keishin finally removes his fingers from your now loosened up entrance

Resisting the urge to kiss you, Ukai instead kisses your forehead and then gives you a warm smile as he moves one of your legs onto his strong shoulder

You take a deep breath as you wait for Ukai to start pushing in

Your moans increased tenfold, your cold making you much more sensitive - Ukai's moans joined yours, your hole tightening around his thick cock making your husband feel euphoric

Once Ukai had bottomed out, the man hovered over you, letting out a shaky sigh as his muscular arms held him up - positioned on either side of your head

"F-fuck babe...! You're boiling my dick like a 7-11 hotdog! Heh heh..."

Your fever was really serving a purpose in this moment, the heat of your tight walls already pushing Ukai near the edge of his orgasm

With Ukai breathing heavily above you, waiting for you to adjust to him as he tries his hardest not to cum

After a couple of moments, you weakly bring your hot arms around your husband's mucular neck and shoulders

"Haaa... can you start moving? Please, Keishin?~" you plead, squirming around under your husband from the uncomfortable fever and also your horny desperation

Ukai chuckles from above you, mumbling a curse word as he starts to gyrate his hips

The blonde's muscular body was starting to sweat, completely covering you, his groans and moans echoing in the room as his body rocked against yours

You joined Keishin in a harmony of moans, whines spewing out of your mouth from Ukai's veiny, long dick pounding into your prostate - rubbing his cock against your gummy walls, stimulating you both to the brink of orgasm

As Ukai keeps his thrusts going at a steady pace, one slightly slower rhan usual to make room for your weaker state

"Fuuuuck baby~ So good fa' me... So fuckin' warm" Keishin moans above you, moving his head down to the crook of your neck and kissing and biting at it

You lazily move your hips in tempo woth Ukai's, eagerly anticipating the orgasm you so desperately crave for

As your husband's sweat makes his blonde hair stick to his forehead, his pace starts to become uneven - his rhythm disrupted by the oncoming pleasure of his incoming climax

Your moans of Keishin's name increased in volume gradually until your voice came to a halt - unable to resort to anything else, you just silent scream in pleasure

Ukai's hips come to a halt, his heavy balls slapping against your plush ass, his fat cock buried inside of you - stuffing your ass fully

"GAHH! Fuuuuuck, (y/n)... shit, babe!" Ukai moans loudly from above you, filling your hole with his thick cum

As Keishin stuffs your guts with his seed, your own dick spasms and spurts out long strings of white cum up your body and even covering Keishin's abs

Your muscles tense to such an overstimulating extent due to your cold, your moans start to fall of deaf ears as you writhe and whine and moan is immense pleasure

After getting yourselves together, Ukai and you stay in your previous positions, recuperating your breaths as you relax your muscles

Keishin chuckles and pats your cheek, snapping you out of your little come down

"Heh... thanks, pretty boy - I needed that" Ukai says with a soft smile

" Hmhm... yeah... I did too, thanks, sexy~" you chuckle, your voice nasaly from your cold

As Ukai carries you bridal style to the tub, he kisses your head, taking in the scent that he dreams about

After washing up together and getting into a pair of fresh clothes, Ukai sets you on the couch in front of the TV as he changes your sheets - the linen currently stained with your sweat and both yours and Ukai's cum

The rest of the day was spent cuddling, Keishin taking care of your every need - which, of course, meant taking care of any sexual needs that reared their beautiful heads

[scara-meow-che]

Dainsleif's dick being infused with abyss energy(?) like his arm-

Like yea Tartaglia's last form's dick, yeah Ito's oni dick, yeah zhongli's dragoon dick,but what of Dain???? That shit must be magical 😩

⦿ 𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 ┃ eyes up here princess with dainsleif

CW. NSFW (MDNI), big dick! dain, fem! reader, use of words (princess), established relationship, teasing, first-time sex, implied oral, sex w/out penetration (thigh job and dick job? is that even a thing? idk, just read it to find out), dirty talk, magical dick (i am NOT sorry), mention of abyss princess lumine

AN. the new archon quest 🧍🏻‍♀️ it felt like a fever dream and it's a whole ass year again before we get to see this man so i am making it my mission to let him and his abyss-energy-fused dick live in my mind rent-free. also, if the anon that sent me this is still here to witness me posting this, hello :D this took me by surprise bcs i planned it to be short but here we are ig

it wasn't every day that you get dain's attention all to yourself.

you would often see him somewhere, busy, as always. sometimes, you would find yourself conversing with a few locals when dain tries to do things on his own as he would reason out that it's for your own safety. or you'd be up and about some part of the region searching for the abyss princess as to what he currently puts as his top priority.

these repeating turn of events would, most of the time, make you question whether you really matter to him seeing as he's always invested in things unrelated to you or what interests you. you don't ask too much from him but sometimes, a little attention would be nice, or have him answer all the questions that run inside your head.

yet, when dain would see that familiar expression painting your face as you make your bed for the night, he would put everything on hold and indulge more in what you'd request. he does make up for you, well, you have no complaints when he does because he'd always be there in a heartbeat for every beck and call.

hence why you're laid out on your bed, legs spread out with him toying with your already sore clit.

the idea of having sex had never once danced in between each conversation you'd have with dain. you'd rather spend the time to catch up on each other's day and sort out a route to where you both want to go next. it never fazed you when some people asked how your relationship with dain is going, not even bothered when some old women from liyue dramatically gasped as you've never been that intimate with your lover.

as the tension builds up throughout the months of overhearing people gossiping about their partners or be the victim of a drunk local telling you the tale of their sexual escapades, it draws out some images in your head. would dain be like the same as those oni's you've heard about? or have an impressive length similar to this one tale about a dragon lord? heck, would he have a dick that grows unrealistically big just like with the harbinger that you've heard about?

but who fucking cares anyway? you're about to get the real deal right now.

"what a curious mind you have there, princess." dain mindlessly mused as he press soft kisses along your thighs, leaving you breathless as he presses himself closer to your aching core. you can feel the heat from the big hard tent on his pants as he rubs himself to the dampness of your cunt. "i thought that eating you out could already satiate your pretty little head but you still want... what? what is it that you want from me again?"

he taunts, amused when he hears a cry from your disheveled form. "ah, didn't i say to tell me if you want something?"

"but it's embarrassing to say it!" you can't even fully reason out how humiliating it is for you to casually ask him that you want to see his dick as you let out another moan when he lightly thrusts his clothed cock on your core. he doesn't even let up, continuing his cruel pace in rubbing his aching dick on your already sensitive clit.

"p-please! i just, a-ah, want to see your d-dick!"

"say what again, princess?"

having enough of his teasing, you went to give your best in bending your body just to reach the big tent on his pants. "i want to see your dick dain and... i want you to fuck me, please."

you can feel a rush of heat all over your skin, your eyes quickly darting to the side to avoid dain's amused pair. a chuckle was all you heard before you felt his hands gently laying you down back to bed. in response to his pleased titter, you scoffed and gave him a quick glare.

"i'm sorry but you're just irresistible when you're so honest with me." he paused as he takes a sharp intake of air when he pulls out his leaking cock from the confines of his pants.

your eyes widen at the sight. no, it's not because he's as big as what you heard like the one of an oni or he has that delicious curve like that of the dragon cock but it's because the hue is unlike any other, the dark blue pulses as beads of white litters on the tip. fuck, when dain gave his dick a quick stroke, you can see how it grew a bit larger in his palm.

you drool just by imagining how it would feel inside of you.

"eyes up here, princess." he gave your thighs a light smack, pulling your attention back up before you felt the cockhead rubbing so gingerly on your little nub, smearing your cum on your lower lips.

"you're so eager for me, huh?" he can feel you trembling the more he pays attention to your aching core, gliding the head back and forth your lower lips, enough to push the head inside your hole but easy for him to just pull right back out. he's testing out the waters, waiting for more of your reactions and he could only see you enjoying yourself being please with the tip of his dick.

"just look at you, so wet and ready for me." and you are, feeling your arousal pool and spill right out of your needy hole while dain keeps making a mess out of it. your hips desperately buck right up, chasing for the head but he kept you pinned down on the soft mattress as he continues teasing you.

"dain, please, want to feel more of you." your hand went to grab his arms, giving it a light squeeze that you knew would get him to listen to you.

but it did the complete opposite.

