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cinlat · 1 year

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Blood in the Breeze: Ch 16 (Into the Void)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: Fynta and Aric still have some things to work through. Verin offers some brotherly advice (and violence). And the council, once again, regrets every decision that led them to where they are.

Chapter Word Count: 3,402 Chapter Rating: T Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Verin Ejnar-Wolfe

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

The Thunderclap Leaving Nathema

Aric glared at the gleaming box on the edge of his desk. Strange that such a menacing device could look so innocuous when Aric picked it up. He didn’t know why he’d pilfered the holocron, or what he planned to do with it, only that it felt important. An idea niggled at the back of Aric’s mind, roosting there until it could reach maturity.

“Did you hear me?” Aric leaned back in a desk chair that might as well have a permanent impression of his ass. Shillet waited on the other side of his comm, black eyes glaring into the camera. He saw the accusation. Aric had interrupted whatever she’d been working on, but couldn’t be bothered to keep his attention on the conversation he’d started.

Scooping the datacron into a drawer, Aric gave his daughter an apologetic nod. “Sorry, kiddo, what was that?”

The teenager in question rolled her eyes, then went back to painting her toenails. Shillet had grown into a woman overnight, filling out in ways that made Aric uncomfortable with so many young men on the base. She’d also taken to wearing makeup and doing things like painting her nails. Not for the first time, Jorgan wondered if there was a boy involved, but he was too much of a coward to ask. Maybe he’d comm Elara to see if she knew anything.

“I said ‘how did it go?’” Shillet leaned forward to blow on the wet paint. “You weren’t out of contact as long as I expected.”

Was that disappointment that Aric heard in his daughter’s voice? “Missed the target,” his gaze slid towards the drawer, “made some interesting discoveries, though.”

“That’s good, then, right?” Shillet screwed the cap on and fanned one hand over her feet. “It’s better than nothing, at least.”

Aric started to answer that he didn’t know. That he might have found a weapon or a shield, but wasn’t sure which way to wield it or who to tell. Fynta had wanted to blow the thing up, so she probably wouldn’t approve of him removing it from the vault. All Aric knew was that it was important.

“And I’ve lost you again.” Shillet sighed.

“I’m still here,” Aric grumbled, then sat straight when the door to their room opened and Fynta swept in. “So is Fynta.”

The woman waved, then tapped the side of her head to let Aric know that she was on another call. She’d been in near continuous contact with Odessen discussing what had been discovered on Nathema. Everything from Vaylin’s tortured childhood and the strange absence of the Force, to the world shaking dread that came with realizing that Vaylin’s full potential had been unlocked.

“We need those numbers, Theron.” Fynta ended the call, then learned over with a grin. “You look nice. Any particular reason?”

Jorgan clenched his jaw to keep from growling and tried to be invisible for fear that Shillet wouldn’t answer if he drew attention to himself. Shillet flushed a deeper shade of green, and Jorgan saw red. He didn’t need this added stress on top of everything else and contemplated finding a reason to ground the girl until he got home. He’d definitely need to speak to Elara.

Fynta slid into Jorgan’s lap, looping one arm around his neck while he sorted through the boys Shillet’s age on base. “How was the movie?”

“It was fine, stupid actually.” Shillet crossed the room to put her supplies away, calling out to the comm she’d left behind. “I thought I might help unload the ships. A bunch of kids work there on the weekends for school passes.”

What’s his name, lingered at the back of Jorgan’s throat, but Fynta answered instead. “Take Tranx and Zula. Those two have been going stir crazy.” Fynta’s smirk turned devious. “I think Torian does some maintenance there too.”

“Torian,” Jorgan heard himself say before he could stop it. A sense of relief washed over him at the knowledge that Shillet’s crush was on a man who would never take advantage of her. Not to mention, the Mandalorian chief was head over heels for Fynta’s pet Jedi. Once more, Jorgan was struck by the startling realization that he trusted Mandalorians with his most precious people than anyone else.

Fynta carried on without acknowledging Jorgan, but Shillet dropped her head enough that a couple of tendrils fell across her face. “Listen, if it’s a boy’s attention you’re after, you’ve got to show them that you’re serious.” Fynta nudged Jorgan with a grin. “Blow something up.”

Jorgan stood, dropping Fynta onto the floor from her perch on his thighs. She laughed, and Shillet did her best to hide a smile. Jorgan ignored them both. “On that note, please don’t take dating advice from Fynta.” He avoided any mention of motherhood. Neither woman took the insinuation well, and he didn’t want to upset the comfortable rhythm that they’d found.

Fynta cupped her hands to her mouth, amplifying her voice while still sitting on the floor. “It worked on your father.”

“Okay.” Shillet dragged the word out and leaned forward. “I’m going to go eat dinner. See you when you get home.”

The call ended, and Fynta met Jorgan’s glare with a bright smile. “What? She knows that I was kidding.”

“Does she?” Jorgan held out one hand, pulling Fynta upright with a grunt. “What if she believed you?”

“It was a joke, Riduur.” Fynta patted Jorgan’s cheek and stepped away. “She’s practically an adult, and you and Elara raised her well. Give the girl some breathing room.”

Jorgan clenched his fists and followed, looming so that Fynta knew that he was serious. “She’s thirteen, that’s not an adult.”

“It is by my standards.” Fynta turned to open one of the drawers and began counting ammo magazines.

Jorgan hadn’t intended to lash out, but before he understood his own actions, his fingers were wrapped around Fynta’s bicep, and she stared wide-eyed into his face. “Shillet isn’t Mandalorian.”

Jorgan knew the growled words hurt. He wanted to regret them, but he couldn’t. Still, he should have chosen a better way to say them. “Fynta—”

“You’re right,” Fynta interrupted, placing her hand over his. Jorgan’s fingers loosened under the unspoken threat. He hadn’t gripped her hard, but Fynta wouldn’t tolerate being handled in such a manner, nor should she.

Lifting his hands, Jorgan let go of his wife and stepped away. “I’m sorry.”

“I will never push anything you are uncomfortable with.” Fynta touched Jorgan’s cheek again, but it was fleeting. “She’s your daughter.” And like that, the familial moment shattered.

Fynta put space between them, and Jorgan didn’t feel right about closing it yet. With a sigh, he plopped onto the bed and ran a hand over his head. “I don’t want to fuck this up anymore than I already have.” He chanced a glance at Fynta, waiting until she met his eyes. “Any of it.”

Fynta dropped the magazine she’d checked back into the box, then knelt in front of Jorgan. “You and I, we’re always good.” She pressed a quick kiss to Jorgan’s lips. “And, Shillet is a great kid.”

Again, Fynta pulled away before Jorgan could reply. Her nails scraped over his scalp as she headed for the door, towards her escape. “I’m going to check on Verin, he took a nasty knock to the head. See you in a bit.”

“I’ll be here,” Jorgan answered, but his wife was already gone. With a snarl, Jorgan flopped onto the bed and glared at the ceiling. With everything he cared for close by, why did Jorgan still feel like his world was falling apart?

The Thunderclap En Route to Odessen Conference Room “How about a drink, Fyn’ika?” Verin pressed his palms into the table across from where Fynta stared through a holomap. She was parsecs away, lost in a way he’d seen before. She blinked, focusing on him through whatever thoughts occupied her attention. Verin flashed a crooked grin and lifted a couple of dark bottles. “Come on, vod’ika. I smuggled in some netra’gal.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that on the way to fighting the voidspawn?” Fynta leaned across the table to snatch one of the Mandalorian specialties and twisted the top off by brute force. “I could use a decent drink about now.”

Spinning around one of the deck mounted chairs, Verin straddled the seat and watched his sister. “So, are you going to tell me what’s really going on, or do I have to drag it out of Jorgan?”

Fynta lowered her drink and rubbed her eyes. “The old bastard is talking again.” She tapped her temple. “He’s scared of Vaylin, and was not happy about our trip to Nathema. And, I’ve got this headache from hell thanks to all of the Force suppression stuff. I can only imagine how Lana feels.”

Verin propped his elbows on the chair back and settled in to let his sister talk herself in circles. Fynta didn’t disappoint. She spun her bottle in a lazy circle on the table. “I’d hoped that Arcann would join us, but he’s not confident in his ability to resist Nathema’s pull. Probably a good thing now that I’ve been there.” Without warning, Fynta thumped her head against the table. “And, Aric’s mad at me again.”

“Why now?” Verin asked, taking another sip. He let the sweet liquid warm him from the inside, steeling his nerves for the tough conversation to come.

“Mostly because I’m osik around kids.” Fynta gestured around the room without lifting her face from the table. Her words were muffled against the false wood polish. “It’s one of the rare moments when we can’t see eye to eye on anything.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask how that was going?” Verin expected some hiccups while Fynta tried to find her place in Shillet’s life, but the pushback from Aric surprised him. Verin supposed some things couldn’t span the gaps between their cultures. That had never been a problem for them because they hadn’t planned on having children. The galaxy had a way of turning people’s plans inside out. Verin knew that better than most.

When Fynta looked up, it was with a violent shake of her head. “No, we’re not doing that.” She chugged the netra’gal, then smacked her lips. “New topic.”

“Okay.” Verin took a drink, dragging the silence out to let the annoyance drain from Fynta before continuing. “What’s happened since Darvannis?” She’d had the coveted lust for life then. She fought and loved and laughed. Perhaps she still did, but it sounded hollow.

Fynta shrank into herself, knees curling against her chest and chin propped on them like when she was just a skinny kid. “You gave me Cinlat’s haalas gaid, armor that she lived and died in. Of everything learned from her time among Mandalorians, that was the only part that she truly loved.” Fynta offered a wry smile and tipped her head in Verin’s direction. “Apart from you.” The old sting of loss surfaced, but time had dulled the effect.

Verin didn’t interrupt. He could see that Fynta was building to her point, but had taken the long way around. Letting out a breath, Fynta plopped her chin back on her knees and hugged them closer. Once again the little girl from that night so long ago when it became just the two of them against the galaxy.

“I’m not Mando’ade anymore, Verin.” The words felt like a blow to his stomach. He wanted to argue or snort in disagreement, but made himself stay silent. If he spoke too soon, she’d shut down.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Fynta continued. “The Resol’nare is as close to a religion as we have. How many do I follow? Speaking the language, sure. Wearing the armor, I am now thanks to your gift. I’m bred to fight, but I won’t answer the call of the Mand’alor.” Fynta snorted. “Shab, she answers mine. And Shillet...I can’t force that decision on her. Not when her father is Cathar.”

Verin nodded. “Have you two discussed it? Shillet, I mean.”

Shaking her head, Fynta seemed to remember the beer in her hands and drained half the bottle in one pull. Sighing, she smacked her lips. “We’ve tiptoed around it, but Aric being her father doesn’t make me the girl’s mother. She’s got Elara for that. The woman raised that child. I’m...a friend. Shillet respects my authority and no longer believes that I’m a danger to Aric’s happiness, but it’s different.”

Fynta shrugged, then drained the rest of the bottle. “I’m not a Republic soldier, not a Mandalorian, not a mother. What am I?”

“You’ve forgotten the spirit of mandokarla. Life fluctuates, and we evolve. Are the ones who are forced into the ba'slan shev'la less Mando’ade than the ones who remain in society?”

“No, but—” Fynta’s eyes narrowed when Verin snapped his fingers.

Leaning back, Verin laced them behind his head and grinned. “You’re overthinking it. It’s not always all or nothing. We work with what we’re given.”

Fynta sighed. “Yeah.” Verin leaned forward and smacked her on the back of the head. She snarled a curse while rubbing it. “What the hell?”

“Enough pity. Time to get back into life, Fyn’ika.” Verin dodged her response with a laugh. “You’ve got a husband and a daughter. Whatever happens with them is up to you, but it won’t turn out well if you don’t get back into it.”

Fynta snorted and muttered an insult under her breath, but her eyes weren’t dull anymore. She stood and checked her wrist chrono. “Shab, I’ve got another meeting. Thanks for the drink, ori’vod.” Verin nodded, lifting his bottle in salute while she headed towards the door. Fynta stopped, speaking without looking back. “Hang around for a bit, if you can.”

“I get to sleep through the night here,” Verin chuckled and made a show of settling into the cushions, legs kicked out and feet on the table. “I’m not giving that up without a fight.”

Odessen War Room

Images of broken tanks and derelict walls floated in the center of the table. The conference room was full to bursting, with senior members in the chairs while those who came in later positioned themselves around the walls. Fynta stood towards the back, having seen Nathema in person. Murmurs drifted through the air, but she had heard it all before.

“The question now is what to do with this information.” Lana waved a hand, pausing the holo on the image of destruction left by Vaylin’s escape.

“Is it relevant?” Zolah asked. The woman had her menagerie of men surrounding her, each wearing a furrowed brow specific to them. When every eye turned on the Chiss spy, she gestured at the image. “Whatever power that place had over Vaylin is broken. Does this information serve as anything beyond telling us that she is not only psychotic, but no longer leashed?”

More murmurs. Fynta had theories, but she wasn’t ready to share them. Aric stood stiffly at her side, his fingers flexing around an invisible object. Fynta would need to look into whatever was troubling the Cathar later. For the moment, she counted down the time her presence was required before it would be rude to slip away.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” Valkorion stood at Fynta’s side, startling a curse from her. The old Sith smiled in his demure way and nodded at the image. “Did you learn anything of…value?”

For whatever reason, Valkorion had been unable to follow Fynta into the vault that protected her small party from Vaylin’s wrath. It had left her chilled, as if the ghost of Valkorion was a separate heat source instead of cold death. Fynta had learned plenty in those sprawling catacombs, and none of it surprised her.

“Only that you’re as bad of a father as you are a benevolent ruler.” Fynta folded her arms and refused to look at him.

Valkorion sighed while the meeting carried on around Fynta. She was surprised that the old bastard hadn’t stopped time again. “Vaylin needed to be controlled.”

“She was your kid,” Fynta snapped. “As far as childhoods go, that was one of the shittiest I’ve ever seen., and I’ve seen some bad ones”

“You aren’t considering a charity case, I hope.” It took Fynta a few seconds to realize that Lana’s barb was directed at her. When she glanced to her right, Valkorion was gone.

Instead of trying to explain that Fynta hadn’t been talking to the collected group, she rolled with it. “Of course not. Mad dogs need to be put down.” Lana gave a quick jerk of her head, but Fynta wasn’t done. “Let’s keep in mind that this is a child who never grew up. Valkorion kept her chained in agony for years. It’s no wonder she went insane. Whatever our course of action, let’s make it quick and as clean as possible.” With that, Fynta pushed away from the wall and walked out. She was done with meetings and talking circles around a problem that none of them knew how to deal with.

As expected, Aric fell into step at Fynta’s side. “You feeling sorry for her?”

Fynta lifted a shoulder. “There’s not a lot standing in between Vaylin and any one of us ending up just like her. A push in the right direction, and we all go feral.”

“Not everyone.” Aric bumped Fynta’s shoulder, and she forced a smile so that he’d know she appreciated his faith in her. Valkorion hummed in the recesses of Fynta’s mind. It felt like a fly buzzing around her head, the melody too quiet to pick out, but she knew it was there.

Shillet waited at the door when Fynta and Aric got home. The smell of food hit Fynta’s stomach like a punch, but it was Aric who voiced their mingled surprise. “What’s all this?”

“Dinner,” Shillet answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. Which, Fynta supposed it was. The Nautolan girl skipped to the table where an assortment of meats and vegetables that didn’t normally go together waited. She offered a wide, sharp grin. “These are the only things that I know how to make.”

“It looks good,” Aric laughed while ruffling the girl’s head tresses. Fynta made a mental note to teach her a few Mandalorian staples to sneak into her father’s meals.

The night carried on in companionable conversation. Fynta finally let herself relax long enough to invite Cormac, Tayl, and Elara over for a few drinks. The kids vanished into Shillet’s room, leaving the adults sitting around the table like old times. Fynta heaved a steadying breath and told herself that Vaylin could wait until tomorrow. Tonight was for family.

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #still blonde #aric jorgan #verin wolfe #verin ejnar #shillet jorgan #zolah holran #theron shan #vector hyllus #malavai quinn #lana beniko #long separations are hard #fynta and jorgan did a lot apart #sometimes coming back together is a struggle #but they'll figure it out #meanwhile fynta is over ALL of valky and his family's bs #she tired

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nehswritesstuffs · 10 months

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okay so for the "500 words or less" excerpt DVD commentary i'm going to choose the opening of this fic because i can't help myself it is honestly one of my favorite parts and i gotta know what the thought process was

Having never really considered himself weak in the ankles, Law was beginning to rethink his lifelong self-assessment as he slipped his feet into the absolutely terrifying shoes that had been shoved in his direction. With Nami on one side of him and Perona on the other, Law shakily attempted to stand, not enjoying the extra wobble he gained by simply standing still. “What the fuck is wrong with you people,” he grumbled lowly. His girlfriend, however, scowled. “You live in heels—I don’t want to hear it.” “I wear boots, Nami-ya, not whatever torture devices these are.” He looked out over the rows of shoe racks and saw that the difference in height was… concerning. “Fucking hell—these have three extra inches than normal.” “Well, yeah,” Perona scoffed. “You need to look your best, and they’re already doing wonders for your ass.” She hummed. “Well, what little you’ve got, anyhow.” “Why are we even here?” Law groused. “Can’t I just order some online?” “We are not,” Nami said, “because I am not going to have to deal with ordering shoes for your massive man-feet and then them not fitting properly. Turnaround is way too quick for us to need to worry about shipping.” “I feel like a fool,” he grimaced as he continued to curse the integrity of his legs. “We did not drive to the only shoe store in Greater Logue Town that carries wides in-stock for you to chicken out,” Perona scolded. “I’m not chickening out,” he insisted sourly. “I just have way too much coordination to know first-hand why Cora-san practices walking in these things.” “Well, you’re about to get a lot more familiar with them if we’re going to get you anywhere,” Nami said firmly. “Now go ahead and try to walk to that rack there.” Two steps and Law went sideways into a shelving unit full of narrow-widths. Nami and Perona stared at one another—they had a lot more work ahead of them than they had feared.

Ahahahaha, yes! Although I love all this fic, I do particularly feel this part. A bunch of me projecting on Law under the cut.

Have an excerpt you want me to break down? Go ahead and let me know!

Nehs? Projecting on Law? Never! *fake shocked gasp* Okay, so let me break it down:

I need wide width shoes as well, and holy shit are these hard to find since Payless started going nuts after filing for bankruptcy. Twice. This is a modern AU set in a pseudo-Midwestern America, so my loss of the only place that consistently stocked wides is also his loss of the only place that consistently stocked wides. and don't tell me that [place] does bc i've tried I am waiting for when that void is filled with bated breath bc I hate shopping for shoes online.

I am also on taller than average. (I am not Law's height, but he is on the taller end for normal people.)

I also like wearing boots with chonky heels/soles.

I also like wearing heels/wedges despite it making me "so tall" so what if I scrape six feet that way.

I also have enough coordination to walk in heels/wedges.

I can fucking run in heels/wedges.

I can honestly say that aside from a couple choice moments (as we all have) I am fairly well-coordinated overall.

I recently tried on a pair of heels in-store (returns from an online purchase, I'm sure) and as I stood I almost toppled over like holy shit.

I did roll my ankle once while running in wedges and I went down hard that was fun.

Narrow-widths are apparently a thing.

...and what sort of outfit as spectacular as Dr. Hart-Steeler's is complete without the right shoes? Can't have her show up in Crocs because although that's thematically correct I don't think those are going to fly in a drag queen revue.

#gendervapor #gendervapor14 #meme replies #I love this fic everyone pls read it #i would be just as grumpy but resigned trust me you can feel the projecting lol #might add more later but now I'm on the way out the door lol

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kemendin · 2 years

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6, 12 & 29 for ao3 wrapped!