"didn't you say that you want to see my dick?"

before you could argue back, dain had gently straightened both your legs upward, his strong arms locking you in place before pushing the dark blue cockhead in between your thighs. "been wanting to do this for so long," he uttered with a low groan, his body shivering when he thrusts his cock in the middle of your soft flesh, the rushed and hasty movements of the head prods at your clit. "you look so pretty like this, just letting me use you."

you gasped for air when he purposely prods at your puckering hole, angling his abyss-energy-fused cock to dive in and out of your thighs. your eyes caught a glimpse of how each streak of white glow, the nerves pulsing as he ruts himself so needily on you.

"so keep your pretty eyes on me and maybe, if you managed to do so, i might just give you what you want."

and you did, you desperately tried your best to keep looking at dain and just watching how he use your thighs to get off. it was a rare sight to see dain lose himself, tottering over the warmth and softness that covers his dick.

at first, he was scared that he might scare you off, thinking how unusual his cock looks. compared to what he thought you'd prefer to see in between your legs, about to rail the innocence out of you, his was far off the scales.

but when he saw your eyes almost sparkled when he pulled out his dick, hands so damn eager to touch him, and both your lips spilling out how much you want more of him just sends him over the edge. his pace quickened the more he stares at your needy form, enjoying the way your eyes fluttered close whenever he brushed against your hole before proceeding in sliding his cock back on your thighs.

"i'm so close, fuck, you feel so good 'round me like this, princess." and fuck, yes, you can feel more of his pre-cum ooze around the head and coats more of your already slick skin. it felt so dirty, so filthy to watch him fuck himself with your thighs and you felt dirtier when you were enjoying how his large dick, fused with the same abyss energy as his arm, slides back and forth your thighs.

"cum for me please," you whispered, urging your lover to release his load on your skin. within seconds, dain stopped his thrusts as he buried his cock between your legs, pressing it tighter as he shoots his load on your flesh, slowly having the thick globs of his cum drip down on your core.

while dain goes to steady his breathing, you went to open up your legs to see how much cum had covered your body, the scent of sex causing your head to fizzle out that you had nothing in your mind but the need to see his dick filling you up.

dainsleif was shocked when you went to reach out for his cock, the keenness in your eyes captivating as you focused on his dick.

"wanna see how it looks as you fuck me." your request came like a cry, a whimper of desperation. and you can feel the way dain's dick twitched on your hand.

you're going to be the death of him.

⠀⠀scara-meow-che © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, or repost ANY of my content

[cherryflavoured7777]

Fevered Affection {h.c}

summary: Hazel takes care of a very sick you.

Pure fluff.

(This is entirely self-indulgent as I have been sick the past week and need a Hazel to come take care of me)

pairing: Hazel Callahan x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

You wake up in your bed, a tight ball of pressure constricting your chest, as if something has been lodged in your lungs for days. You try to slowly untangle yourself from Hazel's body beside you and move her arm off of you. As you sit up, you find yourself gasping for air, a fit of coughing wracking your body and intensifying the pounding in your head. Leaning over the edge of the bed, you reach for your water bottle, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat and sticky skin. It’s completely dark in the room except for the soft orange glow of your salt lamp plugged in, casting a warm ambiance on your bedside table.

You pick up your phone and the light from your screensaver adds to the throbbing in your poor head. Glancing at the clock, you groan, it's 3:38 a.m. Apparently, you had dozed off early only to be rudely awakened by your lingering illness. Every inch of your body aches, and your chills have now transformed into a too-warm heat.

Beside you, your girlfriend stirs, a soft sound escaping her lips. Hazel quickly becomes alert, her brows furrowing in concern. "Honey, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You convinced your mom to let Hazel come over and take care of you. After spending days miserably locked up in your room, missing school, and yearning to see her, you needed her presence. Hazel had arrived earlier that evening, well-prepared with all the essentials. As soon as she received the green light to come over, she stopped by a nearby grocery store to gather cough drops, medicine, tea, soup, a heating pad, and even a new stuffed animal, all to make you feel better.

"I'm fine, Haze," you manage to say before having another coughing fit.

"You don't sound fine. You sound like you're about to hack up a lung," Hazel says, concern etched on her face as she grabs your shoulder and pulls you in for a closer look. You attempt to squirm away from her touch.

"Don't look at me. I'm sick and disgusting," you protest weakly. Hazel chuckles softly. "Yeah, you look super gross right now. So gross that I just need to kiss you so bad," she teases sarcastically, planting a quick peck on your lips.

"Shut up," you reply, though you know there's no real heat behind your words. Hazel is just as lovesick as you are, if not more.

"I'm gonna get you sick," you warn halfheartedly.

"Babe, do you think if I was worried about that, I would have slept next to you for the past seven hours?" she replies, lightly tugging your bare arm back down and placing her lips on your shoulder.

"Seriously," she mumbles against your skin, her kisses tracing a line from your shoulder to your neck. Your head falls to your other shoulder, allowing her access, and you let out a soft sigh.

Her mouth reaches your ear, and she whispers, "Plus, if I get sick too, then we're both stuck in bed together. How terrible." You shove her off playfully, unable to suppress a laugh.

You watch as she gets up off the bed searching for one of the items she bought for you: Vicks Vaporub. She returns to the bed and settles in front of you. You shift closer until you're sitting face to face.

"My body hurts," you say, your frustration becoming more noticeable.

"Shh. I know, baby. I'm gonna try and make it better for you, okay?" she reassures, gently moving your hair out of the way to apply the cool gel on your chest. She carefully pulls down the straps of your tank top, creating a clear working space.

"I promise this will help a little bit, honey."

She opens the jar, dips her fingers in, and applies the rub to your chest with care. The sensation is cold, but oddly comforting. The intense minty smell instantly burns your nose. You watch as she runs her hand from the center of your chest up to your shoulder, squeezing gently when she reaches the top. Her touch is gentle yet firm, sending shivers down your spine.

"This okay? I know it's kind of cold, sorry," she says, dipping her fingers back into the jar for more gel. You can't help but admire the way her ringed fingers dip into the substance. She repeats the same process on the other side of your chest, her fingers gliding slowly across your chest. creating a tingling sensation that spreads warmth beneath your skin.

"Yeah, it's fine. Feels good, actually."

Despite your discomfort, a warm feeling spreads through your stomach as you watch Hazel take care of you so tenderly. As she wipes the small excess of the substance off on her hoodie sleeve, her eyes meet yours, filled with compassion and affection, conveying a silent promise to take care of you.

"I think I'm just really good with my hands," she remarks playfully. You shove her in a half-hearted attempt at retaliation, then surrender and collapse into her, your head buried into her neck with your hands in her lap. Her cold hands grip your waist and start to move up, drawing gentle lines up and down your back with her fingers.

"Thank you for taking care of me," your voice croaks. You sniffle, feeling overwhelmed by gratitude and annoyance at your lingering sickness. Hazel, sensing your frustration, instinctively reaches up to gently wipe away the tears that escape your eyes. Her touch is tender, her eyes filled with love and concern as she softly brushes her thumb against your cheek.

"You don't have to thank me, my love," she whispers, her voice soothing. She wraps you in her arms again, holding you tightly as she maneuvers you both back to lying down. Face to face, you stare into her big blue eyes.

"I hate feeling this way," you admit, your voice laced with frustration. "I just want to get better and go back to normal." Hazel's eyes soften with understanding, and her fingers begin gently caressing through your hair.

"I know, honey.” She says. "I hate seeing you like this too. I promise, first thing tomorrow, I'll take you to the doctor if you want. We'll figure out what's going on, and you'll get the proper help you need."

You find solace in her words, a glimmer of hope in the midst of your frustration. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice cracking with emotion. Hazel smiles, her eyes reflecting unwavering determination.

"Of course," she replies, her fingers tenderly tracing circles on your back. "I'll be with you every step of the way, holding your hand.” In the quiet intimacy of the moment, you look into Hazel's eyes, your gaze filled with deep affection and sincerity.

"I love you," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Hazel smiles, her eyes softening with the same depth of love mirrored in your own.

"I love you too, more than words can express," she replies, her hand moving down your body to rest on your hip, squeezing it gently.

"You mean the world to me, I literally only ever care about what you are doing or how you are feeling.” She adds.

You both laugh quietly, feeling thankful to have found someone who cares for you so deeply.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you confess, your heart swelling with gratitude. I don't know what I'd do without you." Hazel leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"And I'm lucky to have you too," she murmurs, her voice filled with unwavering devotion. "We're a team, you and I. I mean it.” You share a smile, your gazes locked.

“God we can be so cheesy sometimes,” you remark, letting out a soft laugh.

"Yeah, you love it." She shifts onto her back, pulling you closer and wrapping her arm around you, inviting you to rest your head on her chest.

"Do you feel comfy?" She asks softly.

"Mhm,” you murmur in contentment.

“I’m right here babe, I’m not leaving. I’ll stay with you as long as it takes for you to get better okay? I just want you to sleep well and get some rest now"

You let sleep begin to tug at you, completely content, wrapped in each other's arms, listening to the soft rhythm of Hazel's breathing slowing down.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

a/n: Okay this was literally the first fic i have ever written so please forgive me if its god-awful. Also if you enjoyed this wanna send me a request I would seriously be so happy <3

also sorry the formatting on this is kinda weird

[the-scandalorian]

like a moth to the flame, part IV

Pairing: monster!Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 11.1k Content Warnings: dark!Din, predatory/obsessive/possessive behavior, body horror/painful physical transformations, injury/gore, blood and hunting and monstery shit, oral (m-receiving), p-in-v Note: Endlessly grateful to both @frannyzooey and @ezrasbirdie for lending me their big beautiful brains xx

DIN Din had woken, disoriented and hurting, that morning after he’d found the Armorer on Glavis.

He came-to curled in the fetal position on the hard metal floor of his tiny compartment on the humming public transport. Before he’d even opened his eyes, he knew his body felt wrong. Uncomfortable and unwieldy, heavy and strange.

When he did open his eyes to the harsh, artificial light, the first thing he noticed was the sharp clarity of his vision. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, but it felt like he was looking through one of the strongest filters of his visor. He blinked hard. No change.

He unfolded his arms and studied his hands, splaying too-long fingers, and his thoughts tangled and snagged as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. 

The glint of cruel silver claws. 

In his periphery, he caught the movement of a dark shape over his shoulder.

He tried to scramble away from it. It followed, a shadow.

Wings.

The word felt absurd. But it was…right. Silver that matched the half-moons of those claws, a structure of bone sprouted from both of his shoulder blades, a hooked joint forming the apex of each inky black, bat-like wing. Colossal and dark.

Piece by piece, in a haze of disbelief, he discovered new parts of himself.

The sheer size of this body, the power coiled in his changed muscles. 

He ran a finger along the edge of his teeth, catching the pad on an elongated canine. Blood welled.

The wound on his thigh, where he'd burned himself with the saber the night before, was largely healed. There was only a trace of it, a fading pink scar.

Din stopped there. He couldn’t bring himself to look in a mirror, to see himself like this. He wasn’t ready for it to be real, to know if his face was still his own.

Instead, he picked up his chest plate to start collecting his armor, and his claws bit gently into the perfectly smooth surface. He was stunned.

What scratches beskar?

Beskar.

Of course.

The silver of his claws, of his wing joints was beskar. Virtually indestructible.

Din sank back to the floor and closed his eyes. He sat against the cold metal wall with his clenched fists pressed against his eyelids, the tips of those talons cutting into his palms. He wanted to escape the prison of this body, of this new reality; to wake from this nightmare; to blink himself out of existence altogether. 

He forced himself to slow his breathing, holding it at the top of each inhale, until some of the tension in his chest eased. He let his thoughts go, focused on the cadence of his breath. Preparing himself as he did before a fight.

A slow, creeping sense of relief spread through him gradually, growing so palpable it turned physical. Like a cool wash of water over his aching muscles, a full-body shiver racked him. The tremble and quake of his broad frame was fleeting but intense. A release. His bones shifted in a pinch of discomfort. His mind drifted.

And then, stillness.

He’d opened his eyes minutes later, and his vision was blessedly, beautifully blurred—just barely. As it always was. As it was supposed to be.

Sitting there, staring at his hands and his blunt, human nails, Din might have been able to convince himself he’d imagined all of it. A fever dream. A delusion. An exhaustion-fueled moment of insanity, his mind addled by the fight and the pain and the life-altering dismissal from his covert. 

Except, etched into his chest plate…those damning marks.

A mechanical voice announced the imminent arrival of the transport, interrupting his moment of existential crisis. Tatooine. The local time and weather blared through the speaker.

Tatooine. He couldn’t go back there. Not like this.

He made a choice. He dressed and readied himself, deboarded and found his way to the baggage claim. A droid unlocked his case, and Din methodically reattached each of his weapons. He reached for the dark saber last. The metal hilt felt hot, even through the thick leather of his glove. Nothing else had—not his blaster or his charges. Just the saber, warm under his touch. Warm like something alive. Like something warm-blooded, something with a thrumming pulse. Like something pleased to be back in his grip.

Like it knew.

He clipped it to his belt and let it drop, relieved to not have it in his hand.

Din turned, looking for the closest screen of departures, and scanned the list for the least populated destination.

*** Now, months later, he wakes to a fantasy.

He hadn’t meant to sleep. He didn’t want to risk it, even in the armor—not after he felt his body start to shift under his beskar last night. He didn’t think that was possible. Then he’d sucked your taste off his fingers, and his head had snapped to the side, his spine straightening. He’d felt the pop of vertebra and the sudden tightness of the skin across his back, the warm tension in his muscles straining for the change, but he’d managed to stave it off. 

Just barely.

No, he hadn’t meant to sleep last night, but he had. And he wakes now, well rested, to the feeling of your warm body curled into his side, your head nuzzled into his neck, your breathing slow and deep. Watery morning light, as light as this dark forest ever gets, is visible through the trees outside the window.

He’d tried to move away from you during the night, to give you space, sure that you’d be more comfortable without the hard edges of beskar digging into your soft body, but every time he’d started to extract himself gently, you’d grumbled and tightened your fingers wherever they happened to be—caught in the folds of his duraweave, gripped around armor, tangled with his own. The leg you had hooked over his thigh had tensed too, your foot tucking itself under his other knee. You twined yourself around him, like a tenacious little climbing vine, and refused to let go.  

He likes it. You’re possessive too.

The realization hurts a soft spot under his ribs—you want what he wants. To belong to someone. To claim and be claimed. To know that closeness. Skin-to-skin, joined and sweaty, without all these fucking layers between you. That hopeless, dangerous thing he can never give you.

That thought is unbearable when you’re asleep on his chest, your hand still curled over the top of his chest plate, fingers clinging to the sharp cut of metal. When he can smell the faint tang of your blood as it pumps idly through your veins, detectable even under the layer of your delicate floral scent, even from beneath his helmet.

His mouth waters.

It’s the catalyst that finally gets him moving. He carefully but forcefully unfastens your hand, inches your leg off his, and slips out of bed. You readjust but don’t wake.

As soon as he’s standing, looking down at you, he regrets it. The space between your bodies is intolerable, and he has nothing to do but wait for you to wake. So he waits. He waits, and he seethes.

He thinks about the mistakes he’s made.

*** He’d spent yesterday angry at himself, fuming at his own idiocy. He’d ruminated on how to proceed, how to scare you off again after he’d all but courted you the previous night when he’d given you a com link. Had invited you to use it. Fucking encouraged it. He’d been drunk on you—on your presence, on your forgiveness, on your smile. On the headiness of your scent as you’d stood so close to him outside your house. And it had messed with his fucking head, made him do stupid things. Dangerous things.

He’d worked through the steps of his drills while he thought, slashing the saber through the air as he’d tried to decide what to do. How to retract his offer of the com. He didn’t think he could bring himself to be cruel to you, to reject you outright. He’d imagined your face, imagined the hurt there, and he’d just…known he couldn’t do it. He’d have to leave. He wouldn’t let himself see you again. He'd jam the frequency of the com link. A clean break.

It was the only option.

He’d decided he’d let himself change early then, before the sun had dipped below the green horizon. One last hunt before he found a way off this planet. 

He’d been minutes away from letting himself shift, minutes away from heading out completely uninhibited, when he’d caught your scent. You were close. The timing of it had made him want to break something. That was exactly the problem with all of this: one misstep, one instance of bad timing…and you could end up dead.

Why hadn’t he thought about you finding the bodies? How had that not occurred to him? 

He’d left a perfect trail from your house to his. His animal brain had thought protect and nothing else. He’d gotten sloppy, comfortable. Maybe some part of him had wanted you to find it, to follow.

This was how it would end, then, he’d thought as he waited for you. Not in the easy way he’d planned, not a quiet exit—a coward’s exit. He’d have to face you, to turn you away and tell you he was leaving. 

Then you were in front of him, and all of that was gone—the struggle and the resolve, the determination and decency. He’d fought to get it back for a few minutes, scrabbled against his own desire. Had tried to deny himself—to deny you. It was futile.