6. Favorite title you used?

Ooooh this is a tough one. Probably One Final Act or Cover Your Crystal Eyes (can you tell I am partial to those fics haha).

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

Actual ‘I have at least started jotting down dialogue or outlining ideas’ WIPS: Six (when did that happen oh gawd), four of which are partially written.

Ideas for future fics: Probably at least twenty by this point send help can’t write fast enough

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

YOU CAN’T ASK ME TO CHOOSE JUST ONE so here are a few (under cut because uhh got kinda long whoops, I love my writing okay):

The Price of Mercy

Scourge closes in. “Listen to me, Caspian,” he urges, and Cas turns towards him again, automatically. In spite of all their differences, he can’t help but want to listen whenever the Sith speaks. There’s an allure in the way Scourge seems to taste each word as he utters it, the sounds precise yet just alien enough to catch the listener off guard.

Shadows on Belsavis

But this was another kind of healing altogether, the sort that reached into his very cells and dragged them back together, forcibly mending them through the darkness of his companion’s will. His surroundings spun as he buckled beneath Scourge’s hand, and then he wasn’t in the depths of Belsavis anymore, but a place of shining, shadowed metal; Scourge was standing over him, black-armoured, forcing him back to life again and again; and a shrouded husk of a voice was clamped around his mind like a shock collar, numbing him with an endless command of submit, submit, submit -

Sharp light spilled towards them as the floor of the passage levelled off, and the exit to Belsavis’ surface came into view. After the dark warren of the vaults below, Cas found himself squinting a bit as he and Scourge emerged into daylight.

He had to pause again as a flurry of snow dove at them from the high rocks on either side of the entrance. The open air felt even colder than the underground corridors; the wind was erratic but harsh, the sunlight turned aside by the towering enclosures of ice that walled off most of this area. Cas hunched over, wishing he’d thought to bring a robe to bundle around himself.

Cover Your Crystal Eyes

He’d never seen Scourge wear them, never seen him change out the simply etched rings that hung about his face for something like these exquisite ornaments. But he could imagine how fine they would have looked. And so he’d stood there, in the endless, unbearable quiet, with a dusty box clutched to his chest, and drowned in the slow agony of what might have been.

“I should never have let you board Marr’s ship on your own! I should have gone with you, and protected you, and ripped Vitiate from the Eternal Throne with my bare hands! I would have killed him then and there, and his children as well, and then none of this would have happened -”

“I thought my life would be complete, when Vitiate was dealt his final end. That I would know some sense of satisfaction. But instead I felt a… a profound emptiness. I’ve spent so long with my life’s focus on him, and him alone, that I didn’t know what to do, what to be, without it. Even all the new emotions rising within me were not enough to fill that void.”

“I have no need for dreams, Jedi. I have you.”

One Final Act

There is no walking away from this. Failure is not an option. He is damned no matter what he does, and so he might as well be damned doing what he does best - following orders.

As the room thunders with the scream of high-powered energy bolts, and the droids spit a death sentence at the Emperor’s Wrath, Quinn forces himself to watch. It is both his pride and his penance, to bear witness to Khel Sutek’s fall.

“I should kill you for what you did.” It’s an almost idle remark.

Malavai is still rather dazed as he washes his tongue across his lower lip.

“At this point, my lord, I wouldn’t be entirely averse. It would save us both a great deal of embarrassment.”

“And Vette says you haven’t got a sense of humour,” Khel murmurs drily.

Worth Anything

Now Caspian’s presence is like unwillingly tempered steel - worn down, yet still edged, hard to read and harder to break. Scourge would have approved of this, once - a part of him still does, proud of how far the Jedi has come - but another, quieter piece murmurs a surprising lament for the young knight with a silver gaze still wide-eyed in wonder.

There is so much brightness here, so much life. This, he realises, is the Force as the Jedi know it, the harmony of simple existence; and to a being such as Scourge - shaped by darkness, and emptiness, and pain - the sheer gentleness that flows around him, and through him, is overwhelming. Almost before he notices, the cloth around his eyes is damp with salt, and then he is spread out across the fluttering grass, weeping for an instant, and then laughing, certain that nothing before has ever given him such a strange joy, except perhaps his love for the Jedi who has brought him here.

“Not every monument has to be built in the name of war, Scourge. Peace… is its own kind of triumph.”

Scourge emits a soft groan and lies back on a patch of blanket still warmed by the sun. He closes his eyes, basking. More than his belly feels full and sated; his very being is swollen with it, relaxed and unburdened and happy to sprawl back like a predator after the success of the hunt.

Cleansing Our Ashes

The binders were biting into his already chafed and stinging wrists, and the blindfold was too low, making it feel as though he couldn’t get enough air in through his nose. He sucked in harsh, shallow breaths through his mouth instead, rainwater slicking from his sodden hair and past his panting lips. His body was quivering no matter how sternly he told it to stop, and his heart was trying to compete against the entire percussion section of the Kaas City Orchestra (and not doing badly, at that). But his mind had gone strangely blank.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was all he could think. This wasn’t how his life of service was supposed to end - shot for his loyalties with a rifle of his own beloved Empire. They’d toss his body in the waste disposal, and all that would be left of Captain Malavai Quinn would be a smear on the wall below Kaas City.

“I spent far too long searching for you to let you slip away when you’re finally here,” replied Malavai bluntly. For an instant his eyes flashed with a familiar blue gleam. “And I’m not going to be coy about that, not after what it’s cost me.”

“You,” Quinn gritted out, “are a miserable, spineless, snivelling imitation of something that was squeezed out of a Hutt’s back end.” His icy gaze pinned Lorman to the floor. “Now say it.”

Lorman’s whimpers became another howl of pain as Quinn pressed the sole of his boot to the blaster wound, leaning on it. Hard.

“Say it! Tell me what you are!”

#kem answers #kem writes

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bellmo15-blog · 2 years

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A pic I got because I really needed to get something of Mikaela being hypnotized by her own Pokemon. I mean I have had her coiled by Milotic before but never hypnotized so this seemed like a good time to get one back when I originally got it.

Original description: So I was going though my OC pics the other day and I relized something, I don't have anything involving Mikaela being hypnotised by Millie. And I was like "Why not? Mille and also Milotic in general can use hypnosis (Fun fact, Milotic is the only serpent Pokemon where Hypnosis is a move it can learn) Mikaela is into being hypnotised, she's really close to Millie and why have I not had that done yet?" Okay yeah, there was that one male Mikaela pic by SnakeyThingy but that was before I really knew what I wanted to do with my OC. This drawing I commissioned from ColorRings is my answer to that since now that I do have Mikaela more flesh out since last year I wanted to fill the void of the lack of Mikaela being hypnotised by her own Pokemon. And she's in a bikini two! What you didn't think Latex was the only erotic fashion she dressed in did you? Okay in all seriousness Mikaela, when willingly coiled and hypnotised, she does love to feel the scales of her Pokemon on her skin and exposing as much skin as she can and coupled with the hypnosis is kind of like a sort of extacy only without the mental side effects. I could of gone a step further and asked for her to be fully naked but I wanted her in a bra from the start. And before anyone get's the wrong idea, no I am not implying that the relationship between Mikaela and Millie is romantic. I know some people are into Human X Pokemon ship's and that's fine but it's just not for me. They both have a very deep bond but neither of them have romantic feelings for eachother! So yeah it's just a friendly little moment between two really close friends.

Artist is ColorRings: https://www.deviantart.com/colorrings A lot of his art is sneak related so I hope you like that! I know I do!

#Pokemon #OC #Milotic #Hypnosis #Coils

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heliopauseentertainments · 2 years

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The Consequences of Self-Alienation

Part of the fandomweekly challenges on DreamWidth.

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: General

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus, Megatron & Rodimus

Characters: Megatron & Rodimus Warnings: Ambiguous Relationships

Summary: In which Megatron realizes that perhaps he no longer wants to be alone.

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth (fandomweekly entry) | Pillowfort

Fic under cut

Megatron had spent his entire life either truly alone or alone in a crowd. There hadn’t been much room in his work to fill the companionship void either as a miner desperate to survive or as a war leader desperate to defeat the enemy. Like right now, as he sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge and calmly observed the goings on, he had always thrown himself into his work, leaving no time for anything more.

The crew went about their duties as usual, unaware of anyone else’s inner lives. As it ought to be. Blaster monitored the communications console while Rodimus, in all of his vivid livery, practically hung over his shoulder, demanding the officer play fun songs over the PA system.

Megatron hadn’t expected his isolation to change when Optimus had actually given him his assignment on the Lost Light. He was on the ship to work towards a defined goal, that was all.

Nothing more.

Already nearly at the end of his life, Megatron assumed, there was little point in attempting to reach for anything else, opportunities long lost to time.

What he hadn’t expected… was the temptation to fill that void of loneliness.

He watched as Rodimus continued to badger Blaster, golden spoiler practically glowing in the bridge’s overhead lighting as he bounced to and fro.

Megatron hadn’t meant to stare, of course, but intentions didn’t generally mean much, did they? No, not ultimately.

Over his months aboard, having settled into a routine, as much as Rodimus pushed and fought, Megatron had come to… appreciate his company. For all of Rodimus’s aggravating behaviors, they had become familiar and comforting, a reminder that all was well.

Even when Rodimus just wanted to complain at him. About him. About everything. Even when Rodimus just wanted to express whatever thought had happened to wander across his processor, bypassing any sort of filter on the way out of his vocalizer. It was… nice, the earnest communication and not being treated like some mythical monster. Rodimus merely treated him like just another mech.

It was almost like having a friend.

He hadn’t had one of those in so long. There had been Soundwave, of course, but the war had gotten in the way. Impactor as well, but that connection had long since died between them.

Megatron, elbow propped up on the armrest of the chair, leaned his face against his fist.

It was captivating to watch Rodimus, whether he was merely interacting with the crew, putting off doing something important, arguing with either him or Magnus, or… anything really. His vivaciousness and petulant temperament were only matched by those loud, optic-catching colors.

However, Rodimus turned around to say something, Primus knew what, and must have noticed him staring, their optics now awkwardly locked.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Unaware of what expression he was making, Megatron declined to respond for the moment. “I know it’s past lunchtime but I am not a cube of energon, my buddy.”

Oh.

He must have been staring hungrily.

Hungry for what though? Friendship? Other intimacy?

Megatron wasn’t sure.

What he did know for sure was that Rodimus, whether purposefully or not, simply by being himself, by being so earnest and unguarded, was tempting Megatron into thinking perhaps, even at this stage in his life, he could have companionship, that was he didn’t have to be alone.

It was easier to ignore the aching void when there was no hope of filling it, and yet now he was being mocked by the possibility.

Not all mechs had that need, to be grounded by companionship. Many mechs went their whole lives without deep connection and still were fulfilled. Megatron had spent so long pretending he was just the same as them.

He knew it was a lie, a lie he told himself and others.

Perhaps he ought to say something, to tell Rodimus that he would like his companionship in some capacity. Even if told “no,” he could then take that rejection and move on.

He sat back up in his chair and shook his head.

“I was just thinking that you ought to let Blaster get back to work.”

Pester me instead.

#fic #one shot #maccadam #mtmte #idw1 #megatron #rodimus #megarod

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let-them-read-fics · 4 years

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Rivalries Of The High Seas

Requested By Anon: "Pirate AU, enemies to lovers."

AU: Pirate

Pairing: Captain!Rosé x Fem!Captain!Reader

Word Count: ~ 7,375

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major Injury (Inflicted On Reader), Dangerous Situations, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Anon, thank you for this one! I've never seen the movie you mentioned in your request, but you did well in explaining what you wanted to see here. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

PS ~ Captain Rosé could step on me and I'd say thank you

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Death isn't a new thing to you. It isn't some far-off, enigmatic fear capable of tearing down your psyche anytime the topic is brought up. In fact, you're faced with the harsh realities of it almost everyday, given your ranking. Even still, when you woke up this morning, you hadn't expected for the day to consist of you meeting your end.

Your hands remain clasped together tightly, bound to the rickety wooden chair you've been securely strapped into by layers of rope and chains. Your wrists burn as the rough material pulls against your skin, surely leaving dark marks by now, but that's the least of your worries as you eye the bandits standing before you. Their faces hold smug grins, cheeks pulling back in eerie smiles to reveal crooked teeth. "I won't give you the pleasure of seeing me beg for my life. I accept my fate." You say bravely, holding your head high.

"How noble, Captain." They sneer, leaning far too close for comfort. You fight the gag that works its way up your throat at the smell of them, the wicked stench burning your nostrils as it invades them.

"Even if you escape now, the rest of my crew will come for you." Rosé finally speaks from behind you, sitting in the same state as you as she glares at the surrounding men. Her fingers futilely pull at your shared restraints for the millionth time, brushing along your wrist in the process.

"It's cute that you think that matters. We'll be long gone by then."

Her head lightly pushes against yours as she leans back in her chair, seeking to evade the man when he enters her personal space. For some reason unbeknownst to you, your blood boils at his actions -- though Rosé is your enemy of sorts, seeing that she's a rival captain herself, you can't help but want to keep him away from her.

The vile creature parts her legs with an evil smirk on his lips, his filthy hand groping her thigh as he runs his fingers along her beautiful skin. She whimpers in protest, growing afraid of what he'll do to her in her captive state. Had she been unrestricted right now, she would've most definitely cut his hand off, forever reminding the world of his misdeeds.

"Just get it over with!" You shout angrily, voice hoarse from all the screaming you've done today. You've grown tired of the game they've been playing for over an hour, flipping between beating and ridiculing you relentlessly.

"Alright, alright," their leader chuckles, putting his hands up as he approaches you. He instructs his men to be on standby, ready to gather around the two of you and hoist you into the air. They wait for the all-clear to throw you overboard and into the chilly sea below, full of creatures you've seen during your fateful adventures over the years. There are certainly worse ways to go, and you attempt to come to terms with what's about to happen. Perhaps this is a poetic end for you -- being laid to rest in the place that you've spent most of your life and made countless memories.

"Keep those eyes on me as you fall. I want to remember what it looked like to take down the infamous Y/N L/N." You narrow your eyes at their leader, grimacing as they scan over his greasy, jet black hair and tattered overcoat. Aren't the "bad guys" supposed to at least be stylish? He's a sorry excuse for one if so.

"Kiss my ass." You utter, spitting at him. He lunges forward, just like you expected -- seriously, why are men so predictable? -- and takes the collar of your shirt between his fingers. He delivers a swift blow to your left cheek, only allowing you a second to recover before pulling your head back up to give the same treatment to the other side.

You can feel Rosé tense behind you, doing all she can to reach for you and offer comfort.

With a pained groan, you spit out a mouthful of fresh blood and raise your head to look at him again. "You know, you're not nearly as observant as you think you are." You smile, ignoring the pain that shoots through your busted lip. Before he has time to react, you raise your foot in one motion, swiftly connecting it with his crotch. How could they neglect to tie your feet? That's practically Pirate 101.

He doubles over in an instant, lungs void of the air necessary to speak another insult in retaliation to your act and body incapable of any further movement. His men make the decision for him, taking this moment as a sign to follow through with their plan and throw you over. Shouts and cheers pierce through the air above you as you make your quick descent, not even having time to say a goodbye to Rosé or offer a final word to the universe.

Cold water immediately rushes over your heated skin as you plunge into the waves below, its frigid temperature almost taking what little breath you managed to store away in your lungs. Aided by the water's altered state of gravity, you're able to work your hips past a few of the loosely tied ropes that rested against them.

One thing you admire about Rosé is her quick thinking. She's smart -- while you distracted the leader, she took the opportunity to pry off some of the restraints that required more time and effort, just like you hoped she would. Her slender fingers inconspicuously wiggled their way out of the ropes before freeing you from them as well, and the bandits were none the wiser. Her previous actions make this part all the more easy, and after spending a while on the final ties, the two of you kick off of your chairs and head for the surface. It's a struggle, no doubt, with the way you have to fight to bring the chains up with you and keep them from pulling you further under. But eventually you reach the surface, once again filling your lungs with that miraculously fresh air that they so desperately craved.

The saltwater stings as it flows over your face, getting in your eyes and rushing over all the wounds you've accumulated. Rosie sputters from beside you, struggling a bit to keep her head up, so you extend an arm for her to use to push herself up. You tell yourself you're only doing it -- that is, making sure she doesn't drown -- because she'll be useful in helping you survive. Deep down, though, your intentions extend further than that.

Once you find a steady rhythm with the waves and the fear of drowning subsides for the time being, you scan the horizon line. "I see land -- over there." You say, using your head to point to what looks to be an island in the distance. "We'll swim when we have the energy and float when we need rest, okay?" She nods in response, and the two of you get set on your way.

-----

Huffing from the pure exhaustion coursing through your bodies, you manage to drag yourselves onto shore before collapsing. The sand serves as a good place to lay, almost cradling you the longer you lay there. Tiny, rippling waves -- the aftershocks of much bigger ones -- lull into shore, fluttering past your ankles before being pulled back in by the tide. They lap against your skin, remedying your racing mind with their rhythm. Minutes pass in this cycle, setting you in a state of comfort before you remember everything you'll have to do before nightfall.

Once gaining enough strength, you raise your head and peek over at your rival.

She's sleeping. Of course. You can't blame her, but the sun -- once blazingly hot, perched high up in the sky -- is now setting, giving you a preview of the darkness that the night sky will hold. She turns, rolling her head towards you in her sleep, and you almost smile -- a light dusting of sand sticks to her puffed-out cheeks, and the bridge of her nose holds a small sunburn, making her look sunkissed and blushy. Y/N, stop that, you command yourself, shaking your head at your thoughts. She's your enemy, and she's the reason you're even in this mess in the first place.

"Wake up," you nudge her, reverting back to your previously tense demeanor. The anger you possess for the situation you're in is returning en masse, wiping the pleasant thoughts of Rosé from your mind.

She groans, keeping her eyes tightly shut as she attempts to ignore you. "Roseanne, we have to get up." Your voice is strong, commanding her just like your crew. Your crew, you think to yourself. Some of them were killed by the bandits while others were thrown into the prison chambers of your ship, left at the mercy of your enemies until they decide what they want to do with them. Your people are inventive and strong -- they'll likely find a way out of the sticky situation and reclaim victory. For now, though, you're left to worry about their fates as you attempt to survive on this island. If the elements and animals don't kill you first, the gorgeous woman beside you most definitely will.

"I'm up!" She all but shouts, following another prodding from you. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively raises her hand to wipe her face -- you catch the chains before they can make contact and harm her, and she sends you an appreciative look. "Guess I forgot about these…" she shakes her arms, jiggling your restraints in the process, "Oopsie."

"Come on." You say, standing up and pulling her along with you. Her dilly dallying is making you impatient, and it only increases your levels of irritation. You don't have time to waste.

"We have to break these," she states the obvious, searching the shore for a decently sized rock.

A sarcastic gasp slips past your lips as you look at her. "You don't say! I was thinking we'd just leave them on." She turns to glare at you, narrowing her eyes as she stops walking. Dear god, there's no time for this. With a mumbled "here we go", you allow her to continue.

"You know, we wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you."

"Me?!" You shout, completely taken aback. "Quite the contrary, Rosé. You're the one who led them to us!"

"If you would've accepted my offer, none of this would've happened. But you refuse to team up with anyone else. Look at where that got us now." She motions around herself to the island, expression settling back into an annoyed scowl as her eyes settle on you again.

"It's not my fault that my crew is more trained than yours; I had no reason to merge our teams."

"An agreement would've solidified our strength!" She yells, stomping her foot into the sand. Her boots managed to survive the long trip here, but their material is completely soaked.

"I'm responsible for my crew, and my crew only. I had no decent reason to bring yours in with mine. It's just a liability and more mouths to feed." You say evenly, clenching and releasing your jaw a few times.