You’d asked him if he thought you were weak, if all of this was somehow your fault. And that was it.

He’d refused to punish you for his sins. 

*** And now you’re in his bed. Warm and soft under his comforter, your head pressed into his pillow. A dream. Something he could wake up to tomorrow and the next day, if he wanted. A string of perfect, untouchable days stretching before him like a beckoning temptress.

He can’t let himself think like that.

Your life, he reminds himself. Your life is what matters most. Keeping you here wouldn’t just be selfish, wouldn’t just be a temporary balm, it would be a gamble. Your life pitted against his own self-restraint. Your life pitted against the self-restraint of a monster he doesn’t trust.

If he can just get you out—out of his bed, out of his house, out of his head—he’ll be able to think straight, and then he can go.

He watches you stir, aware suddenly that a fully armored Mandalorian looming over you might not be the most comforting sight for you to wake to. But you crack open sleepy eyes before he can move, and a lazy smile spreads across your face. His heartbeat stumbles.

“Morning,” you yawn, stretching your arms over your head.

“Morning,” he replies, clipped as he tries to expedite this process.

“It’s early,” you muse, your gaze trailing to the window. “I think you should come back to bed.”

Din’s thoughts stall immediately. You look so cozy, so comfortable snuggled in his bed. In his bed.

“Please?”

Din’s helmet follows the path of your hand as it begins to wander: as it slides languidly down the column of your neck, molds over the swell of your breast, lingers along your waist. You know you’ve snared him right away. You always know.

He just stands there, silent and yielding, as you kick the blankets away and shimmy out of your clothes. He wants to tell you to stop, but his mouth isn’t responding to his brain, his jaw dropped open slightly behind the helmet as he surveys the bare lines of your body. He didn’t get to enjoy this yesterday, didn’t get to luxuriate in the view, to drink in every detail. To commit it to memory.

His visor catches where your fingers stroke the curve of your hip.

“I can’t—” he starts.

You slip your hand between your legs, run your fingers through the soft hair there.

He was going to get you out. To regroup. That was his intention.

One of your fingers slips lower, dips into the seam of your sex. His cock responds.

He barely knows his own name, let alone any sense of reason when you’re looking at him like that—touching yourself like that. Begging him to touch you. His nervous system jolts from freeze directly into overdrive, and immediately he can feel himself brushing up against some physical limit, teetering on the edge of his control.

He watches you drop your knees open, and a low, pained sound passes through the modulator when you use two fingers to part yourself, putting yourself on display for him. You roll the pad of one finger over your clit, and your head drops back onto the pillow, your eyes closing in pleasure. Need claws at the inside of him. 

“Stop,” he commands, but there’s no bite in it, his mouth watering at the sight of your stroking fingers.

You smile and widen the spread of your thighs, moving your hand lower.

He tries to sound firm, but his words come out like a plea: “Don’t—”

“I wouldn’t have to touch myself if you’d do it for me.”

You keep your eyes on his visor as you press two fingers inside yourself, frictionless as they sink inside the warm clutch of your body. He’s fixated on the flex of your wrist as you fuck yourself gently—his rapt attention suddenly a shivering, living thing throbbing under his skin. When you ease them out, he can see the shine of your arousal coating your skin up to the knuckle, a clear thread strung between your fingers for a brief moment when you slowly separate them.

“Your fingers feel so much better,” you breathe.

His blood pulses loudly in his ears, a too-slow beat. He knows what you feel like, clenched around his thick fingers—how slick, how hot. He knows what you taste like, licked off his own skin. Din would like to say that some greater primal force takes over, hijacks his body, that the monster in him doesn’t give him a choice, but that would be a lie.

He decides to let go.

Without changing forms, Din silences the part of his mind that’s protesting. He lets the animal of his hindbrain take control, a predator submitting to the call of its prey drive. It feels good to give in—a rush of blissful quiet overtakes him. He looks at you, and it’s simple. He wants you.

Time slows, but his hands move quickly—going to his belt buckle. The weapon-heavy leather thuds when it hits the ground at his feet.

You watch him disarm himself, poised like a willing sacrifice on his bed with your hand caught between your open legs, a naked eagerness on your face that pleases the possessive, hungry thing in his chest. His vision is tinged red, the severed thread of his control a distant memory as he thinks of all the things he wants to do with you.

To you.

He condemned himself to this the moment he let himself touch you. There’s no going back. He’s going to taste your nectar from the source. He’s going to fuck you with his tongue and gently suckle your clit between his lips until you sob. He’s going to eat you out until you come on his face, your hands tangled in his hair.

And then he’s going to do it again.

He tries not to think about how much easier that would be with his other tongue, his tongue when he’s transformed—long and dextrous as it is. He could get so deep inside you like that. Taste you from the inside out.

Later. He appeases himself with the promise of later. The promise of tomorrow and more more more.

His gaze settles on your mouth. There’s something else he wants now.

He approaches the bed and stands at its side, waiting patiently. That desperate sense of urgency drops away, and his shoulders relax. He can decide to have all the time in the world with you if he only lets himself. 

When he hunts, when Din really truly hunts these days, he finds that he likes to draw out the indulgence of it. The tease and the chase. The kick of adrenaline before the slaughter. He understands why a predator plays with its prey before it makes the kill. 

Because it can.

Because it feels good.

You’re expecting him to join you on the bed. He can see it in your expectant gaze.

“You want it so bad?” he asks, dipping his helmet down. “Come here.”

A wicked look flashes across your face at the change in his voice, at the invitation. There’s a beat of anticipation as you decide to play along, and then you crawl to the edge of the bed on your hands and knees. He watches, an imperious tilt to his helmet.

You perch on the edge, looking up. Waiting.

“Go ahead,” he nods. “Take it out.”

Your hands move to the button on his pants, but you don’t pop it open right away. You let your hand mold to the hard bulge there, feeling the heft of him.

He tilts his helmet the other direction, impatient, and you go for the zipper. 

Before you’ve even pulled his cock out, before you’ve even touched him, Din thinks the sensation of your hot breath on the expanse of skin exposed by his open fly might be the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced. 

He rips his gloves off and locks a hand around the nape of your neck. 

He thinks for a fleeting moment how obvious it must be—his obsession with your mouth. The edge of mania he’s shoved toward when you let your tongue drag up his hip bone. That he’d slit his wrists at the altar of your perfect lips if you asked.

Your eyes drag upward slowly as you lick across his skin, gaze catching on the armored lines of his body before it meets his visor. You peer up at him as you inch the fabric of his pants down just far enough. And then your eyes flick down to watch a pearly bead of precum slip down the length of his shaft at your closeness.

“You want it?” he rasps. “Open your mouth.”

He grunts in satisfaction when your lips part immediately. Again when your hand curls around the base of him and your tongue darts out to circle his head, a touch so infuriatingly delicate that it makes him want to hold you down and fuck your throat raw.

He doesn’t, of course. He lets you set the pace even though your teasing lick across the underside of his cock and another over his slit feel as much like torture as they do like pleasure. 

Finally, finally, you take him fully into the heat of your mouth. You start up a steady rhythm, and he’s more than satisfied to let you take the reins. 

You’re less satisfied with that though—you settle a hand over his on your neck and press down, your eyes skirting upward as you nod subtly, your other hand urging his hips forward, urging him to fuck your mouth. 

Use me. 

He wishes you could see his face in this moment, what you do to him. Din’s eyelashes flutter shut at the perfection of your request. But immediately, he snaps them open again, needing to see.

He thrusts forward, and you whine in approval, your fingers tightening on his hip—taking him deep again and again, until he watches a line of saliva slide down your chin. Until your lashes grow wet, eyes watering at the effort of taking him over and over. 

It’s too much. It’s too good. 

The tight, hot constriction of your throat as you swallow around the head of him, the hard suck of your cheeks hollowing out around his shaft. His helmet rocks back, and a growl reverberates through his chest. But he’s not about to let himself come without knowing what it feels like to fuck you.

His hand drops away from the back of your neck; he forces his hips to still. “Enough,” he grits.

When you surge forward again, taking him deep, he closes a hand gently around your throat and eases you backward, off him.

“I said stop.” He thinks the words would be menacing if the fractured restraint in his voice weren’t so apparent. If you couldn’t see the steady leak of precum from his cock, the drizzle of opaque liquid on his dark pants. He’s teetering right on the painful edge of orgasm, and you know it. 

“Need to fuck you,” he says, his hand still settled over your throat.

“Then fuck me,” you reply, your voice hoarse as you shift backward on the bed. 

“You want my fingers first?” he asks, his hand drifting down the inside of your thigh. “You want to cum on my hand again?”

“No,” you say, catching his wrist and pulling him onto the bed, over you. 

“No?” he says. “You want it to hurt?”

“Yes.”

His fingers tighten on your thigh. Too hard. “Turn around.”

You flip over and settle on your knees in front of him, and Din can see how much you enjoyed sucking his cock in the glossy spread of your cunt. 

He catches a drop of your arousal with two caressing fingers. “You want to be fucked hard? Is that what you want, you greedy little thing?”

You press your hips back, rubbing yourself into the cup of his hand. And for a moment, his mind buzzes with blankness—with the thought that he could be tasting you instead of just touching you. He satisfies himself for now by lining up his cock with the soft heat of your pussy, by pressing his sensitive head against your arousal-slick flesh. 

But when you whine and start to shift backward into him, he waits. Savors. “You need my cock that bad, huh?”

“Please, I need it. I want it—”

It’s that thing he fantasizes about—the daydream he strokes himself to in the shower after he hunts, when he’s sticky with blood and the leash on his desire has long been snapped. Your whined plea for him, your need so stark and bright that he couldn’t ever possibly deny you. Your need for him so heightened it threatens to match his for you.

“Take it then,” he pants. “Take what you asked for.”

He sinks his cock into the welcoming heat of your body, pressing slowly against the tight resistance of little preparation—hears the soft, drawn-out oh of your pleasure—and he knows there’s no coming back from this.

*** So he doesn’t fight it. He keeps you.

Days turn into a week. Into two. You bring life and sound to this desolate place—the creak of your steps on the hardwood floor, the sound of your humming, the quiet clanks of your movements around the kitchen in the early morning light. The quiet, steady tick of your heartbeat. All those pretty little noises you make when he has you in his bed—the moans and the whimpers and the pleas. His pillow smells like mellow spring flowers, and there are rose colored skirts and silky blue pajamas in his dresser.

He likes it.

He likes the noise and the tightness of the space and the company.

When he heads outside to chop wood for the fireplace, you follow to watch him roll up the duraweave sleeves of his flight suit and swing the ax—again and again until a thick log splits down the middle with a crack—and the attention pleases him. 

The weeks stack up, and there is a bar of soap speckled with lavender flowers in his shower. There are sweet strawberry preserves lined up in his cupboard, a colorful wool throw blanket tossed over the back of the couch that you insist is a necessity. For sitting in front of the fire, of course. You poke fun at his ascetic choices, at the lack of coziness in his house, but you don’t seem mad at all to be the one to provide it. 

He thinks you know instinctively that home isn’t a place or a concept he’s familiar with. He thinks you love being the one to show him what it could mean. 

He can tell you don’t mind that you have to face opposite directions when you eat. He thinks you like the sound of his voice even more when it’s not passed through the modulator. You draw out every meal with questions. He draws them out with his answers.

He tells you about the little green bounty that changed his life, the soup his mother made for him when he was sick, being adopted by the Mandalorians, the fact that he used to love swimming as a child. That sometimes he thinks about how good it would feel to strip off his armor and swim now. You tell him about your dreams, your childhood, your plans, everything.

When he slips his helmet on again and you turn to face him, he can see that the gulf between what he does tell you and the whole truth is obvious, though.

There is a question—are many questions—swimming in your eyes. The intention to get answers too. He’s not sure which exactly questions they are: Why the armor? The helmet? The Creed? Why this place? Where is he going next? When? What happened to him? What is he? Why the isolation and the fear and the hesitation and mile-high walls and why why why?

What the fuck happened to the wall of the shower?

Valid questions, every one. Many are things he asks himself regularly. All are questions he doesn’t know how to answer without shattering this perfect moment, without ruining the lovely domesticity you’re cultivating together. So when he sees that look and your lips part, Din speaks before you can. He’s not ready, yet, to go there. He reaches for your hand or strokes a gloved finger over your cheek and deflects. 

Just a little longer, he thinks, please. And you’re not fooled—he knows that. You understand the request and allow it for now, and he’ll take what he can.

“You want to learn how to shoot?” he asks instead. 

Your eyes light up.

He helps you pick a blaster from his collection—“How many blasters does one man need, Mando?”—that’s well suited to you, that fits your grip. He sets up targets outside, scattered on trees at varying distances, and stands close behind you, a solid wall against your back. He adjusts your stance and the placement of your hands, letting his touch linger on your waist in a way that makes your heart rate readout on his helmet spike. 

“Are you going to let me focus or not?” you quip, peering at him over your shoulder. “I thought you were trying to teach me something here.”

He raises innocent hands and steps back. “I didn’t realize I was distracting you.”

You smile slyly at him. “Sure.”

He lets himself enjoy it, the ease between you, the way you can read him even through the armor. Standing a short distance behind you, he talks you through the process: how to aim and shoot, how to breathe.

Hand-to-hand, next, he thinks to himself as he watches you practice. Then blades. Tracking.

He’ll teach you anything and everything that will protect you.

For when he’s no longer here to do it for you, he doesn’t let himself think. 

He watches you practice each day, watches you focus on the target, your lip caught between your teeth in concentration, until you nail the bullseye. You run to the tree where the target is hanging—a hole singed through the middle—letting out a triumphant cry, and he follows.

“Look,” you grin, so proud it makes his heart trip. You point at the perfectly placed burn mark. 

“Good,” he praises. “Do it again.” 

You roll your eyes, but you do. You return dutifully to the line he’d drawn in the pine needle strewn ground and shoot until you get the hang of it, until a miss is rare. And then he fucks you up against that tree, your dress bunched up around your hips, the blaster abandoned somewhere by your feet. 

You leave for a day, maybe two, here and there to check on things at home, that little fawn you love. As soon as you’re gone, he spends a couple hours getting as far in the opposite direction as he can, changing, hunting whatever he can find in the shortest time, and then after he’s washed every trace of blood away and donned his armor, he waits for you to come back. He tells himself it’s a perfectly workable arrangement.

It’s fine. It’s safe. Safe enough.

With his attention elsewhere, it takes him a few weeks to notice that those prints, the ones he’d been tracking so obsessively, have started to show up closer to his house, to yours. They mark a quiet, slow encroachment into his territory—inching just barely past that boundary he’d been so careful to hold until recently. Their bravery is returning, their local numbers rebounding, because he hasn’t been pushing them back by culling their pack with regularity.

He makes a mental note to keep a closer eye on things, reassured by the fact that there are miles of buffer between their progress and you. And, more importantly, that more often than not, he’s by your side these days—like the times you ask him to come with you when you leave. He’s not going to say no to you.

Every night, he gets to undress you and pull you into his bed. To touch you and fuck you and make you come. He gets to learn what makes you cry, what makes you scream, what makes you beg.

All in the armor, still. In the beskar prison that keeps you safe from him. That line he manages, somehow, to maintain. The monster in him hasn’t wrested it from him yet, and he clings to that last safety net, that final border between risky and reckless. 

He wonders every day when you’ll hit your threshold. When it’ll all become too much—the secrets and the questions and the armor. Every day you don’t ask or push or leave, he breathes a sigh of relief, knowing full well it just means the next day is more likely. That worry is so dwarfed by the pleasure of having you that he barely notices it, though.

It helps, too, that he’s well rested for the first time in a long time.

Din doesn’t dream when you’re in his bed, isn’t haunted by the nightmares. He slips into sleep, and it doesn’t fight him like it usually does. He sleeps soundly with your warm, soft form tucked against his side, your face pressed into his cowl. Your presence, your touch, your scent—they soothe him.

He’s always known—even before he admitted it to himself—that there would be no halfway with this. No measured approach to having you. And he was right, of course. Here you are, living with him… and happy, he thinks. He doesn’t like to think about what would happen if that changed, if you left. What he'd do. What he'd have to stop himself from doing.

Din loves hard, with teeth, and all of his are sunk deep in you. If he really thinks about it, though, the opposite is true. Yours, sunk deep in him. You have a bone-deep hold on him, a fatal bite that severed something vital upon first contact. If you decided to let go, he’d bleed out.

And he feels lighter than he has in months. Maybe years.

It scares him so much he doesn’t want to think about it.

So he doesn’t.

YOU

It’s not intentional. You don’t sit down together and make a decision, but you don’t want to leave and he doesn’t want you to go. So you just…don’t.