She begins to fire off her rebuttal, but you tune her out for the most part and start walking further inland. She has no choice but to follow, and she does so while adamantly complaining. You throw occasional jabs to her arguments in order to keep her moving, and your plan works well. She's too busy bickering with you to notice that she's doing exactly what you want her to.

"...and you're so arrogant, Y/N! I mean, really. God, you're infuriating."

"Are you done yet?" You ask, cocking your head to the side while you simply blink at her. She squints at you, about to give you another piece of her mind, but you glance down at the rock you led her to and she closes her mouth.

"You can keep screaming at me or we can break these chains. Your choice." You shrug, pursing your lips. She cuts her eyes at you, but agrees with a huff, nonetheless.

The two of you work together to find fittingly sized rocks, taking turns dropping them on your restraints and methodically working them against them. Eventually the chains give way, allowing your hands to wiggle out of their strict hold. You're the first to free yourself; once you're done, you find Rosé struggling in silence, refusing to ask for your help.

"Here," you offer, extending a hand to her. Doing nice things for people without gaining something for yourself isn't something you do often -- you've been raised differently; grown more independent and self-serving after your time on the sea.

"Oh, now you want to work together?" She quirks an eyebrow.

You put your hands up with an amused grin. "I don't have to help, feel free to do it alone." You stand, dusting the sand off of your clothes as you begin to walk away and investigate the island. She calls out behind you, annoyed shouts getting further and further away as you just smile and continue your journey.

------

"Ah, glad you could join us again." You smirk, adding some kindling to the small fire you managed to set up during her time away.

"Shut it," she bites back, glaring at you.

"Tough crowd," you laugh, raising your eyebrows. For once, she doesn't say anything back. She busies herself with removing her shoes and socks, setting them next to the source of heat to dry before disappearing into the tree line. She returns a few minutes later, carrying with her a few different branches. Some of them are forked at the top, and she arranges them into a sturdy structure beside the fire as well. You try not to focus on how strong she looks as she does it, her muscles glistening in the fading evening light with a sheet of sweat.

To your surprise, she begins stripping.

First her overcoat, which she drapes across the branch acting as a beam between the forked ones, and then her vest. She wrings them out individually, and you watch as the materials drip with what water hadn't already evaporated yet. The loose linen undershirt that she wears remains on, and you're thankful for that -- had she taken it off as well, you likely would've passed out. The blush on your cheeks deepens as you feel her eyes on you, and you keep your gaze trained on the fire.

"Well? Are you planning to stay in those clothes all night?" She asks, running a hand through her hair to fix it and get some of the sand out.

"If I didn't know better I'd say you're trying to get me naked, Rosie." You play, smiling harder when you see her roll her eyes and look away.

"You wish," she scoffs, though you can see her stealing glances at you as you remove your clothes. She admires the shadows that the fire casts over your body, the flames dancing as they offer their beautiful warmth. The two of you go way back, having grown up as frenemies due to your professions, but she's always had a soft spot for you. You piss her off to no end, and yet somehow she can think of plenty worse people to be stuck with.

After catching her staring, you decide to tease her. You flex your muscles, making sure to be extra and really make a show of it. She blushes, hiding behind her hands to escape the situation.

"Awww, somebody's shy." You say, chuckling at her.

"Am not," she protests, though her sheepish grin sells her out.

"Prove it," you challenge, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Teasing her is one of your favorite pastimes.

Tired of the games, she gathers all of the courage she possesses and stands, slowly sauntering her way over to you. Your eyes take in the sight of her, and she smirks; she works hard to stay in shape, and she knows she looks good. Countless weeks spent at sea, working alongside her crew on long voyages has left her with artfully tanned skin and a physique to die for. You go to compliment her, but she stops you before you have the chance, pressing a finger to your pursed lips. She trails it lower, blazing a path across your jawline and chest, stopping at your ribs. Your breath hitches, and she definitely feels it. You curse yourself for being so easy, already knowing what's coming.

"Who's shy now, sweetheart?" She purrs out, smiling victoriously.

How she's capable of switching demeanors so easily baffles you, but it ensures that no interaction with her will be boring, if nothing else.

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pushing her away to break the growing tension. She's looking at you with some glint in her eye that you can't quite place -- all you know is that if she keeps doing it, things might escalate to a place neither of you are prepared for.

You clear your throat and step around her to adjust your clothes on the drying rack. "You can go ahead and sleep. I'll stay awake and keep the fire going."

She nods with a slight frown on her lips, though you don't see it. "Alright. But wake me up when you get too tired, okay?" You assure her you will, though truthfully your body is aching for sleep right now. The beating you took earlier did its worst on you, leaving your skin bruised and muscles knotted. She deserves to rest, though, and you're okay with giving her the first shift of it. Besides, your mind would surely keep you awake for the better part of an hour -- at least it'll be used to its fullest with her.

What you don't realize, however, is that when she lays down beside you, cuddling into the sorry attempt for a bedroll that you threw together, she merely pretends to fall asleep. Likewise, when she settles her head in your lap, searching for a more comfortable place to lay it, she's fully conscious. She lazily smiles when you run your hands through her hair, wrapping the locks around your fingers in mindless patterns before releasing them and starting over. It's soothing, and soon enough she calms her eager heart enough to slip away to dreamland.

--- A Few Days Later ---

"Wakey wakey…" Rosé sing-songs, hovering over you. The two of you have settled into this familiar rhythm over the past few days, spending the daytime searching for food and supplies and taking shifts to sleep through the night. You've almost always ended up taking the latter opportunity, though sometimes Rosé would force you to rest first if you needed it badly enough.

"Mmm," you groan in disapproval, rolling over. The sun is far too bright, and your upgraded bed situation is much too comfortable to offer any valid reason for you to leave it. Rosé knows how difficult it is to get you up, but she's learned some very useful tactics.

"Y/N…" she drawls, voice like honey as it releases your name with care. Her lips are next to your ear, teasing you as her warm breath fans across your neck. You audibly swallow, not prepared for that in the slightest, and slowly peek your eyes open. She raises a hand to shield your face from the unforgiving sun, and you smile at the domesticity of the act. She looks like a dream -- her hair is fanned out, swaying peacefully in the calm breeze that rolls in from the sea, and she's grinning that killer smile down at you. Her previous sunburn has turned into a tan now, making her look even more irresistible somehow.

"What do you want to do today?" You ask, lacing your fingers together as you put them behind your head. They work as a cradle, cushioning your head from the sand.

"I saw some berry bushes on the north side of the island. They didn't look like any poisonous kind I've studied about, so maybe we could check them out?" She suggests, sitting back on her knees with a quirked brow.

"Sounds like a plan." You smile lazily, gazing up at her. A light pattern of freckles paints her cheeks, and you can't help but grin at how adorable she is.

"What is it?" She asks skeptically, squinting at you.

"You're just too cute for your own good, is all." You sigh, content as you stand up and tug a blushing Rosé behind you. She closes the "door" behind herself, sealing off the entryway to your humble abode. It's a panel of leaves and sticks, built to be sturdy yet lightweight and easy to move. She built it herself, and a sweet smile works its way onto her lips as she remembers the praise you sent her way after she presented it to you.

--------

"If you don't slow down then I'm gonna slap you," she says, peering up at the trees that loom high overhead. In her distracted state, she neglects to look where she's going.

Her rambling is cut short by your hand darting out in front of her, effectively stilling her movements and words. You glance at the ground, prompting her eyes to follow the path they made and widen upon realizing what you just saved her from. An animal -- some wretched cross between a scorpion and pincher beetle -- continues its trip across the downed log that lays in front of you, menacing in its appearance.

"Thank you," she breathes out, leaning into your side as you hold her and direct her away from danger.

"Do me a favor and don't die, okay?" You quirk, scrunching your face up at her humorously. She shoves you, holding up her middle finger as she walks ahead and blazes a path for the two of you. You chuckle, grinning stupidly as you follow after her.

--- 3 Hours Later ---

"Take cover," you shout to an imaginary army, seeking refuge behind the base of a large tree. Rosé chuckles maniacally from behind one of the berry bushes, her fingers lightly stained from the juices that are running down her palm.

"Nice try, Y/N. But you can't escape… CAPTAIN ROSÉ!" She shouts, surprising you as she charges in your direction, pelting you with berry after berry. You squeal, evading as many of the makeshift missiles as you can by darting behind different greenery. She eventually catches up, snaking her arms around your waist and preventing you from getting away again.

"NO!" You exclaim, slumping further into her arms in defeat after your attempts to escape prove futile. She spins you around to face her, pressing your back up against the nearest tree as the two of you practically double over with laughter. She looks ethereal, with how she shines in the sunlight that sneaks its way through the canopy of tree tops above you. Her eyes are almost closed from how hard she's smiling at you.

A sharp growl breaks the happy moment, perking your ears up and causing your heart to race for a different reason entirely. You glance around the tree, protectively stepping in front of Rosé to shield her from any new threat. An animal -- something you've never seen before -- bares its teeth, snarling aggressively as it sets its sights on you. Your blood runs cold in your veins, stopping your heart momentarily as your brain attempts to formulate a plan on the fly. With only a few precious moments left before it attacks, you glance around for anything to double as a weapon without making any sudden movements.

Rosé is clutched onto you from behind, and you can feel her heart beating wildly. You have to protect her, no matter what.

"On my count, I want you to climb into this tree. I'm going to try and defend us." From what little knowledge you've inferred in the past couple minutes, you doubt the animal is capable of climbing well; it doesn't have the body or feet for it. You fear it is capable of running quickly, though, so the tree is likely your best bet.

"What? No, I'm going to--"

"Roseanne, please, for once, just do as I ask. Trust me." You plead over your shoulder, noting the slight tremble that runs through her as another roar echoes out. Your eyes remain trained on it, never backing down for a second.

One steadying breath later, you shout, "Now!" and swoop down to pick up what helpful materials you can. You charge at the animal, taking the offensive in order to keep as much distance possible between it and Rosé. You successfully jab the sharpened stick into its side, causing it to wail in pain. In an instant it grabs your arm, wrapping it's paws around you as it lunges forwards and tumbles to the ground on top of you. A scream leaves your lips as you watch its teeth dig further into your flesh, garnering deep crimson blood to spill from your developing wounds. You protect your neck with your other arm, only breaking this rule to reach to your side and retrieve the heavy rock you brought along as well. It connects with the side of the animal's head, only making it whimper before loosening its grip the slightest bit. You weren't prepared for it to be such a tough enemy. You use your strength to roll it over and sit on top of it, keeping your arm in its grip to ensure that it stays occupied. Your fingers dig into every sensitive part of its body you can reach, performing the defense moves you've spent your life practicing to use. With a glance at Rosé, you find her safe in the tree, just like you wanted.

"Run!" You shout, willing to keep the creature distracted in order to give her time to escape. Before you can see if she listens to you, it's nails claw into your abdomen, scratching painful designs into the previously smooth skin. It performs another death roll, and you barely have the strength to shank it in the side again. It howls, rearing back to go for your jugular before its movements are abruptly cut short. An unsettling crack rings out above you, and you open your eyes after not receiving the fatal blow you had been expecting. The animal scampers away from you, limping off further into the forest until it's out of sight.

Rosé drops the large branch in her hand, the end of it lightly stained with blood. "Go..." you weakly mumble, eyes beginning to flutter closed as you notice how much blood you've already lost. You feel cold, and you have to fight the shiver that runs through you.

"I've got you, Y/N." She whispers, cradling your fragile frame in her arms as she picks you up and begins the journey back to camp. "You did good." She reassures, having no idea how much you needed to hear that before falling unconscious.

---------

After gathering the medicinal plants and resources that the two of you have accumulated so far, she returns to the fireside, settling down beside you. She raises your shirt enough to have access to your wounds, but not far enough to expose you. Temperate water meets your bloodied and broken skin, rushing over the sensitive areas as she gently cleans them. Once dry, she mixes the materials into a sort of salve to rub on them before laying the plants on them in place of bandages.

The crackling of the fire works with the crashing of distant waves to serve as background noise, making the night far more peaceful than the day had been. She allows you to continue resting, knowing you need all of it that you can get.

About an hour or so later you wake with a start, hands reaching out as if you were right back in front of the animal. Your dreams were plagued with images of the nightmarish beast, and you're having trouble adjusting to the fact that they were all in your head. They felt so real. Rosé is by your side in an instant, brushing your hair out of your face with one hand while caressing your thigh with the other -- it's one of the only places that made it out of battle relatively unscathed. Your panicked eyes find hers, glazed over with tears as you pull her flush against your body, glad to know she's okay. Her warmth reminds you that she's here, that she's real, and that she's safe.

Memories of your fight come flooding back, filling your mind with the terrifying things you witnessed and reigniting your fight or flight response. You remember that she didn't listen to you -- she put herself in harm's way instead of leaving you behind, like you asked -- and you grow angry. Muttered phrases of disapproval leave your lips as you push her away, stumbling slightly when you try to stand on your own. Although confused by your erratic behavior, she reaches out to assist you, only to be met with a harsh refusal from you.

"Stop!" The word comes out as an angry shout -- louder than you originally intended -- but you can't find it in yourself to apologize right now. You find your footing after a moment, holding your side as you walk away from her.

"What's your problem?" She shouts, marching after you. She refuses to let this go without a fight, seeing as how she has plenty more questions than answers now.

"You could've gotten hurt, Rosé, and I could've handled it on my own." You say over your shoulder, continuing on your journey away from camp. Her relentlessness is quickly getting on your nerves.

"Clearly you couldn't! You needed help; why are you denying that?" She stops now, crossing her arms angrily with her brows furrowed. The fact that you're still so set on clinging to your pride is pissing her off.

"You should've left me there! I can't have you getting hurt because of me." You turn around now, setting your jaw. Is she really this blind? This has nothing to do with your pride. Her eyes meet yours, the pools overflowing with confusion as they scan over your face in search of clarification.

"I can handle something happening to me; I've made my peace with that. But if something ever happened to you because of my incompetence…" you shake your head at the mere thought of that, momentarily too overwhelmed to continue, "...I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I care about you, idiot." You add that last line before turning around, not bothering to wait on her reaction. Part of you is scared to, honestly, and the day has been far too eventful for you to handle a potential rejection on top of everything else.

She says nothing, leaving the air around you void of her beautiful voice, and you don't know whether to be thankful or disheartened.

You put more distance between the two of you, leaving a stunned Rosé in your wake as you find a place to sit along the shoreline. Your temper -- more precisely, the fear you hold that presents itself as anger -- reared its head tonight. You didn't mean to snap at her like that, but the possibility of her getting hurt because of you makes your blood boil. That would be unforgivable, and you wouldn't be able to live with yourself. You felt helpless earlier, quickly running out of the strength required to keep her safe.

Salty tears manage to break past your line of defenses, much like Rosé has managed to do with your heart. She's torn down every wall you've ever put up to protect yourself, and now that she's there you don't know how to cope. You've had people you considered close before, but none of them have mattered like she does. You've never been so afraid of losing someone.

A soft hand on your shoulder makes you jump slightly, pulling you from your thoughts. Speak of the devil.

"Hey." She says simply, sitting down beside you. You turn your face away, not wanting to let her see you cry. "I'm sorry for fighting, okay? But I'm not sorry for helping you. I care about you, too, and I'll be damned to just leave you like that." She doesn't say anything else, doesn't try to make you look at her -- she just sits there, waiting for you to be ready to do so on your own.

She's waited on you since you were teenagers, so she figures she's capable of waiting a bit longer now. Both of you are aware of the love you hold for one another; this is just the hardest part -- finally admitting it.

"I can't lose you," you whisper, eyes full of tears that occasionally roll down your cheeks once gravity finds its footing. You turn to the front, still too emotional to look into her eyes.

"Ditto. That's why I did what I did."

Your knees are raised and pulled in close to your body for security, your arms wrapped around them to keep them in place. She reaches over to rest her hand on yours, wordlessly coaxing you into looking at her.

"I…" You pause, voice breaking with the emotions you're still reeling from.

"I know." She says, resting her forehead against yours.

"I love you, too."

She pulls you in, making sure to be gentle and not injure you any further. She raises your head to press her lips against yours, tasting the faint hint of wildberry that still rests on them from earlier. It's slow and new, giving you a break from the intensity you've been dealing with the past few days. You tilt your head to the right, letting out a whimper as her fingers graze a bruised spot on your ribs. She gives you another peck before pulling away, determined to stop herself while she still can. You're addicting, and she already can't get enough of you.

A beat passes between you, giving you time to sort the thoughts rushing around your mind. "I've always loved you." You admit, pulling back to look at her. Tears well in her eyes, shining brightly in the brilliant moonlight as they threaten to fall.

"Ever since we commanded our own boats for the first time. Mine was better, of course," she laughs at that, smiling despite herself, "...but I knew you were different then. I've spent all these years being too stubborn to let myself have you."

She takes your words in, her heart pounding victoriously in her chest at your confession. "I knew when we were still training together. You always made things better for me then; I was so thankful to know you. Even if we teased the hell out of each other."

You grin at the countless memories that come to mind. "Do you remember that night at the docks, after we graduated from our classes?" She looks up, searching her memory vault. "When you kissed me?" She asks. You nod, looking down with a bashful smile.

"I knew we wouldn't see each other for a while, so I wanted to make it count."

"You made it really hard to say goodbye, you know?" She says, her eyes softening as she looks at you.

"I know. But you get half of the blame."

She tuts at you, nudging you playfully. You hiss in pain, causing her to bring a hand up to cover her growing smile. "Oops. Sorry, not sorry."

"If I wasn't hurting so bad I'd tackle you right now."

"Oh, I'm so scared." She laughs, mocking you.

"That's it," you declare, ignoring the pain that shoots through your body with all the moving you're doing. Her laugh practically heals you anyway, so it's not hard to push it from your mind. You press her into the sand, rolling over to straddle her hips and pin her hands above her head.

"Woah, tiger. Don't hurt yourself." She raises her head as much as her restrained state will allow, coming dangerously close to your face.

"You're such a dork." You tut, leaning in to capture her lips once more. She mumbles out a, "you love it, though" against you, and your heart can't help but soar.

- A Few Weeks Later -

A soft melody rides along the airwaves towards your ears, persuading you to wake up from your cozy slumber. You cuddle further into Rosie's tempting embrace, smiling at the way she pulls you impossibly closer. Her throat wiggles as she hums out a familiar tune from your childhood -- one of the songs you used to dance together to.

"You big softie." You coo, resting your chin on her chest to look into her eyes with a smile. She grins, finally peeking at you through her lashes.

"Good morning, beautiful." She says, her accent coming through adorably. She pulls you up to her lips for a kiss before rolling you onto your back.

You sigh as she leaves open mouth kisses to your neck, dragging her lips over the skin there lazily. She takes her time, leaving marks here and there to show the world who you belong to. Her hands skim over the warm skin of your abdomen, finally free of the intense wounds you've been recovering from. Only small scars are left now, serving as a testament to what you endured.

"Mmm, I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat." She chuckles at that, her head falling forward to rest against your shoulder as her body shakes with laughter.

"You're thinking about food while I'm kissing you?" She grins, propping herself up on her arm to look down at you lovingly.

"What can I say? I'm a hungry girl." You kiss her cheeks, ghosting your lips over hers. "Although," you tease the corner of her mouth, "...you're looking pretty tasty right about now. I might just eat you instead."

She squeals as you crawl on top of her, pretending to bite her skin as you tickle her sides.

"I surrender!" She shouts, finally giving into you. You kiss her one last time before pulling away and practically dragging her out of the structure.

"I'll get started on cooking the fish if you grab some water." You offer, rustling through your handmade crate for the skewers you use to prepare food.

"Alright," she nods, kissing you on the cheek before grabbing your canteens and setting off towards the freshwater spring not far from camp.

"Be careful!" You call out after her, smiling when she turns around to face you with her hands in the form of a heart.