Slowly, with time, your most essential things migrate from your place to his. You bring a bag of clothes here and your favorite blanket another time. Your shampoo comes along with other bathroom essentials, and some kitchen supplies find their way into his drawers and cabinets.

Within a few weeks, you all but live with him.

You know instinctively that the opposite arrangement—staying together at your house—isn’t possible. Whether or not it’s actually necessary, Mando takes his self-imposed exile seriously. It’s another of the many things you don’t push him on.

Yet.

You visit home on a regular basis, of course, to keep an eye on things. Town, too, for supplies. You make the long walk alone—or sometimes together when you can convince him to put off whatever mysterious, imperative thing he has to do when you’re gone, and it feels shorter then. He’s not so hard to persuade.

You check on Luna, who is happy and well fed in the warmth of the barn, kept company by the chickens and the handful of braying goats. 

You find that she’s terrified of other people—or at least of Mando. You’ve never brought anyone else around so it’s hard to know if it’s something about him specifically. Maybe it’s the armor or his size. The first time she sees him, she goes rigid, the picture of freeze, and it takes twenty minutes to calm her down after you nudge Mando back out of the barn and close the door behind him. Even after several visits, she remains wary of him, barely willing to tolerate his presence.

A detail, like so many others, you file away for later.

It's one of many that you don't mention—anything that might prompt impossible conversations. Instead of souring the moment, instead of asking the hundreds of questions that are piling up in your head, you tacitly agree to avoid those things, skirting around any topics that elicit unanswerable questions or suggest an expiration date. Again and again. For weeks.

Then months.

It’s easy enough to rationalize. Might as well make the short time you have together pain free. Only good.

And, fuck, is it good.

You wake in his bed each morning and fall back into it each night. You wait for your lust for him to abate, for the initial need to be sated. Two months in, though, it hasn’t so much as begun to subside. If anything, it’s grown. It’s fed, you think, by the fact that you still don’t get all of him—what you do get just makes you want more. 

You get his hands, his cock, the expanse of his lower abdomen and upper thighs when he unbuckles his belt and fucks you. The sound of his unfiltered voice when you eat together. The sight of his thick, veined forearms when he chops wood. Snatches of golden skin dusted in dark hair.

Never his mouth, his eyes, his chest, the rest of him—his face. His face, that you think you might already love without having ever seen.

The why of it all—of the pace, of his nature—doesn’t feel so urgent any more, now that you’ve had the opportunity to soak him in, in more than just brief interactions. You can sense the why on him when you start to appreciate the weight of his past and his creed. There’s a layer of pain and loss calcified under his armor: you can all but feel it when your fingers work past an edge of beskar. He starts to tell you about it, too; he starts to untangle the complicated knot that is Mando. It’s usually during a meal when you’re faced away from each other and you get to hear his real voice that he starts to open up. You untease his past question by question, answer by answer.

When you do almost slip, almost ask a question that is too present, he helps you put it back. Offers a distraction that you gladly accept. An unspoken agreement of not yet.

He just needs time. You just need more time together.

You try not to think about the fact that you might not have time. No, you package that thought up with that list of forbidden questions, the ones that would threaten to crack the ice you’re standing on together, and tuck them all away. 

You take the things that he does offer, accept his baffling limits. You satisfy yourself with the reminder of progress. If you think back to a few months ago and draw a line from those cordial interactions at the Saturday market to the current reality of living with him—to watching him welcome all the ways you insinuate yourself into his space, to witnessing the way he seems to soften for you—you can’t help but feel hopeful about what the next few months will hold.

*** Winter comes early this year, sneaking in on quiet feet. It descends around you slowly—in brisk mornings and frozen dew drops strung along twigs like pearls—and then it comes all at once in a sudden blanket of white. You wake up to a thick layer of snow on the ground, the tree limbs and roof frosted and glittering.

He teaches you how to protect yourself—how to shoot and fight and track. You think there’s a part of him that’s certain if he only teaches you enough, you’ll always be safe. You can feel it in his palpable sense of relief when you master a new skill. As if he has a mental list of things to impart on you before he runs out of time.

When you’re consistently nailing the center of his targets again and again, Mando outfits you with a blaster of your own, tells you to keep it on you at all times—that it’s yours. That day, he drops to one knee in front of you. 

“Lean,” he says, patting his pauldron.

You listen without really thinking about it, bracing a hand on his shoulder.

“Up,” he says, gesturing to your foot and offering his armored thigh.

You comply, and he slips two loops of leather up your leg, the fabric of your skirt catching on his forearm as he inches them up, until the tips of his fingers brush your inner thigh. A holster. A holster he made for you.

He tightens the straps and then slips the small silver blaster into the leather sheath. 

You graduate to hand-to-hand combat next—well, not so much graduate as add it to the schedule. He’s visibly pleased when he discovers that you already have some skills with a knife, when you know how to disarm him of his vibroblade in certain holds, how to make an attacker bleed freely with one well-placed slash. How to sever a tendon or an artery. But he finds plenty of ways to stump you, ways to overpower you, and you practice those until you know how to get out of them too. 

A few weeks in, you’re more than satisfied with your skill level, ready to move on. Mando, on the other hand, is ever insistent on more. He holds you with your back against his chest, caught and pinned, a purring vibroblade at your throat. 

You’re exhausted, sweaty and sore from breaking out of his grasp again and again. You’re supposed to be doing it once more right now. But you’re limp in his hold.

“Go on,” he grunts.

“I’m actually fine with this,” you decide, letting your weight go even more leaden in his arms.

He scoffs low in his throat. “Is that right.”

“That’s right. I surrender. Do with me what you will.” You drop your head back, looking up at his impassive visor.

He considers. “Anything?”

The word slithers up your spine. “Anything,” you repeat, letting your eyes go heavy-lidded.

He closes the blade and tosses it away, releasing his hold on you. When you lurch forward at the unexpected freedom, your knees buckling slightly, he catches your waist to steady you. 

You spin to face him, pointing a finger at the diamond-like center of his chestplate, staying far enough away that he can’t encircle you in his arms again. “Technically that counts as me getting out of that hold.”

He plants a hand on his hip. “Disagree.”

“Emotional manipulation is a weapon. You’re just mad I’m better at it than you are. Maybe I should give you lessons. You know what, yeah, I think it’s only fair that we also start practicing scenarios where I’m the one in control.”

He cocks his head suggestively. “Are we still talking about training?” 

“Yes.”

He stares at you silently, adjusting his weight from one foot to the other. It speaks volumes.

You scoff. “Are you implying that I could never have the upper hand in a fight? That there’s no chance in the galaxy of that ever happening?”

A damning beat of silence and then: “No.”

“You are!”

He gestures at his chest, shrugs. “Beskar.”

You roll your eyes. “I’d just need to catch you at the right moment—sleeping or showering—and take you by surprise. Or have the right weapon. Like poison. I know plenty of plants that would kill you—plenty of plants I could find out here or maybe…yeah…those.” 

You gesture at the row of detonators lined up on the side of his belt as he reattaches it around his middle. He always takes it off before you practice hand-to-hand, along with the vambrace that apparently emits flame.

“Yeah, they’d be effective,” he admits, clipping the buckle together. “The problem is you don’t have any.”

“You don’t like me enough to share your detonators with me?”

“To kill me? No.”

“How about this one?” you ask, reaching toward the mysterious hilt that’s always clipped next to them.

He steps out of reach before you can touch it.

“What is it? Can I see it?”

“I don’t use it,” he says. You know him well enough now to read the lie in his level voice.

“Then why do you always carry it?”

“It’s…a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” you press, curious.

He looks away. “I can’t.”

And you realize it isn’t just stubbornness or stoicism. It’s pain. A bruise he isn’t ready to address, and you’re prodding it.

You wonder how many secrets can simmer between you before they boil over.

“Alright, come on,” you say, grabbing his hand and turning for the house. “I’m starving.”

*** It’s deep winter when Mando starts to take you into the woods, away from his house, to teach you the basics of tracking. Each time, when the forest lightens around you and you can hear the titter of birds overhead, he tells you to pick the tracks of a deer or a fox to follow. It’s easier now that the snow is thick on the ground, a continuous blanket of white.

He instructs you, as he always does, to disregard the larger prints—the clawed ones—that you come upon occasionally. Too often for comfort.

“I’ll take care of those,” he says, unconcerned. 

Each time, you think back to that bloody trail and know he’s more than capable. And then you wonder when he’s away from you long enough to actually do that. 

Never, it turns out.

You’re on the tail of a stag when he holds out an arm unexpectedly, stopping you in your tracks.

“What is it?”

He turns his head slowly, scanning the quiet forest. Listening, waiting. You can’t hear a thing—not a rustle of leaves or whisper of wind. The stag isn’t close.

“They’re coming.”

“The sta—?”

Mando drops his arm and grabs your hand, hauling you back in the direction of home. You follow on instinct when he breaks into a jog with you in tow, heavy boots crunching through the snow. He twitches as he moves; he groans and presses his shoulders back, rolling his neck, his hand too tight around yours.

He’s in pain.

“Mando—” you say, trying to slow him down, to understand.

“Run,” he interrupts, pushing you ahead of him, urging you toward the house. “I can’t stop it."

You halt in front of him, a hand raised to his chest plate. “I can’t— I won’t—”

He growls when you hesitate, the sound not entirely human. His hands are shaking.

“I can help—” you start, not even entirely sure what you’re offering.

“I won’t risk you.”

“But—”

A gloved hand settles over your mouth, the other gripped tightly around your bicep. “We don’t have time for this. I won’t let you—I can’t—just go home and lock the door. And promise me you’ll stay there until I come back.”

He drops his hand and starts stripping off his gloves and vambraces. “What are you—?” The pieces click together belatedly in your head. Those colossal prints, the clawed ones.

They’re coming.

“Promise me,” he says, forcing them into your hands. “Take this too.”

He reaches for his helmet and rips it off his head, pushing it into your arms. Your jaw drops open in surprise. You don’t even have time—or the free hands—to cover your eyes or the sense to shut them tight.

“It’s okay,” he says, responding to the fear in your eyes. “I wanted to—been wanting to.”

You only have a moment to take him in. He’s just as handsome as you imagined—maybe, impossibly, more. His dark hair is wavy and tousled, falling across his forehead. His eyes are brown and wild with fear, his sharp jaw peppered with gray-flecked stubble. His perfect lips are set in a half-smile. He looks a little bashful for a moment, a little boyish as you study him.

He holds your face between his warm hands. “Promise you won’t leave the house until I come back.”

You nod.

“Say it,” he prompts, his dark eyes serious. He knows you didn’t really mean it the first time.

“I won’t leave the house until you come back,” you repeat, a little dazed.

You’re looking into his eyes. Your brain is struggling to process it.

There's fear there that doesn't just belong to the threat to your safety. It's more: the fear of being seen. Wholly.

You’re waiting for more words to come to you—something that will express the feeling that’s blooming in your chest without relying on words it’s too early to say.

“Be careful.” It’s the best you can manage.

He presses his lips to yours in a quick kiss. It’s too fast, not enough. If your arms weren’t full of beskar, you’d grab him to keep him close, to kiss him deeper. Instead, he’s pulling back and turning you on the spot with an iron grip.

“Go.”

He urges you forward with a gentle push, and you break into a jog, glancing over your shoulder as often as possible without running face-first into a tree or slipping in the powdery snow underfoot. He’s stripping off his chest plate, his pauldrons, his thigh guards. Leaving them haphazardly on the forest floor.

The last time you look back, his back is to you, and several pairs of yellow eyes are emerging in the dark spaces between the trees.

One, two, four—too many to count.

You’re tempted to stop. To turn back. To bring him the rest of his beskar. It feels so wrong to leave him out here, alone and unarmored. He’s stripping down from metal to man, and it feels unbearably vulnerable. Maybe you could help—

But just as you’re thinking that, Mando turns his head and bellows, “Go!”

You’re far from him—too far to truly make out the details—but you swear, even across the vast distance, that the whites of his eyes look black.

*** You drop the pile of beskar onto the kitchen table, unholster your blaster, and drag a chair to the window. You study the intricate line work of ice on the frosted pane, tracing cold veins with the pad of your finger. You fidget and shift, but you don’t dare leave your spot.

You stare at the place between the trees where you emerged, straining to hear any sound, knuckles white where they’re wrapped around the edge of your seat.

It’s silent.

Minutes pass like molasses—they stretch and sprawl, leisurely and unhurried, while you wait.

You steal glances at the clock on the wall. You swear it’s been hours since you slid the dead bolt shut behind you, but the clock tells you you’ve been sitting here for eight minutes.

Ten.

Twelve.

Seventeen.

He’s out there, outnumbered and alone.

Fuck it.

You get to your feet.

You wrench open the front door, but before you can break into a run, you catch a subtle movement between the trees. The blaster slips out of your hand. He’s staggering back to you—stripped and injured. His flight suit is unzipped to his waist, the sleeves tied around his hips. One hand is gripping his ribs, the other trapping pieces of his armor against his side. He’s barefoot and limping through the snow.

You run to him.

His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and there’s blood on his face—so much blood—coating his lips, smeared across one flushed cheek. Lines running down his neck. It covers his hands, forearms. It’s splattered across his muscled chest. When his lips part in a pained grimace, you can see the inside of his mouth is bloody too, red lining his white teeth. 

You don’t have time to process it, to think about what it means because he’s hurt.

He must see the terror on your face when you register the state of him because he shakes his head and says, “Not mine. Just this,” jerking his chin down to gesture at his side. 

A row of deep lacerations is seeping blood down his ribs, over his tense fingers and down his stomach, where it’s soaking into the dark fabric bunched at his hips. You shudder at the sight of it—even through his spread fingers, you can see that his flesh is torn open in a way that makes your stomach pitch.

Behind him, there’s a sporadic trail between the trees, red dripped on virgin snow.

You want to hold him, to pull him into your arms, and, most of all, to fix him and put him back together. You start by taking the pile of armor from him and slipping under the arm of his uninjured side, pulling it over your shoulders to support his weight. He accepts the help wordlessly, leaning on you as you stumble forward together.

“They’re gone,” he pants. “Dead. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you scoff. “Are you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He grunts.

You limp the rest of the distance to the house together and pull open the front door, kicking it shut behind you as you help him inside. He reaches behind you to lock it, his shoulders dropping in relief when it clicks.

You drop his beskar on the floor as gently as you can while you’re half holding him up. It clatters.

“We need to get these closed up,” you say, gesturing toward a kitchen chair. “You need bacta. Sit down.”

When he doesn’t move to sit, you look up at his face, and he’s staring at you with an intensity—a soft, quiet intensity of creased brows and bright brown eyes—that takes your breath away. 

“I’m fine,” he protests, gently gripping your shoulders and pushing you back in the direction of the bed instead. He fumbles with the hem of your shirt, trembling fingers slipping under the fabric to caress your skin. “I’ll heal. Just let me touch you.”

His hands are hot on your waist.

"You’re not okay,” you protest, trying and failing to redirect him. “You won’t heal if you bleed out.”

“I just need to hold you.” His words are starting to slur, running together. The blood loss is tipping him into delirium.

“After—just let me—”

He ignores you and curls himself around you, crushing you against his body, a heavy hand holding your head to his chest, the other arm locking yours to your sides.

“Mando, please—I really need to stop the bleeding—”

“Din,” he says, nestling his face against your neck sweetly. His forehead is sweaty and feverish. He brushes gentle lips over your fluttering pulse. “My name is Din.”

You’re speechless.

“I want you to call me that,” he says. “Please.” There’s a heartbreaking vulnerability behind his words, like he’s worried you won’t accept the offering of something so precious.

“Of course. Of course, I will.” His grip slackens, and you wrap your arms around his middle reflexively. The heat of his throbbing wound and the hot slip of blood against your forearm make you recoil.

“Shit—sorry—”

But Din doesn’t react to the pain.

“Din—hey—”

You try to pull back, to extricate yourself from his hold and get a better look at him, but the arms draped over your shoulders go leaden, and he sways on his feet, forcing you backward a couple faltering steps. The backs of your calves hit the bed.

“Din—” You try to steady him, but he’s getting heavier by the second, his weight shifting unexpectedly as he tries to keep his balance, half-conscious and fading.

Your knees threaten to buckle when he grunts and goes completely boneless, slumping against you.

“Fuck—”

You’re just barely able to angle your body so that you can gently—and awkwardly—use his momentum to guide him face-first onto the bed. It’s a miracle you both don’t end up in a crumpled pile on the floor. You hoist his legs up too. It takes all your strength to haul his dead weight over to flip him onto his back so you can access the slashes across his ribs.

Your heart jumps into your throat when you see how rapidly a crimson stain is spreading on the comforter underneath him. You run for the med kit, dumping it on the bed beside his prone form and digging out all the necessities.