---------

"Good job baby. That was delicious." She compliments, leaning back against the log you use as seating beside the fire. She almost always opts to sit in the sand and rest against it for some reason, but you're long past questioning her at this point. Rosie's… unique.

"They don't call me Chef Y/N for nothing." You quip, holding your head higher with a sense of self-importance.

"They don't call you that anyway."

"Hey," you pout, slapping the back of her head with no real force. "Let a girl pretend, would you?"

"Fine, my apologies." She smiles again, and you can't help but do the same. You've lost count of how many times she's made you laugh over these past few weeks, and although you hope to be rescued sooner rather than later, the thought of being stuck here with her for a while longer doesn't seem all that bad.

"You're doing it again," she trails off, wiggling her voice up and down to tease you.

"What?"

"Looking at me like a lovesick puppy." Her eyes shine in the warm, tropical sunlight, pools of rich amber that you wouldn't mind getting lost in. They match the color of whiskey almost perfectly.

"Not my fault. Have you seen yourself?." She scoffs, but blushes nonetheless. You lean over to press a kiss to the top of her head affectionately.

Your attention is stolen away all at once as you hear the words you've been imagining ever since you arrived on the island. "Land, ho!" Multiple voices bellow out in the distance, prompting you to search for their source. Collective cheering can be heard, and you swiftly stand -- as if that simple act will miraculously enable you to see better.

"We're coming, Captain!" Jisoo, your second in command shouts, seemingly hanging off the bow of the ship -- your ship. A squad of others follows behind, maintaining a tight formation as they make their way to shore.

"Us too, Captain!" Someone calls from one of the neighboring boats, apparently one of Rosé's crewmembers. She waves back excitedly, and you bite back the smile that tugs at your cheeks.

Eventually they reach land.

"Y/N!" Your scout, Lisa, shrieks like a schoolgirl, running into your arms eagerly. She was the first friend you ever made during your training years, long before you met Rosé, and you were truly worried for her.

"Ah, Lisa. Jisoo." You look between the two of them proudly, glad to see them alive and well. "What happened?"

"We managed to defeat Captain Crusty's men--" she stops to explain when she notices your brows furrowed in amused confusion, "--that's the nickname we gave the bandit leader. Anyway, we defeated them and repaired the ship enough to make it back to shore. They did some major damage, though."

You nod, satisfied with their story, until you remember that they didn't come alone. You subtly motion your head to the other crew, and Jisoo gets the memo. "We found the rest of these pea-brains back at the docks and they insisted on coming along."

"Hey, it's not like we wanted to be stuck with you either!" Jennie, Rosé's second, hits back, defending herself and the rest of her crew. "If your moron captain would've listened to Rosé we wouldn't be here, and we wouldn't have lost anyone in the process."

"Quiet," Rosé warns, stepping in front of her to block the two sides from each other.

Despite knowing it isn't technically your fault, Jennie's words do hold some truth. You feel guilty for all the senseless violence you could've potentially spared your people from enduring, and the what-ifs weigh heavily on your mind and heart.

"So long as I'm still in charge, no one will disrespect Y/N or her crew. Are we clear? I won't take kindly to any of you going against me." It's a heavy warning, and her tone makes it clear that she'll be true to her word. They know better than to test her. Her eyes scan the group of misfits, all looking bewildered by her sudden change of heart. It must be a bit jarring for them, after being such bitter enemies with the others for so long. Regardless, scattered nods and grumbles of acceptance leave them before they all scurry away to get started on their tasks, looking like scolded children.

You send Lisa and Jisoo along with the rest of your crew to go ahead and board again, seeing that you have no real equipment to pack up this time. It feels wrong to leave the island -- the place that brought you back to Rosie and allowed you to open your heart to her -- without something to remember it by. So, with a whispered, "Wait here," you run back to camp to snatch something.

You return soon after, a huge smile plastered on your face. "You're bringing our door?" She laughs, tilting her head at your strange choice.

"Duh. Good to know your eyes still work, I was getting worried." You tease, giggling as she pinches you.

"Come on baby; let's go. Last one there has to clean the poop deck."

"Get back here!" She yells, chasing you into the chilly water with a smile. Whether she loses or not doesn't matter much to her -- she finally has you after all these years, and she can't wait to see where the future will take the two of you.

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docockbrainrot · 3 years

Text

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+

AO3 link here.

Previous Chapter

Chapter 5

anathema// former vandal

The next several days are an uneventful blur. You barely leave your apartment, except for brief dog walks and grabbing food from the bodega across the street.

It’s 9 pm on Saturday and you’re fresh out of the shower, tucked away in a very fuzzy robe, lounging on the couch and watching YouTube on your television. You almost miss the subtle taptaptaptap sound coming from your window, you're so engrossed in the cooking show you’ve been binging. Gotta fill the void somehow, right?

You can’t see anything outside from where you’re sitting. The lights are on and make it impossible to peer through the reflections on the glass. Maybe it’s a bird. Or a branch is caught on the fire escape. Either way, you certainly can’t be assed to check it out and you take another sip of your chamomile tea- you’ve been trying everything under the sun, just about short of literally snorting lines of melatonin, to try to sleep better at night. Nothing’s been working. But you have been making a very valiant effort.

A few moments go by and you forget all about the window disturbance until,

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP.

It’s jarring. It’s loud. Above all else, it’s annoying. Chekov spares you a look, like you’re the one making a racket. Effectively exasperated, you make an effort to set, not slam, down your mug, feeling decidedly not Calm and Relaxed as the tea promised. Suppose it’s not miracle shit though, is it? You would not be a good candidate for a horror movie because you fearlessly storm over to the window and throw it open (it wasn’t locked in the first place; you’re quite terrible at remembering to). You stick your head out and glower at whatever irritating mischief is happening out here, ready to rip the fire escape off the side of the brick building.

You’re greeted by something cold and hard (and indubiously metal, judging by how it felt against your sternum) shoving you back into your apartment, sending you sprawling unceremoniously to the hardwood floor. A string of profanities ready to leave your tongue, you sit up and adjust your robe in an attempt to preserve a modicum of your modesty. The rant dies in your throat as red eyed claws grip the threshold of your pre-war window and it’s almost comical the way He maneuvers himself in, far too large to be making these sorts of entrances. Standing up to his full height before you while you’re still sitting dumbfounded on the floor reminds you of just how impressively built he is. You manage to pick your jaw up, but your ass remains firmly planted on the wood.

“Uh… you could have just used the buzzer, dude. I have a front door, you know,” you sputter out, brain blitzing in pretty much every way possible. Your thoughts are racing and eventually they settle on the most important thing you can think to ask in that moment: “... Why aren’t you wearing a shirt.” You can't help the way your eyes are drawn to his broad chest, gaze lingering on the vast scarring that spills out from the metal contraption clamped around his midsection.

Otto very graciously closes the window behind himself. Or at least his little robot accomplices do it for him. You still aren’t sure what’s going on with that- the whole AI thing. Not even a blip on your radar of concerns at this point. “Didn’t want anyone to see me come in. Your building has a camera on the front, facing the street.”

“That’s why you’re shirtless?” You ask dumbly. Interesting method of camouflage. “What? No- what? It doesn’t matter- listen to me. I need you to do something for me. A small favor.”

He doesn’t seem to notice the compromised position he put you in. Typical. Gathering up your broken pride, you get up and tighten the tie of your robe a bit. It isn’t until then that he has the decency to look a smidge embarrassed and you hope you didn't just give him a free show on your way to getting to your feet. “You literally just broke into my apartment and now you’re asking for a favor? We barely know each other!”

“Less complicated when there's nothing personal involved yet, plus- you let me in,” he corrects you. You wish he would stop doing that. You wish he would stop meeting with you like this, under weird and mysterious circumstances. Even though it's only been like twice. You're already over it.

“You threw me across the room!”

“Touche.”

Otto does not apologize and you did not sincerely expect him to. The look on his face reads more like the cat that got the canary than regretful. You feel as though you’ve come to recognize that expression on his face and you also feel as though you don’t much like the fact that you’ve enough encounters with this man that you can recognize a damn thing about him. “What… could you possibly need me to do for you? I am not robbing a bank.” You just want to get that out into the open as soon as possible.

“I don’t need your help robbing a bank,” he snorts as if the idea is preposterous and you take a moment to feel insulted. Wow. Okay. You could totally rob a bank if you wanted to. Deciding to not comment on your wounded ego, you let him get to the point. Otto pulls something out of his inner coat pocket. It's some kind of rolled up paper and you think at first maybe it's a newspaper or magazine. He unfurls it onto the coffee table and holds it open with two metal claws on either side so it doesn't ravel itself back up.

You realize it's a blueprint. "This is… Oscorp," you point out stupidly, brow furrowing in confusion. There's levels to what's happening here. Layers upon layers, melding together with rot and decay and you can all but smell it. But there's something missing, something that would tie all of the wackjob shit that's been happening to you and around you together. It feels like when you have a very particular thought and then walking into another room makes it dissolve from your head. You're trying to grasp for it, to fit the puzzle pieces together, but it's just out of reach.

"Yes. It is. I have a small task I need you to do," Otto starts off, metal phalanges pushing his glasses up onto the top of his head as he looks over at you. For the first time, you can see his eyes in the light. The warm amber feels like a mockery- you have seen his cruelty in action.

"Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?" Of course he'd say that.

Your fingertips brush against the metaphorical wayward chain link. It's right there. You just have to grab it and pull it back to you, like the anchor of a ship before it can set sail.

He's talking. You aren't listening. He's tracing a finger over the schematics. You don't see it. Realization washes over you in a heart-dropping tsunami. The voicemail you got from Oscorp plays like a broken record in your mind. 'Hello, Y/N. We're calling in regards to your employment status here at Oscorp. Unfortunately, due to a breach of security, we are having to make staffing cuts and are going to have to let you go. We appreciate your time and effort and wish you the best of luck in your next endeavor.' It didn't make sense at the time. A lot of things didn't. You replay the scene of poor David, desperately pleading for his life at the hands of the man hunched over here, just in your living room. You mentally re-run it over and over like bad 80s sitcoms on late night television.

"Lab Coat Guy…"

You don't realize you whispered it out loud until Otto goes silent.

"What?"

You slowly look at him and take a single step backwards, shaking your head. The company embroidered on David's lab coat hadn't been clear to you in the moment- but it's crystal in hindsight. Oscorp. "You got me fired." Your tone is flat, until anger flashes through you, like a streak of lightning through a dark, moonless sky, illuminating all of things that didn’t make sense before.

"It doesn't matter. What I need you to do-" He's so nonchalant, so blasé that it only stokes the embers of frustration until there's a roaring blaze burning beneath your skin. It's all about him, what he needs, what he wants. He has the nerve, the audacity, to keep traipsing into your life, kicking you while you're down and then ask for favors? You want to say all of that to him but unfortunately for you, you're an angry crier. Your outburst of bravery at him the last time you saw each other had surprised even you- but now there's so much more emotion roiling around inside you.

"No. No, no. Fuck you. You got me fired! I can't- I can't not have a job, I have to pay rent! You could get me arrested for just talking to you!" Oscorp had you canned to tie up any potential loose ends before anymore Davids could slip through the cracks. You think about how scared the poor dude must have been, threatened into stealing blueprints from the biggest corporation in the city, for one of the most infamous criminals. You don't know how they found out you were even remotely involved and you don't want to know.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and once the floodgates have opened you're very familiar with how long it's going to take to close them again. After all you've been bottling this up since you found out, too disappointed to even tell any of your friends or family.

Otto appears taken aback, to say the least. He even looks like he's at a loss for words; that's a first. You know he could kill you where you stand in the blink of an eye, but in that moment you don’t even care. You’ve been trying so hard for so long to get on your feet, to do things for yourself and get away from the past. You moved across the country, you left everything behind, you got a damn dog. It seems like every time you manage to take a step forward in life, you’re knocked flat on your ass, apparently literally sometimes. It isn’t fair. Things don’t come easily to you, you’ve always had to work for them. You aren’t wealthy, you aren’t a supergenius, you’re just… you. The job at Oscorp was good money and you really felt like you were getting your shit together for a while.

“They’re not who you think they are,” he says finally, so calmly, with such carefulness about his words, that you sniffle pathetically and look up at him. He doesn’t look nearly as pleased with himself as you thought he might. And here you’ve been, under the impression that he gets off on hurting people. “Oscorp. I’m not… I’m not just doing this for me. You have to understand that.”

The schematics are furled up and tucked away. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Maybe it’s just the tears that blur your vision, but you swear you see a softness there before they’re hidden away again by his glasses.

He lingers at the window.

“I hope you’ll reconsider.” And then he was making his exit, even taking care to gently close the window on the way out. But he raps on the glass with his knuckles from where he stands on the fire escape and you know the look of confusion on your tear-streaked face speaks for itself. Otto points to the latches on the window. ‘Lock it.’ He mouths before he’s gone, presumably to wreak havoc and harass other unsuspecting young women that don’t want anything to do with him.

You thought everything had come together- but the more sense you make of it, the less you seem sure of the bigger picture. You aren't even sure exactly what he wanted you to do.

You’re left with an endless bounty of questions, and not enough answers to satisfy any of them.

#otto octavius x reader #doc ock x reader #fanfiction #otto octavius #doc ock

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mymothershumility · 3 years

Text

neverflownwithme asked: “Perhaps the world is in need of change.”

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 3 } & { Part 4 } & { Part 5 }

{ Part 6 } & { Part 7 } & { Part 8 } & { Part 9 } & { Part 10 }

{ Part 11 }

{ @neverflownwithme }

“This is the last of it.”

Gaze lifts from her desk, quill coming to pause above the parchment she has been recording the contents of the hidden room upon. The process has been a lengthy one, stretching a week and a half after the room’s discovery. Many of the scrolls and tomes from within the space have been accounted for, recorded upon Laira’s parchment as she looked over each and every one.

There are a number of journals among the tomes that she has skimmed, personal ones penned by the hands of Lady Shiera Seastar, Princess Rhaena of Pentos, and Queen Visenya Targaryen. There are others of an unknown origin, as well, penned in an unfamiliar --yet strikingly familiar-- hand.

Thus far, her work has centered around sorting and identifying the tomes, journals, and scrolls that had been scattered upon the desks and shelves within the room. She and Hal have yet to tackle the various trunks that have been pulled from the space. They remain stacked on the opposite side of her solar, shrouded in mystery. It is what Hal now carries easily in his hold, crossing the room to set the last trunk among the others.

When Laira looks back across her solar, she finds the space of the room void of everything but the desks and shelves that are set against the walls as well as the Myrish carpet lining the floor. The look of it seems entirely foreign for a moment. Yet, despite all of their work, there are still a number of questions looming above them. Laira has yet to finish one of the tomes pulled from among the stacks in full. It will take her and Hal both months to do so if they attempt such a task. Of that, she is certain.

And, in the end, it is possible that such a task will be the only way to discover the answers they so desperately wish for.

Setting her quill back upon her parchment, Laira pens the last of her entries upon the surface. There are well over a hundred journals, tomes, and scrolls upon her list. With her recording finished, Laira sets her quill back into its inkwell. She is glad to have the task done, though her back and her eyes now ache because of it.

“Visenya Targaryen and Shiera Seastar penned many of these,” Laira comments, fingers brushing upon the Lyseni crafted journal that had once belonged to the Star of the Sea. She traces the silver three headed dragon that is emblazoned across the amethyst leather, letting a soft sigh escape her. “Princess Rhaena of Pentos has penned several of them as well,” she goes on. “There are others as well, though I cannot discern to whom they once belonged.”

The journals and scrolls that she mentions are scrawled in the language of the Old Empire. Of that, Laira is certain of. She recognizes the language as easily among the ancient pages just as she does among Shiera Seastar’s recounts. What strikes her odd above all else are the mentions of the Freehold, of the descriptions of the dragonlords and the never ceasing ebb and flow as power slipped from one to another and back around again.

There is more, though... recounts of the Five Forts and the Great Empire of the Dawn… of the Blood Betrayal that had ushered in the first Long Night.

Such recounts only spawn additional questions. They only serve in deepening a tale that is already wrapped in far too much mystery.

“Perhaps a change of scenery would do us both good,” Hal recommends, leaving the trunks for then. He leans against the sturdy form of Laira’s desk when he is near enough, casting a look down at the work that she has done. “It seems as if we’ve scarcely left these walls of late.” They have had good reason to. Hal is aware of such a thing. Still, he believes setting their task aside for a time could be of benefit to them. It is possible their answers may be easier to find if they look for them with fresh eyes.

Laira listens as he speaks, gaze drifting over him as he settles his form against the edge of her desk. She cannot disagree with his words. She finds herself smiling, in fact, at his suggestion. It is a welcomed one. “I am surprised that you would object to spending your time secluded away with me, my Lord,” she teases him, watching the way the lines of his body seem to soften with her words. Such a reaction has become more frequent as of late. Laira enjoys witnessing it. “Pray tell,” she begins, chuckling as he moves and bends to set his hands upon the armrests of her chair, “have you grown bored of me already?”

“I feel you already know the answer to such a question, Your Grace,” he says, moving closer to her when she reaches to press her hand beneath his chin. “I believe you merely enjoy teasing me,” he accuses, leaning to steal a kiss from her.

She laughs against his mouth, fingers shifting until her palm is pressed to the line of his jaw. “No more than you enjoy teasing me,” Laira reminds, speaking when he pulls from her. Her thumb briefly strokes against his cheek, the pad of her finger tracing the line of a faint scar hidden beneath the light stubble of his beard. “Did you have something particular in mind for us to partake in?”

Their week has already been one of great change and challenge. In the midst of their exploration and discovery within the walls of her solar, Sansa and Helen had arrived on Dragonstone from King’s Landing in the midst of a torrential storm. Having sailed upon one of the Velaryon ships that often ferried supplies from the capital to the islands of Claw Isle, Driftmark, and Dragonstone, the girls had arrived in the dead of night, utterly terrified after additional events that had transpired within the capital.

Such events still set her husband upon edge when they speak of them. They do much the same to her. There had been little favor for the Tyrells in her husband’s heart when he arrived on Dragonstone, having already forbidden a marriage alliance that Olenna had attempted to put into place between Sansa and Willas Tyrell while he was occupied in the Stormlands. There had been little favor left in her with her husband’s revelations.

When the girls had arrived --cold and hungry and fearful-- only to reveal that Olenna had not only attempted to see Sansa married away, but had also attempted to betroth Helen to Oliver Redwyne’s son, any favor that had lingered within her and her husband for the Tyrell matriarch had burned away to ash.

“The day seems as though it may remain favorable,” Hal says. Those days upon Dragonstone are few and far between, the weather ever changing and often giving way to storms. “Perhaps we could journey down to the village with the girls,” he proposes. “Or take them down to the shore.”

“I believe they would enjoy time on the shore.” Laira has made her fair share of journies down to the village since arriving upon the island. And while the markets are filled with trade from across the sea, she believes that the girls would enjoy their day all the more if granted the time to play. Laira is uncertain when another fair day such as this one will occur on the small island.

It will be best to take advantage of it while possible.

Hal takes hold of her hand as she speaks, turning so his mouth can catch along the inside of her wrist. The kiss that he plants against her skin is whisper soft. “My thoughts as well,” he agrees. He is straightening in the next moment, drawing Laira carefully up from her seat as he goes.

She laughs again, both at his affection and his enthusiasm. Laira is happy to see it after the events of the week. There have been too many times as of late that she has seen the weight of Olenna’s betrayal pressing down upon him.

Such a matter, Laira will be certain is addressed. She will see justice given where it is due. Daenerys would have no need for a Hand who acted in such a traitorous manner. She was confident in that.

“I will ask the cooks to prepare something light for us to carry with us,” Laira said. They had broken their fast with the girls when they had woken. Midday would be upon them shortly, though, and hunger would soon set in upon them once again.