He doesn’t flinch when you clean, close, and dress the wounds. Not even when you prick him with a bacta shot. You work as quickly and carefully as you can, keeping tabs on his breathing all the while. Any time you have a free hand, you rest it on his chest, soothed by the shallow but steady rise and fall. 

The whole time, you think about all those questions, those details, those secrets. You turn them over again and again in your head in a feverish loop—all those things you’ve been stacking on top of one another all this time, a teetering pile of essential pieces of him, ready to topple with a gentle nudge. Kept at bay by distractions and diversions and half-truths. All the ways you’ve both been keeping your relationship in stasis to postpone…what? Loss? Something that’s inevitable, something no one can ever truly prevent. It feels undeniable when your hands are covered in his blood. When you almost lost him anyway.

It seems obvious now. Obvious that in the end, it will be more painful to have only stayed in this place with him than to have at least tried to give yourself wholly to whatever this is.

Before you secure the final bandage over the wounds, you check your work once, twice—terrified the simple expansion of his ribcage as he breathes will force them open again. You press edges of the bandage down and watch closely, dreading the red seep of blood on clean white. It doesn’t come. You breathe a sigh of relief.

You clean him up with a moist towel, wiping the blood from his skin, his face, his rumpled hair. 

If he hadn’t chosen to take his helmet off before any of this, you’d feel like you were invading his privacy by being able to see so much of him. It still feels that way, just a little, as you admire the taut lines of his biceps, the broad spread of his shoulders, and thick muscles of his pectorals. As you gently swipe over the soft expanse of his middle, feel the hard abdominals underneath. As you study the slope of his nose and the grays threaded through his stubble, his long eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. The soft pink of his lips. 

You rinse that stained-red towel until the water runs clear, until there’s no trace of blood left on him. 

The bloodied sheets and blanket and pillow underneath him will have to wait; it doesn’t even occur to you to be bothered by them when you climb in next to him, when you sweep his damp hair back off his forehead and press your lips to his warm skin and settle against his non-injured side.

You fall asleep like that, your head on his sternum, the subtle rise and fall sweeter than a lullaby.

*** He’s healed by the morning.

He’s healed.

When you wake after a fitful sleep, you scramble out of bed to pull back his bandages and find that the wounds slashed across his ribs look like they’ve had several weeks to mend, the skin knitted back together seamlessly. You run your fingers gingerly over the tender flesh in wonder, in relief.

Another one of his secrets. Something else to ask.

He rouses at your touch, starting as he blinks open bleary eyes. He must be immediately aware of the absence of his helmet because his whole body tenses as he recoils, his eyes panicked as he tries to decide to attack or to flee, jerking away from your hand on his arm. 

“It’s okay,” you say, holding up your hands in placation. “It’s me, Din. It’s just me. You’re safe—you’re home.”

He calms somewhat as he meets your gaze, as he registers your face and his surroundings, settling his head back against the pillow. The tension in his body remains.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, resisting the urge to reach up and brush his tousled hair off his forehead. Touch, you think, is his to initiate in this moment.

“Fine,” he croaks. He’s visibly uncomfortable like this, still not used to being so unguarded around someone else. Holding eye contact for longer than a moment seems almost unbearable for him, his eyes shifting around the room so they don’t have to stay settled on yours. 

You hand him a glass of water, and he sits up against the headboard to drink it. He winces a little as he maneuvers, his jaw ticking. He’s sore.

“You’re the worst patient, you know,” you gripe, trying to lighten the mood, to give him something to focus on. 

He scoffs, lifting an eyebrow over the rim of the glass.

You give him an unimpressed glare. “I couldn’t take care of you until you fainted from blood loss.”

He has the audacity to shrug a little.

You blow out an exasperated breath, distracted, maybe, by the movement of his throat as he swallows. By every detail of his face that you can’t seem to memorize quickly enough—a privilege you’re more than willing to relinquish if it means easing the tension in his shoulders, the wrinkle of concern etched between his brows.

When he sets the glass down on the bedside table, you retrieve his helmet and offer it to him wordlessly, a show of nonjudgmental understanding, a willingness to back-pedal if that’s what he needs right now. His eyes soften when he takes it.

The urge to say something before he disappears behind beskar jumps up your throat.

“I was scared, so scared,” you admit quietly. “Din, I thought—I thought you…”

He sets his helmet beside him on the bed and jerks his chin. “Come here.”

You make to settle next to him, but he pulls you onto his lap instead, guiding you until you’re straddling his thighs. 

You try to wriggle away. “I’m going to hurt you like this—just let me—”

“Shhh,” he breathes, hands locking down on your hips. “I’m fine, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He hesitates for the briefest moment before he leans forward and presses his mouth to yours.

His lips are soft, tentative. His first, you realize. Of course.

Your mind snags on the way he tends to be in bed—directive, commanding, sure—and holds the two up side by side. This hesitation, the halting press of his lips, has something in your chest going soft. Between your legs going molten.

You cup his jaw and lick into his mouth when his lips part—an it’s okay, I want you to take—and his breath goes ragged against yours. He leans into you, an arm slung low around your back to keep you close as he starts to tip you backward.

“Don’t move,” you say, attempting to ease him back gently.

He ignores the command, responding to your open mouth with the slip of his tongue.

“Or I’ll stop,” you threaten.

He sits back, chastened, a subtle pout to his lower lip. It disappears when you lean back in. 

He makes a low noise of protest when you don’t meet his lips, but it turns into something pleased when you move your attention to his neck. You lick over his thrumming pulse, across the faint saltiness of his flushed skin. Your hands roam the planes of his chest, over his pounding heart, and down the swells of his muscled arms—greedy for so much warm skin, for so much of him you’ve never seen or touched or tasted.

Even with the helmet set beside you, the fear that you’ll have to go back—to concede gained ground—that he’ll revert back to full armor again, rankles at the back of your mind. You dig your nails lightly into his shoulders, and he growls.

You can tell it’s taking all his restraint not to move, to keep totally still aside from his wandering hands. You know he’s hard underneath you, that he’s aching to wrest control from your hands, to put you on your back and fuck you like this, with no layers between you. And he knows you won’t let him when he’s still healing.

You try not to let it escalate, to keep things from getting out of hand. But then his mouth is on yours again, your lip caught gently between his teeth, his hand locked possessively around the nape of your neck, and you can’t help the quiet moan or the subtle grind of your hips in his lap.

Din jerks back, hands braced on your shoulders to keep distance between your bodies, his head tipped back against the headboard and eyes closed as his panted breath gradually slows.

And you know it’s not just the injury. He isn’t humoring you or in too much pain. He’s fighting it—the transformation, the change that keeps him in his beskar. What he wouldn't let you see in the forest.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you say—quiet, serious. 

He pauses, understanding despite the sharp turn. The energy in the room shifts as he waits for you to continue.

“Your…you—?” you stumble over the words, struggling to find the right ones. It comes out badly. “What you…are.”

His eyes are downcast, fixed on the silver shine of his helmet.

He doesn’t ask how. Of course you know—it’s an open secret between you, has been for months.

“I want to see,” you press. An honest plea. “To know. Just let it happen.”

A tight, subtle shake of his head. No.

“Please, Din,” you say, laying a hand on his chest. “Show me.”

He looks away, his eyes full of some unnameable emotion, something soft and fragile, a sharp edge that might be anger. He slips away so easily, even without the helmet.

“Please,” you beg, framing his face with your hands to guide his gaze gently back to yours.

He still won’t meet your eyes.

Suddenly, you know this was a mistake. That this is the thing that’s going to break what’s between you. He’s given you his face, his name—they should be enough. Yet, here you are, pushing him for more. There’s no coming back from it, no swallowing the words, though. You find you don’t want to anymore, even when you can feel him slipping out of your hands.

“It’s not safe,” he says.

“How? It’s you.”

“No,” he says, “it’s not.”

“I don’t understand, Din,” you say, a hint of desperation laced between your words. “And I need to. I need to understand. We can’t avoid it any more—look at what happened. I just—I can’t do this when I know I don’t have all of you. I can’t do this anymore. All these walls, all these secrets between us.”

His head snaps to you, a flicker of panic kindling in his eyes. But he doesn’t deny it, the skirting and avoidance, the game you’ve both been so willing to play. His eyes settle on your joined hands. 

“I want all of you. I need all of you. Can you understand that?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice low, and the panic in his eyes is swallowed by a deep, hollow want—a yawning blackness that expands and disappears so quickly you think you must have imagined it. “I do understand that.”

“Then let me see you.”

His brown eyes flick upward to meet yours, and he nods.