It takes little to convince her niece and her good-cousin to accompany her and Hal down onto the shore. Helen is quick to agree to such a journey, entirely enthralled with the sea and all the mysteries that it holds. And, wherever it was that Helen journeyed, Sansa was always quick to follow after her. It has become far more uncommon, in fact, to find Sansa away from Helen’s side. Both she and Hal find some comfort in such knowledge.

For, wherever the girls travel, their direwolves are there to go with them. Only a fool would attempt to harm the girls with such staunch protection at their sides.

No more than an hour later, Helen is skipping along the smooth flagstones of the courtyard with Sansa’s fingers wrapped securely in her hand. Rose and Dawn trot along in front of them, heads and ears high as they observe everything around them. Several steps behind the girls and their direwolves, Laira walks arm-in-arm with Hal. Her husband’s direwolf companion has positioned herself at Laira’s opposite side, having shown herself to be increasingly protective as of late. She suspects Hal’s own mood to be a contributing factor. His bond with Moone has already shown itself to be similar in nature to her own bond with Viserion.

And, as Viserion often feeds off Laira’s own emotions, she believes that her husband’s direwolf companion does quite the same where his own are concerned.

“They both seem excited,” Laira murmurs to Hal, smiling at Helen’s chattering and Sansa’s answering giggles. Her young niece has been engaged in excited conversation with her eldest cousin since learning of their excursion down to the shore.

“Neither of them have been afforded a great amount of time upon the shore or in the waters of the sea,” Hal tells her. Despite having lived for a time in White Harbor, Helen has never been able to wander about on the beach or play in the water as she has been able to during her time upon the island stronghold. The beaches at White Harbor differ vastly from Dragonstone’s own. The shoreline of much of the North, in fact, is rocky and unforgiving. Its waters are much the same, too frigid even in the heat of summer to swim about in. “However, Helen has been exposed to the water far more than Sansa,” he goes on.

His cousin had confided not so long ago, in fact, that her first time spying the sea had been when she had come to King’s Landing as a bride for Joffrey Baratheon.

Laira hums in understanding, tucking herself closer to her husband’s side as they begin their trek down the winding pathways that will take them to the shore beyond the castle. “I believe they would enjoy Lys,” she says, thinking of the last time that she had visited the Free City. “It is still warm there,” she continues. “They could swim in the water if they wished to. Or, play about on the sands and look for shells at their leisure.” The beach beyond her mother’s manse within Lys had been well guarded at one time. It would be again should Laira ever return to it.

“Perhaps we will be able to make the journey there in the near future,” Hal tells her, bringing her closer when she slips more into the length of his side. He knows that Helen would enjoy the coast of the Free City, having already shown a particular love for searching out tide pools there upon Dragonstone and observing the sea life found within them. And Sansa, he knows, would love the markets.

She smiles at such a notion, leaning until she is able to brace her head against the line of his shoulder. Another quiet hum leaves her, opposite arm reaching across her so her fingers are softly pressing against the palm of his hand. She cannot stop the whispering flutter of her heart inside her chest when his own fingers --warm and strong-- curl carefully about her hand in response. “You spoil me,” she murmurs up to him.

A smile twitches up at the corners of his mouth when he feels the press of her head against the expanse of his shoulder, grows all the larger when Laira’s fingers seek out the expanse of his own hand. “You’ve spoken fondly of Lys on more than one occasion,” Hal reminds, thumb stroking along the bumps of her knuckles. “I don’t believe it’s spoiling you to return you to a place that holds such fond memories for you.”

“No?” she questions, the word marred with a gentle laugh. “A fortunate thing for myself, then.” She pauses, watching as Helen goes dashing out onto the sand ahead of them. The young girl is giggling as she runs, her direwolf giving chase after her down the beach. Sansa follows after her, though she walks instead of runs. Laira can hear her laughing all the same. “There are other places that I am fond of as well,” Laira goes on, still watching the girls as they make their way towards the edge of the water.

The sea around Dragonstone is often colored deep azure, though the water closer to shore is often clouded with sand that is stirred up from the storms that plague the island. Today, at least, Laira can see that the shallows are clear. The water looks incredibly inviting even from where she and Hal are walking.

“What places are those?” Hal has his own thoughts about what they may be.

“White Harbor was of particular interest to me in the short time we lingered there,” she offers. It had been a mere stop in their return to King’s Landing from the War for the Dawn. Yet, the Manderlys had shown them every courtesy possible during their stay. Laira had become especially fond of Lady Wylla and Lady Wynafryd during her time in their hall. “However, WinterfelI, I believe, is the dearest of them all to me,” she carries on.

Laira imagines that he knows the reason, can see the quick flickers of realization as they slowly settle upon him.

“The war that awaited us aside,” she continues, “I was quite happy there.”

“So was I.” Even though Hal had never grown up at Winterfell, it remained familiar. He’d spent more than enough time among its walls, visiting his family with his father. Most of his childhood had been spent among the walls of Karhold. “It was likely the company that made the stay so easy, though,” he went on, smiling at the way she was looking over at him. “I left Harrion Karstark as steward before we departed back south,” Hal reminds. He and Harrion had grown up side by side at Karhold. He was practically a brother to him. There had been no one else that Hal would have trusted to guard Winterfell for Sansa. “He would welcome us back if we decided to make the journey there.”

“We could journey there first,” she offers, her voice sincere. Laira is not opposed to such travels. The more distance, in fact, their family can put between themselves and Olenna Tyrell’s plots, the better. She will not have Sansa or Helen near enough to the woman for them to be used as potential pawns.

“We’ll look to somewhere warmer first,” Hal says, looking up in time to see Dawn bounding into the shallows. Rose is at her heels, chasing after her with high pitched yips. Mere steps from where the direwolves are playing, Sansa and Helen are crouched near a cluster of rocks. Hal doesn’t need to be closer to know they’ve discovered a tide pool. “Winterfell can wait for a time.”

“If my Lord insists.” She smiles at the quick laugh that he gives, the sound partially covered by a snort.

“Will this always be a game between the two of us?” he asks her, returning her smile.

“It is a fitting one, I believe,” Laira answers. “To accompany all other manner of teasing that we engage in.”

“If memory serves, you’re the one who began our little game.” There’s a great deal of fondness in his tone, eyes glancing back to check on the girls. They’re still enthralled with their discovery at the edge of the water. Dawn and Rose are nearby as well, at play in the shallows.

Laira laughs at his accusation, her own gaze turning skyward. Though Viserion is beyond her line of sight, Laira can feel her flying high in the cloud cover. The dragoness will descend soon enough and she will find Laira when she does. No matter where she lingered, Viserion always seemed to come to her. “I regret to say that your memory is mistaken, husband,” she says, laughter still present in her tone. “You showed yourself to be quite proficient in your teasing during our time in Oldtown,” she points out. “You began our game, in fact, the very night that followed your arrival.”

By then, they have stepped farther from the edge of the water. The cliffs now loom high above them, casting dark columns of shadow out along the sand. They are still near enough to the waves, though, that Sansa and Helen are easily seen. Laira reaches to take the canvas bag that her husband has been carrying upon his opposite shoulder, having seized the bag from her as they had departed the Great Hall. He had refused to relinquish back to her as they had walked, insisting that he be the one to carry it down for them. That she had healed from her ordeal within the capital had been reminded and acknowledged, though Hal had continued to insist he carry it in her place despite such a reminder. It is endearing, in truth, how he continues even then to worry over her in such little ways.

The cooks and the maids had done as she had requested, preparing a meal for the four of them that could be easily packed away and carried down to the shore. Mira had even been kind enough to fold the pale gray blanket from Laira’s apartments and slip it into the bag with their meal. Laira had used the blanket during one of her last visits to the beach. It is the blanket that Laira withdraws from the bag, unfolding it and spreading it out over the white sand.

Moone is quick to take up a spot along the edge of the fabric, lying so that her belly is half on the fabric and half in the sand. Her head rests against the top of her large paws, mismatched eyes watching as Rose and Dawn continue their games within the water. Laira comes to sit beside the direwolf on the blanket, feet slipping out of her sandals and legs stretching until she can rest the soles of her feet atop the cool sand. Hal pauses before he moves to sit beside her, looking out to where Helen is calling excitedly for him. She is gesturing to one of the pools that she and Sansa have located, clearly overjoyed at having discovered something of interest.

“You are being beckoned,” Laira says, smiling at the way Helen now runs for them. Dawn is at the young girl’s heels, yipping after her.

“Uncle Hal!” Helen exclaims. “Sansa and I found sea stars! Come look at them! They’re so pretty!” Helen quickly turns her attention to her aunt, smiling at her. “Will you come look too, Aunt Laira?” she asks, her tone hopeful.

“Perhaps in a few moments,” Laira says. “Take your uncle with you, though. Make him entertain you.” She motions Helen closer when Hal pretends to be distracted by something. “See if you can trick him into the water,” she whispers.

The recommendation makes Helen giggle, hand pressing against her mouth to keep her uncle from hearing. Then, she makes a grab for her uncle’s hand, pulling him along with her. “Come see, Uncle Hal!”

Hal pauses long enough to look back at Laira, his expression shifting to something more serious for a split second. “Will you be alright?” he asks. Even though they are far from King’s Landing and among trusted individuals on the island, he still worries about straying too far away from her.

“I believe that I am well guarded,” she assures, hand rising to rest itself against Moone’s head. The she-wolf had made no move to follow after Hal, remaining at Laira’s side instead. “Should I need you, I will call out for you. I have faith that you will come to my aid if I require it.”

Even if Hal had been too far from her, and Moone along with him, Laira would not have worried. Not there. Though she is still hidden from view, the Queen can now feel Viserion lower among the clouds. She is near, likely flying about the Dragonmont or about the far ends of the island. The dragoness could be to her just as quickly if she found herself in need. Still, Laira has no fear of lingering on her own there upon Dragonstone’s shore. The island is safe. Of that, Laira is certain.

Laira watches as her niece leads her husband away, only the faintest hints of reluctance entering the line of his shoulders. It fades easily enough as Helen draws him away, chattering about all that she has found with Sansa. At her side, Moone settles more into her spot, body scooting itself until she is pressed along the stretch of Laira’s own legs. The direwolf’s tail beats gently against the sand when Laira reaches to press a hand to her head, happy with the attention that she’s given.

For a time, she observes her husband and their family along the sands. Hal has always shown himself to be wonderful with children. From the first moment that Missandei had met him, she’d been drawn to him. The young scribe had remained practically attached to Hal’s side in the days that had followed Daenerys’ attack within the Holdfast, seeking safety where she had known it could be found. And, even though they were both older than Missandei, Irri and Jhiqui had shown a similar draw to him as well. Laira expected girlish infatuation in place of anything else, however. Even the stableboys there upon the island and Mira’s own daughters flocked to her husband when he was near to them.

Laira quite enjoys watching such displays. Hal is always attentive, always listening and conversing with the children that seek him out. Should the gods allow it, he will make a wonderful father. She feels her heart give a brief flutter at such a thought, grief momentarily snapping within her chest. Had poison not been slipped into her cup within the Holdfast, how close would their children have been to birth by then? Three moon turns? Possibly four? It would not have been so far away. By then, Laira would have been able to feel their movements.

It has been a time since Laira has allowed her thoughts to linger upon what was stolen from her and from Hal in the capital. She does not like the pain that swells in her heart when she does… does not like the sorrow she sees reflected in Hal’s own features when she mentions it. Still, Laira cannot help but dwell upon what might have been if someone had not struck against them.

There is nothing that can be done to right the wrongs that have been done in the past, yet there is a hopeful part of her --one that is far more idyllic-- that wishes there was something that could be done. The thought is pushed away just as quickly as it comes. She knows better than to allow foolish naivety a place within her.

The shift of Moone at her side brings her thoughts back to where they should remain. Laira reaches to press her palm to the she-wolf’s head. She feels a vibration beneath the wolf’s surface when she does, a growl emanating from her throat. Moone’s head rises a moment later, emerald and sapphire gaze settling upon something down the shore. Laira’s own gaze follows the wolf’s. There is a brief flicker of crimson and darting shadow, movement that disappears behind an outcropping of rock a split second later.

For a moment, the Queen is thrown back to the night she and Hal had discovered the room within her solar. A brief flash of memory springs forward, recollection of the being that had lingered beyond the windows of her apartment. She sees the flash of shadow and then the three glowing points of crimson light glowing in the dark.

A hand against her shoulder makes her flinch, heart fluttering wildly in her chest as fear sweeps down the column of her spine. Her head snaps to her side. Sansa is standing beside her, having drawn her hand back from her. The young girl is staring down at her, her eyes wide and hand clasped to her chest.

“Sansa,” the Queen breathes, attempting to calm herself. Her heart is still thundering wildly in her chest.

“I am sorry,” Sansa speaks, her voice small. “I thought you heard me. Please forgive me.”

Reaching, Laira sets her hand upon Sansa’s arm, her touch gentle. “You startled me, sweetling,” Laira says. “Nothing more. I was merely lost in thought,” she admits. She does not turn her gaze back down the shore, though Moone continues to watch the area. “There is nothing for you to ask forgiveness for. You have done me no harm.”

Sansa nods, mouth turning up into a little smile. “May I sit with you?” she asks. “Hal and Helen are still looking in the pools.” Her cousins have wandered a little farther down the beach, Helen perched atop Hal’s shoulders as they search out the various pools and the life that resides within them.

“I would love the company,” Laira admits. She pats the spot beside her, watching as Sansa moves and sinks down onto the blanket with her. The girl’s own sandals have been cast aside, left somewhere out upon the sands closer to the water. “Are you hungry?” she asks, gesturing to the bag at her side. “Mira and the cooks were kind enough to pack a meal for us. You are welcome to anything that you wish to have.”

“Thank you.” Sansa smiles over at the Queen --her good-cousin-- and reaches into the mentioned bag.

In the top of the bag, there are sweetened biscuits with dried cranberries and orange zest as well as savory rolls with garlic, herbs, and sharp cheese wrapped in linen napkins. Below the biscuits and rolls, the cooks had packed wooden bowls wrapped in cheesecloth. In one bowl, there are pieces of thinly sliced cured ham, the very kind that the Queen enjoyed wrapped about figs with sweetened goat cheese. In the same bowl, there are slices of firm white cheese. In the second bowl, Sansa finds carrots, radishes, and sweet peppers. The last of the bowls is filled with sweet black cherries, tart green grapes, and fresh strawberries. There are glass bottles within the bag as well, each of them filled with water.

Taking a sweet biscuit for herself, Sansa breaks a bite of it off from one of the corners. It’s heavenly tasting. The pastry is flaky and sweetened perfectly. “The biscuits are delicious,” she tells her good-cousin with a smile.

“I am glad that you like them.” Laira reaches for one of the savory rolls, breaking it in half before offering part of it to Moone. A flicker of concern slips through Laira when the direwolf does not immediately take the offering from her. Moone frequently begged her for food whenever she and Hal ate, never once refusing anything that Laira offered to her. Only a moment later, Moone stretches her head forward and gingerly takes the roll from Laira’s fingers. Her attention is turning back down the coast only a second later, focus back on the outcropping of rock along the cliffs.

Laira looks back at the area, though she cannot see anything that concerns her. The dart of crimson and shadow had likely been nothing more than her eyes playing tricks upon her. All the same, Moone’s continued focus makes her uneasy.

“Hal says that we may travel to Lys for a time,” Sansa says, taking another bite of her biscuit. “He says that it is warm there… that you have a manse within the Free City where we could stay.”

“The manse belonged to my mother,” Laira explains. “It has been held by members of our family since the dragonlords of the Old Empire reigned.”

Sansa hesitates, nibbling another bite from her biscuit. “Would we be safe there?” she asks, glancing down the beach where Hal and Helen are still walking. She does not believe that Hal will venture anywhere with them that will not be safe.

“We would ensure that you and Helen remained well protected, sweetling,” Laira murmurs, her own gaze following Sansa’s.

“I hadn’t felt safe in a long time… not until I was reunited with Hal,” Sansa admits. For so long, she’d been a caged bird… a little dove in a gilded cage. “But then…” she trails off, her eyes beginning to tear up at their edges. “Lady Olenna cannot force me to marry Lord Tyrell, can she?” Sansa questions, her voice breaking.

When Sansa had first been offered the opportunity to marry Willas, she’d thought the chance to be her only way to freedom. That had been before Queen Daenerys had helped orchestrate the plan that had stolen her away from the Lannisters. That had been before she had been reunited with Hal. All Sansa wanted now was to be with her family. She did not want to be Lady of Highgarden. She did not want to marry a man twice her age who knew nothing about her.

“What Lady Olenna attempted was treason, sweetling,” Laira murmurs. The roll in her hand is largely forgotten. She extends it out to Moone, watching the direwolf take the second half with no hesitation. She seems more at ease now, her head resting heavily against Laira’s knees. “She had no right to attempt to force you into a marriage with Lord Tyrell. She had no right to attempt to force Helen into a marriage with Lord Redwyne’s son.”

To do so while Hal had been occupied in the Stormlands and Laira had been away upon Dragonstone had been all the more underhanded.

“You needn’t worry over such a thing any longer,” Laira continues, her voice gentle. “You will not marry anyone that you do not wish to. Neither will Helen. Do you understand?”

Sansa nods as the Queen speaks, reaching to dab away the tears in her eyes. “Promise?” Sansa whispers, her voice breaking again.

“I swear to you, sweetling,” Laira murmurs, reaching to press her hand down atop Sansa’s. “If anyone attempts to force you or Helen into another marriage, they shall answer to me and they shall answer to your cousin.”

Let Lady Olenna or any other attempt such a thing with her family once again. They would have her wrath in answer to it.

Dabbing at her eyes again, Sansa sniffles and picks a dried cranberry from her biscuit. “I have always wanted to marry someone for love.” Sansa has always wished for a life and a love like those within a song. “Mother always said that love could come after… that love did not necessarily come before a marriage.” Her mother had been fortunate in her marriage, had been fortunate to have loved her father and that he had loved her in return. Sansa knew such things did not always occur. “I wish…” she trails off, considering her next words carefully.

Hal is Winterfell’s heir by Westerosi inheritance law. He has no intention to keep the Northern seat, though. He has already told Sansa as much. He will act as her regent until she is of age. Then, Winterfell will pass into her governance. It was such power that others would always see. They would see a hold on the North through her. They would see her as nothing more than a puppet to be flitted about on strings. “I wish the world would allow for someone to love me for me and not for my family’s seat,” Sansa finally admits. “I do not think that such a thing will ever be possible, though.”

The Lords of Westeros would forever look to their daughters and see tools to gain power.

“Perhaps the world is in need of change.”

Both Laira and Sansa glance up, finding Hal now standing beside their blanket. Helen is still atop his shoulders, looking down at them with a quiet little smile.

“I think that’s what Queen Daenerys intends to do,” Hal goes on, lifting Helen off his shoulders. He sets her back on her own feet, giving her a moment to become steady before he lets her go. She immediately goes to Sansa’s side, squeezing herself between her cousin and her aunt. When Sansa offers her a biscuit from the canvas bag, she eagerly takes it.

“Your cousin is right,” Laira says, smiling when Hal leans to press a kiss against the top of her head. “Daenerys wishes to build a world where little girls are no longer used as collateral to secure power.”

Laira can only hope that she succeeds in such an endeavor. The Lords of Westeros would not be so easily swayed.

The rest of their day upon the shore is without incident. Sansa and Helen linger with Laira and Hal long enough to eat a few treats from their lunch before dashing back out to play along the sand and in the shallows. The trek back up to the castle is as light as their trek down to the beach had been earlier in the day. The girls giggle back and forth between themselves, trading stories and showing one another shells that they have gathered throughout the day.

With sunset still some time away, Hal asks the stableboys to fill one of the large water basins within the gardens with fresh water. All three direwolves are damp from the sea and matted with sand from their playing. Even Moone, who had spent most of her time lingering at Laira’s side, had taken a run into the shallows not long before they departed. They will all need to be bathed and rinsed before entering the castle again.

The girls stay behind to help, Helen already starting to pour clean water over Dawn’s back as Laira walks the steps up into the Great Hall. The direwolf sits without a fuss, letting Helen do as she wishes.

It is cool inside the castle. The torches along the walls have been lit in preparation for night. As Laira walks, she can hear the chattering of the maids and the cooks within the kitchens, all of them going about their tasks. It’s a comforting sound, she realizes. Everyone within the castle seems utterly content. It’s a stark change from the Red Keep… from the attendants that had been present within the palace when Daenerys had taken the city. She lingers for a moment, poking her head into the busy space to check on all those within.

Mira gives her a smile when she sees her, seated at a small table with her daughters and her mother. Ser Aeron is seated across from Mira and her family, talking and laughing with her maid’s little girls. Celesse is pouring a splash of cream into a bowl across the kitchen. She brings it back to Ser Aeron, setting it down in front of the man with a kind hand against his shoulder. The master-at-arms smiles at her, thanking her before taking a bite of what Laira believes to be peach cake. The cooks had received fresh peaches just a few days ago and had been using them frequently in sweets and salads.

“Did you and your family enjoy your day, Your Grace?” Mira calls, standing from the table. She carries a tray in her hands as she does, moving so she can deposit them in the sinks across the kitchen.

“We did,” Laira assures. “Perhaps your little ones could accompany us the next time that we venture to the shore.” She smiles when she notices the way Mira’s daughters brighten. She doubts they have ever been extended such an invitation before. “Sansa and Helen would no doubt love to have playmates closer to their own ages.”

“That is very kind of you, Your Grace,” Mira answers, smiling over at her daughters. “I am sure they would enjoy such a thing very much.”

Laira looks to Ser Aeron then. “Be sure that the stableboys eat as well, Ser Aeron,” she tells him. “They were kind enough to help my husband with an endeavor with the wolves,” she says. “Be sure that they both take food home for their families. And you as well.”

“I’ll fetch them myself, Your Grace,” Ser Aeron answers, spearing another piece of peach cake with his fork. “Thank you.”

Laira leaves them only a few moments later, pausing to be certain that Celesse and the cooks have enough to eat and enough to carry food back to their families. When Laira enters the hallway that houses her and Hal’s apartments, she pauses at its end. The doors to her rooms are ajar and there is a shadow moving within the space. Her husband and her family are still down within the gardens, tending the wolves, she knows. And her attendants are within the Great Hall, milling about in the kitchens.

She hesitates only a moment before she is moving, feet quiet against the dark stone. Glancing around the doors into her apartments, Laira finds the space empty. Across the living space, the doors to her solar are thrown open. There is a fire burning within the hearth. Another shadow flickers along the wall within the small space.

Dark Sister is still propped at the end of her bed, resting against the onyx colored chaise. She moves without a second thought, hand wrapping about the grip. The Valyrian blade is pulled from its scabbard as she crosses the room, the steel gleaming in the faint firelight. There is a feminine figure standing before the hearth when she steps into the solar. Clad in all crimson, dark hair spills down the other’s back. The design upon the woman’s crimson robes identifies her before anything else can.

A Red Priestess. A servant of the Red God, R’hllor.

The priestess’ head tilts slightly. Laira can see the quirk of the woman’s mouth from where she stands. “Daughter of Death,” the woman speaks, the words flowing off her tongue in the language of the Old Empire. “We have much to discuss.”

{ @truetargaryen & @fullrangeofemotions & @thequeenmaker & @xcoatlicuex & @hisvipereyes & @viperparamour & @nolongerhispawn & @shewhoisironborn & @adornishviper & @anunfailingkindness & @ialwayswasthebest & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl & @aladyofwinterfell & @therosesofhighgarden & @arisiarrxb & @alionessroars & @zaldrizo & @fairytalesandstars & @queeniolande & @yrracynrxl & @scaleddoe & @scraniknatu }

#neverflownwithme #;transmissions #v; fire cannot kill a dragon #otp; you are the light in the dark #gv ;; the dragon must have three heads #[[ new friend at the end ;D ]]

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mittensmorgul · 4 years

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it’s a bummer to see you can’t enjoy the ending. I hope someday you can come around it it. It wasn’t perfect but it didn’t nuke its integrity. i think the heart of the show really shines through and it’s a shame that it’s not being appreciated bc there’s so much shipping drama 😣

Hi there!

I... first of, I really need people to understand this... the travesty of the finale for me has almost nothing to do with “shipping drama.”

Yes, I see the wild conspiracy theories flying around, and I’m honestly concerned for some of those folks and hope they can find a way to make peace with this in whatever way they can, because we aren’t likely to ever get a better answer than that this is legitimately the ending that Dabb thought was best, despite years of us seeing the best of his writing choices and guiding Sam, Dean, and Cas to grow past the roles that Chuck would’ve forced them to fulfill, and that at the end it fell flat because he couldn’t actually come up with a better ending than “this was always their destiny, free will is a lie, and these characters had nothing outside of the revenge quest they’d been raised for since birth and manipulated into over and over for the entertainment of a vengeful god.”

I can see how “surface level” viewers would feel that this one basic narrative point was satisfying, that Sam and Dean had grown beyond their own hopeless cycle of self-sacrifice that had driven the narrative for so many years. The fact that they both acknowledged that they should allow their stories to end in that way was satisfying... but only in the shallowest and most detached read of the narrative. Like, is this really the ONLY thing these two characters learned in the last 15 years? If so, that is BEYOND depressing af.

And even THAT message lost all narrative weight when the two of them were once again reunited in death, as if nothing else had ever mattered in their lives. As if neither of them had ever outgrown the codependency that had driven so many of those previous self-sacrifices and refusals to let go of each other even in death.

So yeah, in the absolute most basic sense, I suppose I can see how casual viewers or people who aren’t actually invested in these characters could find that at least narratively coming back to a starting point.

But narratives don’t actually work that way, and that’s not the point of watching fifteen years of story develop in between.

This story wasn’t JUST about Sam and Dean needing to accept that death might be okay actually.

This story was also about free will, fighting for humanity as a whole but also their OWN humanity and self-identities. In Dean’s case, the absolutely transformative growth from feeling like nothing but a hammer, a killer, a tool to be used. And then less than an episode and a half later, after finally accepting that truth into his heart and using it to defeat the original creator and reclaim the story of his own life for himself... he gets pied in the face after flippantly talking about his destiny and having no choice, and then three scenes later he literally dies impaled on a great big nail... like a hammer...

So I would kindly ask folks who feel satisfied by that shallowest possible takeaway of this episode, and maybe invite folks to look just under that surface. Try to understand why loads of us will NEVER feel satisfied with this ending, and why it truly does feel like the most hopeless version of the story. Like even in defeating Chuck, they could never be allowed to own their own stories and what happened to them after that point was just a twisted version of the “destiny” that drove Chuck’s entire plotline for them anyway.

Please understand where we’re seeing this as horrifically painful irony rather than some beautiful circular narrative about letting go.

For a lot of us, the shipping stuff would’ve been the cherry on top of the sundae. We would’ve been happy with a scoop of plain vanilla, though. We would’ve been happy for anything that honored the journey to freedom, and the choice at any sort of a different life of their own making than literally falling back on a nail fighting off one of John’s unresolved hunts and a vampire who had literally never been named in canon before, yet who Dean instantly recognized somehow...

but sure, for those of us who felt that “the heart of the show” was all the stuff that the finale actually erased-- that “family don’t end in blood,” and that this was actually not a show about just two brothers but the love of their found family and coming to terms with the choices they actually HAD made for themselves versus the narrative that Chuck kept centering them in DESPITE what they would choose for themselves, the finale basically told us no, everything you ever found of value in this story actually meant nothing. It told us that Chuck’s story for them was their only truth in the end, and their only freedom was to be found in death.

Please, I am begging people, stop trying to gaslight us that this was some beautiful ending. Maybe think for a second that “your read” of the narrative that allows you to find peace with the ending is not what we saw and loved about this story for the 326 episodes leading up to this finale.

And please try to understand that we were not wrong to see the entire narrative through this lens. Because we were literally validated IN CANON, and told that we understood the depth of the story and the characters just fine, actually. There’s literally ONE episode of the entire series that burns it all down in a bewildering pile of wtf. And that’s #327. That throws that entire read out the window to well actually us all back into Chuck’s literal ending... This was literally the ending Chuck wanted to force them to enact for him, and it’s what ended up happening even after they defeated him-- the ultimate Big Bad of the entire series should’ve been defeated, but instead he pulled off one final victory over the entire story.

Becky: No. You can't-- Chuck: I did. Becky: Y- This is just an ending. Chuck: Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna get there, but I know where I'm goin'. Becky: B-But it's so... dark. Chuck: But great, right? I can see it now -- "Supernatural: The End". And the cover is just a gravestone that says "Winchester". The fans are gonna love it. Well? Becky: It's awful! Horrible. It's hopeless. You can't do this to the fans. What you did to Dean? What you did to Sam? Chuck: There, see? It's making you feel something. That's good, right?

and

Dean: Well, what now? You're not gonna dust us. Chuck: Oh, yeah? Why not? Dean: Because you're holding out. For your big finish. Yeah, we know about your galaxy-brained idea, how you think this story is gonna go. Sam got a little look into your draft folder. Chuck: Sam's visions -- they weren't drafts. They were memories. My memories. Other Sams and other Deans in other worlds. But guess what. Just like you, they didn't think they'd do it, either. But they did. And you will, too. Dean: No. Not this Sam. And not this Dean. So you go back to Earth 2 and play with your other toys. Because we will never give you the ending that you want. Chuck: We'll see.

And even in DEFEAT Chuck thought he understood these characters, thought that having rendered him powerless they would finally take their revenge and kill him, but they didn’t, because he never actually understood these characters at all. And the story he tried to force them into from day one was never about THEM, it was about HIM.

And then Dean gets like two whole days of freedom and choice and is apparently incapable of making any of the choices that don’t throw him immediately back into Chuck’s favorite story. Like none of that resolution in the previous episode meant anything at all. He even SAYS it in the finale:

Dean: Yeah, no. I think about 'em, too. You know what? That pain's not gonna go away. Right? But if we don't keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing.

And then two scenes later the show gives us the Nelson Muntz HA HA and Dean is no longer living, and Sam is left to carry on as a shell of himself and wander off into Blurry Wife Land to devote any even remotely content moment of the rest of his years to raising a Replacement Dean to fill the void, and is never able to pick up the pen to write anything better of his own life than Chuck would’ve dealt him in the first place.

So I’m glad that top-layer takeaway is sustaining and enough for you. It wasn’t, and will never be enough for the rest of us.

What was actually real in all of this? We were.

Until we weren’t.

And that’s honestly a shit message to be pushing on people in the wake of it all. So please stop.

I should actually thank you for the kind intent with which your message is phrased, but that doesn’t make it feel less hilariously awful. Though I chose this one to reply to as the least insulting of all the messages currently in my inbox on this subject. So thanks for that, at least.

#spn 15.20 #aka that one episode of supernatural that doesn't really exist #because you either get to have the first 326 or the finale #they're literally narratively incompatible in all but the shallowest possible takeaway here #i chose the other 326 because those are where the actual heart of the show lies #it was set on fire and buried in 327 #Anonymous

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magicrowiswritingstuff · 4 years

Text

"Rings" - Din Djarin x female!reader

(GIF by Me ... this was a hassle to create, I tell you guys)

Summary: You give something up that is very important to you to save Din's life.

Warning: injury/blood, a bit of violence, near-death experience, death of someone close to the reader (only mentioned)

Disclaimer: I normally try to give the reader as little backstory as possible but that wasn't an option here. So, please just roll with it.

Category: angst/fluff

Words: about 8.000

Note: Today’s my birthday (it’s already the 30th December where I live) so, have this piece of my writing as a sort of present from me to you! I must say I’m very proud to have finished this before the end of 2020. Letting you decide what I should write next and just reading your interest in my ideas definitely motivated me to write. So, thank you! <3 Note 2: I hope y’all enjoy it, I was a bit nervous because I rewrote a lot of it since it always felt like something wasn’t right or missing. The first draft was 4.000 words and I only wanted to check for any grammar mistakes and … well, you see what happened xD I also wish y’all a (early) happy New Year! I hope 2021 will be better for all of us.

_________________________________

“Rings” – Din Djarin x fem!reader

You sat on the pilot seat of the Razor Crest, staring outside at the dark void of space speckled with star streaks. Mando was sleeping, the Child too, so you had some time for yourself that you didn't know how to spend efficiently. The autopilot was on and the ship wasn't in the need of any repairs, so you didn't even need to be awake right now but you didn't feel tired enough to fall asleep either. Absentmindedly you twisted one of your rings in your fingers to pass the time. It was a metallic-silver ring that looked like two intertwined ones, nothing engraved into it, no jewels on it, quite uneven. It was an unremarkable ring, a simple ring. Still, from all the rings on your fingers this one meant the most to you. This ring was your go to distraction when you were bored and your comforter.

"What are you doing?" a modulated voice asked behind you. Flinching you dropped your hands in your lab and spun around in the chair to face the Mandalorian. You furrowed your brows at him to silently scold him. How was he able to move without making a single sound in that metal armor of his? After a while you shrugged your shoulders in answer. "Nothing, really." Turning back around you stared out of the window again with a sigh. "I'm just ... bored." A small smile found its way on your lips as you crossed your arms before your chest and leaned back in the chair, knowing fully well that Mando stood dumbfounded behind you because you were sitting in 'his' seat. Though as long as he wasn't saying anything there was no problem, right? You had to suppress the small snort that would have threatened to spill over your lips otherwise. "Is the Child still sleeping?" you asked instead after a while in which you hadn't heard the Mandalorian move at all. But for all you might know he could have already walked back down or he could stand right behind you. "Yes" he answered shortly, his voice still sounded like he stood in the doorway to the cockpit. So, he hadn't moved. "Good" you retorted before standing up, thinking you had tortured the silent Mandalorian enough, and sat down on one of the co-pilot seats. Mando stood still for a few moments longer before also sitting down in his seat. You two stayed silent after that and after a while you resumed back to twisting the ring between your fingers in boredom.

"Do you ever take those rings off?" His rough voice startled you once more. Perplexed you looked up to see him slightly turned towards you in his chair and just blinked at him a few times. Then you raised one eyebrow at him with a mischievous spark in your eyes. "Do you ever take that helmet off?" you shot back with a grin. You of course knew the answer and Mando knew that too so you didn't expect more than a short huff from him. He let out a snort and shook his head in what you guessed was amusement. Sometimes it was hard to read his body language but you were proud to say that you slowly got better at it. "What do they mean to you?" he tried again. "Awfully chatty today, aren't we?" you teased but you had to note that you were grateful for him seemingly opening up to you more. Mando shrugged in answer. You looked back down at your hands and the many rings adorning them as your smile fell. "Most of them mean nothing" you explained. "I just think they're pretty. I like shiny metal." You shot the man in shiny armor a side glance and a sly grin, trying to fall back into a more carefree attitude. If he understood your teasing he didn't react, though you could swear he had wide eyes underneath that helmet of his. But maybe you were just projecting. After a while he cleared his throat which made you giggle. He had understood it after all.

"You said most of them, so which do have a meaning to you?" You grew quiet, staring back down at the ring you had twisted in between your fingers until now. The grin vanished from your features and only left a frown behind. Your throat closed up. You have never told anyone about this but some part of you wanted to share this with the Mandalorian you had grown closer to after all these months on the Razor Crest. "It's sentimental and stupid" you began and removed the ring from your finger. You held it over your face and turned it in the dim light. "My father made it." "Is he a blacksmith?" You felt your body stiffen up and slid the ring back on. "He was." The silence was awkward and filled with tension as your eyes hardened in an desperate attempt to hold back the tears. You wanted to tell him this but you refused to cry. You wouldn't cry in front of him. Everyone had lost somebody. "I'm sorry." You shook your head, quickly wiped the wetness round your eyes away so he wouldn't notice and leaned back into the chair, crossing your arms before your chest once more and closed your eyes. "Don't be." You heard the Mandalorian busy himself with switches and buttons after that. Opening one eye you saw him facing away from you, shoulders tense and squared. Another small, and this time more strained, grin formed on your lips. You forced to look more cheerful again. "And as you just saw, I do take them off, tin head." The Mandalorian huffed a short, modulated laugh as you closed your eyes again, twisting the ring, your comforter in between two fingers once more.

_______________

"Where is it!?" Your desperate cry echoed through the Razor Crest, alarming the Mandalorian who immediately jumped up from the pilot seat and climbed down the ladder. When he turned to face you, his heart beating painfully against his ribs, he saw you kneeling on the floor, your hair still wet from the shower you had just taken, damping the shirt around the area of your shoulders and neck. He paused, furrowing his brows in confusion. "What are you searching?" he asked perplexed, his heart slowing down again when he realized you or the kid weren't in any danger. "My ring!" you exclaimed panicked. "I took them off to shower and now I can't find the one I- the one my father made." The Mandalorian's gaze followed you as you scanned the floor, worrying that it might have rolled away. With all the boxes standing around it would be impossible to find it if it really had rolled into the clutter of materials. You huffed under your breath. Mando let his eyes trained on you before a delighted squeak caught his attention. Slowly he turned to face the kid who was sitting on his cot, admiring a shiny metal ring in his tiny hands with big, round eyes. You, however, continued to mutter under your breath, cursing yourself and swearing to never take it off again. Only when you heard Mando's chuckle did you pause and stood up to face him. You stared at him in confusion, your eyes wide. You had never heard such a soft sound leave his modulator before. He did laugh around you sometimes, that was nothing new, but it only ever was a short snort of a laugh or a dry one. Never such a soft, pure sound of delight. And then it had to be the moment your heart was racing and your hands were shaking in fear of having lost something forever. You furrowed your brows. "What's so funny?" you asked irritated. Thinking about how he would react if he couldn't find a piece of his armor, or his helmet even. You knew it was petty. After all you had only lost a ring and Mando's armor was part of his creed, deep-rooted within his beliefs. You couldn't help feeling slightly angry though.

The Mandalorian didn't answer and instead tilted his head to his cot, your gaze following his movement. And when you laid eyes on the Child holding your ring, you had to control yourself to not slap your hand against your forehead hard. Instead, you buried your hot face in your hands and groaned. How wasn't this your first instinct? You straightened up and sat down in front of the kid "Kid, give me that please" you demanded nicely with your hand outstretched. The Child tilted his head and looked at you with his big, round eyes in curiosity. "Please" you pressed staring at the ring that hovered dangerously close to the kid's mouth. You could try to snatch it out if his grasp but you didn't want to risk him accentually swallowing it if he refused and defended his newly found treasure. Mando watched you in silence, arms crossed before his chest. He was almost about to speak up, he wanted to remind you that the kid wouldn't give it back so easily. He as well as you knew that because of the small ball from the switch in the cockpit the little one always stole. But before he could even open his mouth the kid let the ring fall into your palm, leaving the Mandalorian in a loss for words. The Child looked at you, his eyes saddened as if to apologize. You slipped the ring back on immediately, staring at your fingers that now all had their respected ring back. Then you squished the Child's cheeks in thanks and he squealed in joy. "I almost had a heart attack" you jokingly said and looked at the still silent Mandalorian as a breathy laugh left your lips. It was this moment did he realize what a strong bond you and the Child had built over those months you had now been on the Razor Crest. And it left him with a feeling he couldn't quite place in any category. Was it joy? Pride? Maybe both, maybe something else. He shook his head, directing his attention back at you as you straightened up with the kid in your arms, an exhausted smile on your lips. "Crisis overcome" you joked, the relief in your voice however was unmistakable.

_______________

After that little incident you never took that ring off again. All the other ones weren't that important, you didn't care if the Child grabbed one of them but the ring your father had made was of limits. But you knew that Mando was interested in it, about its story and the importance it had to you. He hadn't told you much about him so you hadn't told him much about you either when he had first approached you with the proposition to you give you a job on the Razor Crest. Back then you didn't really care who he was, you just needed some credits and the Child was cute so that was a plus. You were mostly a mechanic for the ship and the weapons at first but you soon fell for the little one’s charm and became somewhat of a caretaker for him as well. Mando had offered to raise your wage many times since you took on more than he had planned but you always had and always would refuse. You cared for the Child because you wanted to not because you were paid for it. And to be honest, the credits he did gave you for repairs on the ship and looking over the weapons every once in a while, you always ended up spending for the kid or for something that was needed on the ship anyways. So, it really wasn't that much of a job anymore to you and rather ... a strange companionship of sorts. And because of that you decided to offer a deal to the Mandalorian because you also grew more interested in your mysterious travel companion. After months on board, you wanted to finally get to know him more.

"Since you seem so interested in my ring, I'm going to propose a deal" you proclaimed, straightening up in the co-pilot seat you had sat down earlier. The pilot seat turned to you so Mando could face you more comfortably, his helmet tilted in question. You grinned, proud to be able to at least distinguish the different head tilts he had. "I'm going to answer the questions you have if you tell me something about you in return" you continued after quickly shaking your head to sort your thoughts. You weren't obviously to the way the Mandalorian tensed in his seat, seemingly expecting to have to answer the questions that were burning on your tongue ever since you grew to like him more. So you shook your head at him as an answer to his silent question. "I'm not going to ask you something directly so you can choose what you want to reveal about yourself. I'm satisfied with anything." He nodded, agreeing to your proposition.

You removed the ring from your finger and grabbed Mando's hand, he stiffened up again immediately. You let out a short chuckle. "Relax" you snorted and placed the ring in his palm. His head shot from his hand to your face in what you knew was shock and confusion. With a toothy grin you shrugged your shoulders. "I know you want to know more about it. You aren't that hard to read after a while" you explained with a grin. "And I know you won't eat it, unlike the Child." That made the Mandalorian laugh in agreement before looking back down at the sliver ring in his palm. The soft sound of his real laughter and not the stifled snorts he would normally only let out made you shiver for some reason. For a while he just stared at the ring in complete silence, obviously not knowing where to start. Then he cleared his throat and tilted his helmet only slightly upwards, almost unnoticeably but you caught it, knowing that he was now looking at you. "You said your father made it?" You nodded but knew he wanted to ask more, however, he seemed unsure of how far he could go so you decided to elaborate a bit more. "Yes, he did. He was mostly an armorer, though" you declared. "That ring was the first and only jewelry he ever crafted which is why it's so bumpy." You let out a short laugh and leaned back into the seat, staring out of the window and only glancing at the Mandalorian from the corner of your eye from time to time.

"He taught me a lot about different kind of weapons which is why I'm so good at repairing them, not so much with creating them from scratch like he was though." You crossed your arms before your chest and bit your lip, just letting yourself think for a moment and trying to hold back tears that threatened to spill again. "Back then I never thought all that knowledge would come in handy. I often complained because I wanted to go out and play with my friends and not look at melted metal all day" you resumed, trying to distract yourself with it. "I never thought I would need the things he taught me to save a Mandalorian's ass." That made Mando laugh once more but this time in protest. "If I recall correctly, I save you much more often" he pointed out. "You recall incorrectly" you teased but knowing the truth in his words. You would never admit it out loud, though, you liked to joke around with him too much.

"Something else you want to know?" you asked, distracting him from your teasing since he had grown quiet after that. The Mandalorian nodded. "Yes. You don't have to answer if it's too personal or you don't want to but-" he started, seeming conflicted. "How did he die?" You gulped, not having expected that kind of direct question from him. Your gaze returned to the large window, staring at the sparkling void that was space again. "He was killed" you stated, your voice suddenly sounding rather strained. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to carry on. "He got caught in the crossfire of some stupid criminal organizations on my home planet." You saw Mando slowly nod from the corner of your eyes before he stretched out his hand to you for you to take your ring back. You straightened up again and turned to face him, reaching for it. "I'm sorry" the Mandalorian said in a soft, quiet tone. Even fainter than the chuckle you have heard from him before. You froze mid motion before shaking your head and swiftly grabbed the ring, sliding it back on your finger. "As I said once already, don't be. It's been forever ago." You suddenly felt a bang in your chest and a tightness in your heart. It still hurt. And before you could prevent it you let out one sharp sob, clutching the finger with your father's ring on it with your other hand and bend over. You missed him, even after all this time you still missed him more than anything. After that one sob only silent tears dropped down your face but you didn't hear the Mandalorian standing up. Only when you felt his hands on your shoulders did you realize that he was in front of you. Your head snapped up to stare at the black of his visor through your tears. The touch felt soothing and you realized that you craved more. You didn't feel like you were allowed to hug him tough, so you stayed put, lowered your head and tried to calm down under his gaze and touch. When the tears finally ran dry, you nodded to tell him that you were fine and he could sit down again but he didn't move. You glanced up, raising one eyebrow at him in question. He didn't say anything and just stared back from behind his visor. Then he moved his hands from your shoulders to your face, cupping your cheeks. You froze with wide eyes as he wiped away the last traces of your tears. For a few moments you just stared at him, mouth agape but before you could form any words -even though you had no idea what you wanted to say anyway- he moved away and let himself fall stiffly onto the pilot seat. You two just sat there, still facing each other but neither dared to speak up. You were shocked and flustered. And the Mandalorian probably felt the same way. Out of instinct you began to twist the ring in your fingers again. Your mind was blank. Did this really just happen or had you hallucinated all that? You shook your head and cleared your throat. "So, ehm ... what did you decide to share with me?" you asked, changing the topic and distracting yourself from your thoughts. "What secret do you want to expose?" The Mandalorian didn't move or react, probably thinking about what to say, what to reveal or still wondering about what he had done just now. After many moments in which your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear echoing in your ears he finally spoke up, saying one single word.

"Din."

Confused you furrowed your brows at him. "Din?" You tested the foreign word on your tongue, weighting it as if you could understand its meaning that way. But you couldn't recall ever hearing it before. You shook your head, signaling him that you didn't understand. "Din Djarin. It's my name." Your eyes widen in surprise, your mouth opened and closed without producing a sound. You didn't expect him to reveal that. "I thought you would tell me something like, I don't know, you secretly like to dance or something like that" you stammered, caught off guard. The Mandalorian laughed. Not a small, soft chuckle but a load, heartfelt laugh that made his shoulders shake as he leaned back into his seat. You joined in, his laughter was too contagious not to, you didn't hear it often enough to not enjoy it.

"Din..." you tested the word, his name, again after the laughter had died down. A sly grin found its way on your lips, the tears from before already forgotten but the ghost if his touch still lingered. "I wasn't that far of with ‘tin‘ head then." This made the Mandalorian snort. After that the ship grew silent once more and the two of you were staring out the window. After a while you leaned forward to steal a glance at him. "Do you like to dance?" you asked curiously with one raised eyebrow, shattering the silence without a second thought. "Wouldn't you like to know" he teased back, his grin audible by the challenging tone of his voice.

_______________

You stood there, the Child tightly pressed against your chest in a protective manner, body frozen, your eyes wide in worry and disbelief. You couldn’t remember how you ended up there, everything had happened so fast. One minute you and Mando stood next to each other near the arena of the dirty rust planet you were on (you had just wanted to get some more food and supplies) and spoke to some guy that had approached you. His eyes had something in them that made your skin crawl and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in uneasiness but you couldn't even open your mouth to share your concerns. The next moment the guy had pressed a button on his wrist band and Mando fell down a hole, ending up inside the arena. You ran to look over the railing to see him standing in the mud in the middle of the stadium that was halfway full with hungry eyes of spectators. Even from the distance you could see the anger radiating from Din by the way his shoulders squared. With an equally as angry glare you turned to the guy. "What do you think you are doing?" you snarled, pressing the kid against you protectively with one hand and grabbing your blaster with your other one, aiming it at the guy's head. "Release him this instant!"

"If you shoot me" the man growled, pressing another button. "Your friend will be eaten alive." You heard the screeching of a metal gate and when you turned to look at Din again you saw a huge beast had entered the arena. The thing was at least three times larger than a mudhorn and immediately aggressive towards the intruder, towards Din. The beast ran towards him, it didn't even bat an eye when the Mandalorian aimed his fire thrower at the beast’s face. It clawed at him, grabbed him and hurled him across the stadium. Din landed on his back many meters away. Slowly he rose again, probably groaning in pain but you were too far away to hear anything except for the beast’s roars. He was only barely able to dodge another attack of the monster. You turned back to face the guy, your blaster slowly lowered until it was aimed against the floor. "What do you want with him? With us?" you asked, placing your blaster back into its holster on your hip. You needed to figure something out, fast. Or Din would get seriously injured if he wasn't already. "Do you know what a spectacle this will be? Spectators will come weeks after his defeat, hoping to see something equally as thrilling!" You shuddered, wondering what kind of sick planet you once again ended up on. You couldn't believe the audacity that guy had. Trapping a Mandalorian? Did he know what the Mandalorian could do when Din would get his hands on him? You turned to look down at the stadium in concern once more, just able to witness the beast pinning Din down with one of its claws. Any sound he could have made, very cry for help that could have been directed to you was drowned out by the cheers of the audience. Any bleeding injury he might have had was covered by mud, he might have suffered a concussion too by the way the beast had slammed him against the ground but you couldn't do anything and only watch in horror. The Child in your arms grew restless, obviously worried about the Mandalorian, too. You instinctively began to rock him in your arms and shielded his eyes with your body. He shouldn't have to watch this.

"What do you want?" you questioned, spinning back around. "There is nothing you can give me" the man stated with a disparaging look. "What do you want? I'll give you anything if you just release him!" you yelled, your eyes wide in worry. Your heart beat against your ribs so fast you feared it would spring free any moment. You had never sounded so desperate in your life before. You had never feared so much for Dins' life before. The ringmaster took his time, however, stroking his chin theatrically. Seconds seemed to last for hours as the cheers of the audience echoed in your ears, your eyes tearing up in frustration. "Please!" you pressed, desperately reaching one hand out to the man. His eyes landed on it. "How about those shiny rings on your hands? Shiny metal is rather rare here on this rusty planet" he proposed. You froze, staring down at your outstretched hand. He wanted ... all your rings? "Deal?" he asked just when another roar of the beast shook through your bones. "Deal!" you yelled immediately, anger heating up your eyes. The man nodded and pressed a few buttons. You turned and saw the beast suddenly slumped over, lying unmovingly in the mud. The audience grew silent. Din didn't move. You grabbed the railing, leaning over as your eyes darted over his unmoving for still underneath the beast claw, unable to focus as your heart hammered against your ribs. "Mando!" Your scream echoed through the arena, your blood ran cold. Oh Maker, what if you hesitated for too long? You opened your mouth to scream again when you saw movement. Din freed himself from under the monster’s claw with huge effort. You sighed, your body almost falling completely limp and only help upright by your grip on the railing. You only dared to breathe in when he stood on his legs again. "Time to pay up, girly" the guy demanded as two guards walked up to Din to probably bring him out of the arena. You slowly turned around and gritted your teeth. The sleezy man had stretched out a hand for you to put your rings in it. With your eyes hardening you began to remove the rings from your hands. You heart seemed to break when you slid the last ring from your finger and laid it in the guy's hand. But you didn't hesitate, even though you felt like you just lost a part of yourself. The man nodded satisfied and put them in his pocket.

"(Y/N)?" You span around when you heard Din's faint voice behind you and immediately ran towards the Mandalorian. You held the wriggling Child against your chest with one hand and put your other one on Din's chest in a small attempt to steady him. "Are you alright?" you asked in a hushed tone, looking him up and down with in worry furrowed brows. You couldn't see any blood, just mud. But that didn't have to mean anything. His ribs could be broken for all you knew. Your eyes landed on his side where his clothes were ribbed. Din winced, answering your question that way. Without another second to waste you stepped to stand beside him and wrapped your free arm around his middle. He didn't even protest and just leaned against your side, as you led him away from the arena and back to the Razor Crest. "Let's get out of here. Fast."

Back on the Razor Crest you put the Child in his orb, closing it so he wouldn't have to see his adoptive father in that state. When you turned you saw Din slumped against the wall of the ship, his chest heaving. "For the love of- Din, sit down!" you yelped, grabbed his shoulders and pressed him down against the wall so he could still lean against something. He winced again as you ran to get the med kit. You kneeled down in front of him and scanned his body for wounds but you still couldn't see anything with his mud-covered armor in the way. Your eyes focused on the whole in the clothes by his side. "I need to take your armor off" you announced, your voice wavering even with your efforts to suppress it. "Not the he-" Din began but you cut him off. "I know! Maker, I know. Save your energy, please!" You didn't mean to sound so harsh but you were unable to control your voice as you felt the panic rise in your chest. You began to try and take off his armor but your hands were shaking so much you could barely hold onto the pieces. "(Y/N)" Din mumbled and grabbed your hands. You head snapped upwards, you opened your mouth to ask him what he needed when he suddenly slumped forward. "Din?" you asked with wide eyes and shook his hand that was still loosely around your own. "Din!" He didn't react. Cursing and with tears already threatening to spill out your eyes you let go of his hands and instead sneaked two fingers underneath his helmet and to his neck, searching for his pulse. You sighed. It was still there, he was just unconscious. You swallowed the panic down, put your arms underneath his armpits and heaved him away from the wall so you could lay him down on the floor. Not the most comfortable place but the most practical. Then you quickly removed his armor. When he only wore his shirt, pants and helmet you had to force yourself to keep going as you saw the blood had already covered most of his side in a deep red. With no time to lose you opened the med kit, grabbed the scissors and cut open his blood-soaked shirt. Your breath got stuck in your throat when you saw the deep cut going down his side. You couldn't even curse, you just froze. The scissors fell down to the floor with a clutter. You could stitch up wounds and treat smaller injuries but you weren't medically trained for this. You weren't qualified... How were you supposed...?

The squeak beside you made you jump. Your eyes darted around aimlessly until they finally locked into the Child who was standing next to you. "How did you-?" you were unable to complete the question as the kid walked towards Din. Your eyes widen in realization and you immediately held the Child in your hands to get him closer to Din's wound. He stretched out his tiny hands and closed his eyes in concentration. At first nothing happened, the silence in the Razor Crest was deafening. Then the wound on Din's side finally began to close up and your heart leaped into your throat. The kid whimpered before he went limp after the wound had closed up completely. "Good job, kid" you praised and pressed him against your chest, your voice strained but relieved. You didn't put him in the orb this time and instead in the hammock above Din's bunk. "Get some rest" you whispered and stroker over his head. He would be fine. You furrowed your brows in worry and glanced at Din. You weren't sure about him yet. You patted the little one’s head one more time and then kneeled back down next to the still unconscious Mandalorian. You took a deep breath and began to look for more injuries he might have. But luckily you didn't find any more open wounds, only bruises that would continue to hurt for a few days if not weeks even with the bacta you could put on them. And even though he wasn't in mortal danger anymore, you still had to force yourself to keep going, your hands were still shaking violently.

After you had treated his bruises and had made sure none of his ribs were broken you somehow managed to get him into his cot where he could find some rest. With a heavy heart you had decided to retreat into the cockpit. You had set a curse and activated the autopilot after that. With a sigh you slumped into the pilot seat. There was nothing left for you to do and even though you felt the tiredness in every fiber of your body you couldn't find any rest. Your hands were still shaking from all the fear and adrenaline and your mind was racing in tight circles. You were still worried even though the kid had healed his otherwise fatal wound and you had done everything else you could have. Absentmindedly you reached for the ring, wanted to twist it in your fingers like so many years prior to get some sense of comfort only to grab nothing. You flinched and stared at your hands in shock. For the first time you really felt the absence of your rings against your skin. You gritted your teeth and tried to blink the tears away. The frustration and anger rose inside your chest as you grabbed your hair, tearing at the roots as sobs tore through your throat.

You must have fallen asleep at some point because the next time you opened your eyes and moved in the pilot's seat pain shot through your back, making you wince. What even woke you up and why were you in the pilot seat? Confused you let out a groan and stretched your back. "Are you alright?" You spun around in shock. The moment your eyes fell onto him you remembered what had happened. "Din!" your voice was sharp but your face was painted with worry. "I should ask you that. Why are you even up here? You should be resting!" You stood up, looked him over and were about to place your hands on his chest when you froze. With your hands hovering over his chest, you stared up at him. The only armor he was wearing was his helmet still but he had put on another shirt. "I'm fine" he said but immediately let out a wince after that. You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, right. Sit down" you commented and grabbed his arms to carefully direct him to the pilot seat. You let your hands on his arms as your eyes looked him up and down. "What is still hurting?" you asked and directed your gaze back to the visor. "It's fine" he repeated and let out a strained cough. You shot him a glare that made him clear his throat. "It's just the bruises." You bit your lip, holding your breath as you feared you would start crying again. You let go of him and wanted to sit down onto the co-pilot seat to take some deep breaths before heading down to get him some medications. But he caught your hand in his before you could, pulling you back to him. His visor lowered and he stared at your empty hands, not one single ring was adorning your fingers now. He knew what you had done to get him out of that arena and to say he felt guilty would be an understatement. "Thank you." You shook your head. "The kid healed you, I... I didn't do much" you explained, patting his gloved hand that was still around yours. "No" he shook his head. "Thank you." You stared at him in confusion before your eyes fell down to your hands. You furrowed your brows as you looked at your empty hands in sadness. "You gave them all up?" his voice was quiet, barely a whisper his modulator struggled to pick up. You nodded, eyes hardening. "Yeah? They were just stupid metal anyway, don't worry" you blocked with a shrug of your shoulders. You freed your hands from his. "I'm going to check on the kid and get you some painkillers. Don't move" you warned him with a small and what was supposed to be a playful smile but it turned out more like a strained grimace. Even with the false cheerful tone in your voice, you both knew that you had lied about the rings. The traces your tears had left behind were enough prove for that.

_______________

To say you didn't notice the absence of your rings, the absence of one in particular, would have been a lie. Even after weeks you still missed the metallic clank they would make whenever you touched something on the ship. You missed absentmindedly twisting the one ring between two fingers. You felt their absence more heavily than when they had been on your hands. You distracted yourself as far as that was possible. The first days you busied yourself with tending Din's bruises. You had already used all of the bacta on him but you had found some salve that should help against the swelling and pain. After maybe a week he was fit again so you had to find another distraction, which was the kid. And when the kid was asleep you busied yourself with repairs on the ship until you would pass out in your own bed. Din wasn't oblivious to your state and you knew that he felt guilty. After all you had traded them in for him. And even if you told him it was alright, you knew he didn't believe you. He would continue to feel responsible for it no matter what you told him which was stupid because his life meant more to you than some worldly possession. You still missed them but you would always act the same. So, you tried to not show him your gloomy state. But he noticed it anyway. He knew what that ring meant to you after all.

You laid in your makeshift bed -too tired to busy yourself with any work today- while the kid played by your side with something he had found. You only paid attention halfheartedly, just enough to be able to react should he try to eat it. Din had gone out to the nearest town's market, asking you to stay on the ship with the Child. You didn't put up a fight, nodded and laid down immediately after he had left. The less you had to move the better. But Din had been out almost all day now, it was already getting darker and you began to worry. You wanted to grab your comlink you had placed next to you only to find nothing. Sitting up you scanned the floor, but the squeal of the Child attracted your attention. Slowly you turned to him and stared at the thing in his hands: your comlink. You smiled at him and stretched one hand out. "Can I have that back, please?" The Child stared up at you with his big, dark eyes, tilting his head in curiosity. "You can have it back after I called Din" you added. And if he understood you or not was open to debate but he let the comlink fall into your hand either way. "Thanks, buddy" you said and stroker over his head with a strained smile before booping his nose. He squealed in delight. Chuckling you placed him on your lap and let him play with the fingers of your free hand while activating your comlink with the other. "Mando, come in. Where are you?" you asked. No answer. You waited. You were about to repeat your question when the device sprang to life. "I'm on my way back" was all he said before the comlink in your hand fell silent again. Shrugging your shoulders, you gave it back to the kid, watching him play with it more closely than before.

You were still sitting on your improvised bed, the Child had fallen asleep in your lap, when the ramp on the side of the ship opened up. Unmoving you watched as Din walked in, the ramp closing up behind him again. He didn’t address you but he seemed strangle energetic as he put the supplies he bought away. You raised one eyebrow at him in question but he didn't look your way. Only when he was finished did he walk up to you, coming to a halt a few inches before you. Tilting your head upwards you just watched him questioningly. "I have something for you" he said and by the sound of his voice you were pretty sure he was smiling. With a puzzled look you furrowed your brows. For you and not the Child? He nodded as if he had heard your silent question. Still confused you stood up, sitting the still sleeping kid down in Din's sleeping pot. "What is it?" you asked intrigued, unable to suppress the childlike wonder shining in your eyes. The Mandalorian didn't speak up and instead just opened up his hand. You froze. "What?" With wide eyes you stared at the small silver ring lying in his palm. A ring that looked like two intertwined ones. Your mouth fell open as your eyes shot up to meet his dark visor. "What is this? It's not the original one, it's far too shiny, unworn and too skillfully made but- what?" you rambled before your eyes fell back down. Hesitantly you reached out, grabbing it with two fingers and inspected it in the artificial light of the Razor Crest. The ring was fairly similar but... "It's ... heavy" you stated. Not necessarily 'heavy' just ... it weighted more than the metal rings you had worn before.

"It's made out of beskar." Your mouth fell open once again as you stared into the black visor. "I let it be made out of a piece of my armor" he sounded strangely flustered, body stiff and unmoving. You were unable to say anything so you just smiled at him. It was small but grateful, the first real smile after you had traded them in. You realized that this was his way of thanking you for your sacrifice. You couldn't suppress the rolling of your eyes. Then your attention went back to the ring in your palm when you suddenly noticed something engraved into the inside of the ring. "What is that?" you asked him, tilting the ring so he could see it too. He chuckled slightly. "May I?" he asked as he reached for the ring. You nodded. He took the ring to read the words out loud to you. With a puzzled look you just stared at him. "It's a phrase in Mando'a" he added. For some reason you felt your face heat up. He let something engrave in it in his native tongue? "What does it mean?" "It translates to: 'I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.' It's supposed to be in remembrance..." he didn't finish but he didn't have to, you knew what he meant. You froze, blinking unmovingly up at the Mandalorian. He stretched out one hand, signaling you to put yours inside. When you did that, he pulled you a bit closer to him and placed the ring on the finger where you had always worn the one made by your father. You were stunned and opened your mouth to thank him but he spoke up first. "I know it won't replace the actual ring but I wanted to give you something because I ... I feel responsible." Your face fell as you drew your hand back. "Din!" you scolded him harshly, making the Mandalorian flinch. You would have laughed at that if you weren't so frustrated. "Stop that! It's okay, they were only metal. Even with the sentimental value it was still just an object." The Mandalorian shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head down as if he was embarrassed. With a heavy sigh you stepped closer to him and grabbed both his hands in between yours. "It hurts to have lost something my father had made" you continued, staring unblinkingly into the black of his visor. "But do you really think I would have let you die for it? You mean more to me than some stupid ring!" Without a second thought or any hesitation you wrapped your arms around Din and hugged him tightly. The armor was a bit uncomfortable but that didn't matter to you in that moment. Burying your face into the cold chest plate you furrowed your brows. "Sometimes you're such an idiot" you mumbled into his chest, tightening your clutch on him. The Mandalorian stood there like a rock, frozen in place and probably with wide eyes. Then, very slowly, he wrapped his arms around you too. And in that moment, everything felt worth it. Silent tears dropped down your cheeks. "I thought you would die, Din!" you pressed out between gritted teeth, burying your fingers into the fabric of his cape. "I thought I-" you couldn't continue as a lump formed in your throat.

Din hummed in an attempt to soothe your tears but it only made you sob more. Slowly he pulled you off of him. Your gaze fell to the floor, silent tears still dropping out of your eyes. When you felt his gloved hands cupping your cheeks you let him direct your gaze back onto him. He had bend down a bit, so your faces were almost level. "I don't know why I'm crying" you said helplessly, your eyes darting over his helmet, searching for an anchor. "It's okay, (Y/N)" he whispered. For a few seconds you just looked at each other in silence before he pressed his forehead against yours. The coldness of the beskar made you shiver as you stared at him wide eyed. "I'm fine." You couldn’t hold back the sobs as you cupped his helmet like he cupped your face. Pressing your forehead against his, you closed your eyes. And suddenly you realized that those tears were all the words you didn't say since that day at the arena. All those worries and fears you had felt in the moments you thought he could be dead already. All those pent-up emotions finally broke free. Only now did your brain realized that Din was alright. And when your tears eventually ran dry, did the fear clutching your heart for all those weeks vanish.

_______________

Later that night you sat in one of the co-pilot seats again, watching Din closely as he started the ship and left the planets orbit. Or at least you tried to because your eyes often fell back down to your hand, to the ring Din let be made for you. You two didn't talk much after your tears had finally dried out but you didn't have to. Everything that needed to be said had been with that little gesture of his. With a sigh you sank back further into the seat and took the ring of, twisting it in the light to look at the engraved words once more. A soft smile found its way on your lips. "Hey, Din" you spoke up after a long time of silence in the cockpit. The Mandalorian hummed, tilting his helmet in your direction. "I want you to know that you didn't have to do that for me" you said, staring into the darkness of his visor. "I don't blame you, I never have. I would have gotten over it eventually..." "I know" he answered, turning the seat so he could face you fully. "But I wanted to." He fell silent again but because he was still facing you, you suspected he wanted to say more. So, you waited. "Do you like it?" he finally continued after a long pause. "The ring, I mean." Your smile grew as you nodded. You straightened up and reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. "I love it" you whispered, your eyes filled with honesty and gratitude. "Thank you."

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #mando x reader #female reader #fluff #angst #the mandalorian oneshot #mando #the mandalorian series

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hongism · 4 years

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mists of celeste ➻ twenty-five

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 5.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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act three ➻ part seven

“Sorry to interrupt, but… Hongjoong asked to see you on the bridge, Y/N.” A breath of hesitation, just long enough to cause a spike of anxiety in your gut. “Alone.”

“Of course,” San says, tone not shifting in the slightest. He nods at Seonghwa before stepping away from you. His hand lingers on your arm a breath too long, and when you meet his gaze, the eyes looking back at you are filled with… something. You can’t read it or understand it, but you don’t have much of an opportunity to do so anyway. Instead, you let San move back and head in the opposite direction, turning to face Seonghwa once San’s back is to you.

“What’s going on?” You ask before Seonghwa can say anything. He shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Just follow me first.” You do as told even though the steps are difficult to take. Dealing with Hongjoong feels like dealing with some rabid beast. You can’t understand his line of thinking or the way he operates, haven’t spent enough time with him to figure him out. He could be planning to kill you for all you know. Seonghwa’s presence at your side helps a minimal amount, but it does nothing to ease the anxiety bubbling in your gut. One thing nags at the edge of your thoughts, and you hate to think about it because you want to trust Seonghwa.

“Why does he want to see me?” You ask, voice small and quiet. “Is it — does he know about… you know?” It hurts to say even though you’re merely alluding to the bigger picture. You want to trust Seonghwa. His steps falter and come to a halt. You pause beside him, eyes searching his face for any sign of an answer that his voice won’t give. Instead, his hands find your shoulders and push you back until your back hits the wall. It isn’t rough or forceful; his touch is light, and he moves you like you’re a piece of glass on the verge of breaking.

“I promised that I would never tell Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says as he brings his chin down to look you in the eye. The gaze behind those eyes is too intense for a moment. You dip your chin and look away before it burns you. Soft fingers trail up your bare arm, leaving a path of electric shocks against your skin, and Seonghwa only stops when his fingers brush your chin. He lifts your head a little, and you’re forced to meet his gaze again. “Why do you think I did?”

You can’t come up with an answer fast enough. All you manage to do is sputter and stammer your way through incoherent thoughts and random words that attempt to explain why you don’t trust him, but Seonghwa silences you by cupping your face.

“I made you a promise, Y/N. I intend to keep it. It’s on you to believe it. Until you do, I will keep saying it, but I can’t force you to trust me more than you already have.” You nod against his touch.

“O-Okay.”

Seonghwa’s lips twist into a soft smile. His touch lingers. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you can’t understand what’s going through his mind as he continues to look over your face in silence. A small sigh slips past his mouth. Then his breath invades yours, and warmth cascades over you. It’s sudden and brief, but you find yourself chasing his lips the moment he pulls away. You couldn’t explain why even if you tried. Your hands fly up to clasp around the back of Seonghwa’s neck and tug him back down to you again. He releases a faint noise of surprise, but he meets you halfway, hands bracing on the wall behind you. He stops it too soon this time. Probably for the best, seeing as Hongjoong is apparently waiting for you. Seonghwa lets a half-hearted laugh out.

“I’m sorry for being greedy,” he murmurs, bringing a hand off the wall to thumb over your cheek again. “I just didn’t want — nevermind. You shouldn’t keep Hongjoong waiting. I’ll be in the training room if you need me. Hongjoong just has a few questions for you, nothing too serious, so don’t worry too much, okay?”

“What about? Is something wrong? Why aren’t you coming as well? Shouldn’t you be there as the lieutenant?” The questions tumble from your lips in a rush, almost slurring together as you spit them out, and Seonghwa grins at the barrage of questions.

“All he wants to talk about is some military-related things, as far as I’m aware. Nothing about Sirens, unless you choose to bring it up. He truly did ask to see you alone, and even as Lieutenant, there are some conversations I won’t intrude upon unless my captain asks me to do so.”

“Oh,” you exhale. “I’ll just get going then.” Seonghwa pulls back from the wall, letting you out from the cage his arms had around you.

“You can come by my room after if you’d like, either to talk about it or… destress.” The playfulness returns to his eyes. You release a loud scoff.

“Just say that you want to get in my pants and go.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes a bit, but you can tell he’s not too bothered because of the smile that stretches across his face.

“I’ll save that for later. Right now, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you insist with a sharp nod. Seonghwa doesn’t voice his doubts. You see them in his eyes nonetheless and turn away before the inclination to tell him anything and everything hits. If he watches you walk away, you don’t know because you’re trying your best not to look over your shoulder as you continue down the corridor, this time alone. The weight of reality sinks in when Seonghwa’s presence at your side dissipates.

Hongjoong wants to talk to you.

Alone.

About military-related things.

How much effort will you have to put in to keep from having a damn breakdown in front of him? You can’t very well grab hold of his arm to ground you, but without anyone else present, what are you supposed to do?

Your fists clench tight by your side.

Maybe this is some sort of test. Perhaps he sees you as fragile and volatile, and he wants to test you to see how bad it actually is. That could be what he’s planning. He’ll probe you for information on your past to see how long it takes for you to break.

When you step onto the bridge, Hongjoong is across the room, standing before the observation window with his arms crossed over his chest. There’s nothing out there except the darkness of the hanger around the ship, so you aren’t quite sure why he’s standing there of all places. You don’t feel the need to ask him why though, more focused on the person at his side. It’s Mingi’s tall form beside him. Broad shoulders and taut muscles rippling through his shirt that leave a bad taste in your mouth. You wonder how long it would take for him to choke you to death if you so much as breathe the wrong way.

You muster up the courage to clear your throat, only feeling secure in the action because of how far away Mingi is. Hongjoong shifts and glances back at you. Blue strands of hair fold over his forehead, parted down the middle to expose a bit of the skin underneath.

“Mingi, you’re dismissed,” he orders. The tone he uses is flat and void of emotion, much to your dismay, because you were hoping to at least pick up on his current mood to know what to expect.

“Are you certain, Captain?”

Hongjoong smiles a bit, gaze soft as he looks up at Mingi.

“Yes, yes, Mingi. You’re free to go. Get some rest. You’ve been up for a long time, yeah?”

Mingi doesn’t return the smile, but Hongjoong doesn’t seem to expect anything. The Berserker merely nods and bows at the waist a bit before turning to where you stand. He doesn’t look at you, and you’re grateful for it. There’s still an obscene amount of panic running through your body when he walks past you to leave the bridge. If Mingi picks up on it, he doesn’t show it, face and body stoic as he passes you. You keep your eyes set on Hongjoong. The captain watches Mingi, gaze almost melancholic in away, but once the man is out of sight, he shifts to look at you. He gives a quick beckoning motion, and your feet move on their own, bringing you closer until you stand right beside him at the observation window.

For a moment, there is complete and utter silence between you. Then –

“Do you know why I keep the crew so limited in size?” You offer a hesitant shake of your head in response. “I want you to reason it out for me.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any reason,” you say, eyes flitting over Hongjoong’s face as though it’ll explain his strange question. “Even though the ship is on the smaller side, it could be run so much better if you had a proper crew. Engineers, cooks, comms managers, weapon stations, people manning the mainframe and shield reactor.”

Hongjoong huffs out a laugh, air rushing through his nose.

“The Horizon was never built to be a warship or even one that could attack other ships. The original purpose was merely to be a transport ship. Before I took it, it was used to cart slaves between planets and larger cargo ships. She looks like hundreds, if not thousands of other ships out there. There are so few distinguishing features on the ship that the military would have a hard time picking her out in a crowd. That’s the way I like it. Low upkeep too. The only differences are not visible ones. She's the fastest in the universe for a reason, after all. When in danger, the crew has their assignments and stations. San and Jongho to the shield reactor, Wooyoung and Yeosang to the mainframe. Yunho stays in the medbay. Seonghwa and Mingi remain with me on the bridge. Seonghwa manages the comms stations, and Mingi mans the emergency turret. And as for me – I remain at the helm. You see, Y/N, the ship was made to be manned by a smaller crew. I could afford to have a larger crew, yes, but there are too many opportunities for mistakes there. I should have known that having seventy crew members would cause more harm than good. I was arrogant then and wanted it all.”

“What changed?” You inquire in a quiet voice. “Your arrogance and desires, I mean. What changed those?” Hongjoong responds with a small shake of his head at first.

“I was humbled and brought down a few notches.” You don’t say anything right away. Your lack of response brings another huff of laughter out of Hongjoong. “What? You’re not gonna pry for more answers? I’ve heard that you have been asking about the incident.”

“I… forgot about it for the moment,” you say, looking away from Hongjoong to stare out into the darkness outside instead. “If you want me to ask about it, then I can.”

“I’ll save you the trouble of pestering any other crew members for an explanation and do it myself. I’ve been waiting for you to come to me directly about it, but you never did. So I guess now is as good a time as any to explain what happened.” Hongjoong pauses, a small hum resounding as he lifts a hand to his chin. “Mingi killed one of the crew back when we were more in our prime. Not quite the largest the crew had been, but still large nonetheless. A woman named Cass, someone close to Yunho. Very close.”

“You shouldn’t ask about it,” he hisses out through gritted teeth. You’ve never seen this expression on his face, this gleam in his eyes. He doesn’t seem angry in the slightest, and that’s what sends your thoughts into a scramble. Merely sad. “That’s between you and Hongjoong if you want to talk about it, and it’s on him to tell you about it.”

You should have known then that it was a sensitive topic for Yunho, but you were too caught off-guard in the moment.

“She was just a Normie, no one special or out of the ordinary. Never showed any signs of disliking me as the captain or the crew. She never–” Hongjoong doesn’t finish the thought. His teeth sink into his lower lip. For a moment, you think you can see pain crossing his features, but it disappears less than a second later. “She wasn’t someone who would do what she did without outside influence. It all started because she had said that someone like me wasn’t fit to lead. I had no place being the captain. Someone else would be better, someone who was an Elitist. She was trying to encourage Mingi and Jongho to join her – their side since they were the strongest of the crew. Said that Mingi should kill me and let an Elitist take over. Cass – s-she did this out in the open in front of Mingi, Jongho, many other crew members who sided with her. And Mingi… He killed her for what she said. Jongho closed his eyes and let it happen. Put morals to the side for me.”

Hongjoong clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It’s almost as though he can’t believe Jongho would do such a thing for him or that Mingi would either, for that matter.

“Isn’t it in Mingi’s nature to kill like that?” You ask, prodding for an answer you aren’t sure you want to have.

“No. He doesn’t want to kill. It isn’t about some maddening or sick desire to hurt people. It’s about what he’s been conditioned to do, and it is the only thing he knows.”

“How long has he been with the crew?”

“Six years. I found him at the same time and place that I found Yunho.”

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head to look at Hongjoong’s expression, and he mimics the motion as he stares back at you.

“I mean exactly that. I found Mingi with Yunho, though the two didn’t know each other at the time. Mingi’s father was Yunho’s patient. Before joining the crew, Yunho ran a small clinic here on Kebos. We happened to be passing through the system and had no medic at the time. Needed immediate medical treatment for Jongho, so Seonghwa took him to Yunho’s clinic. Yunho must have recognized Seonghwa or heard something he said because he asked after me. I came down and met him in the clinic, then he joined the crew.”

“Just like that?”

Hongjoong presses his lips together, forming a thin line then stretching them into a smile.

“It’s not necessarily my story to tell. Yunho needed – needs – me. And I needed a healer. Perhaps it was fate that brought us together.”

“How does Mingi fit into the picture then? If his father was there as a patient, then how–”

“Something happened in the backroom where Mingi’s father was,” Hongjoong says, cutting you off before you can finish the question. “Something I didn’t see and still to this day don’t know. It’s never been my place to ask. It’s between the two of them, whatever it is. All I know is that it left a deep wound on both of them, and it’s always been the root cause for the stiltedness in their relationship and attitudes towards each other. When the two of them came out of that room, they were both ready to join my crew, and I accepted it for what it was. Brought them on as they were, because I didn’t need anything else. The crew was big enough back then to allow for bringing them on without any trouble.”

“Ah, I see,” you exhale, bringing your chin forward again. “What happened after Mingi – that incident?”

“There was a mutiny,” Hongjoong states as if it’s the most normal thing in the universe. “They thought that I couldn’t lead and wasn’t suited for it. Mingi killing Cass only solidified those feelings. My highest in command after Seonghwa led the mutiny. Before he left the ship with half the crew, he swore that he would get the treasure first along with the Sirens.”

“Did he know about Seonghwa?” You aren’t sure what the hell possesses you and makes you ask that question. It’s a lapse in judgment and a mistake for certain, and you bring a hand up to cover your mouth the second it falls from your lips. Hongjoong lifts a brow, eyeing you as you rush to recover and come up with some sort of excuse. You half expect anger from Hongjoong or at least surprise in the very least, but all that falls from his lips is a deep sigh.

“I should have known that Seonghwa would tell you. He’s so strangely attached to you that it was only a matter of time.”

If you had been waiting for an opportunity to tell Hongjoong what you are, this is it. You are fully aware of that. You could tell him, and perhaps you should tell him. It would be easiest in the long run to tell him now. But what is the long run? Is the long run remaining with Hongjoong until he finds the treasure? Not what you expected your fate to be in the slightest, but an option nonetheless. Is it an option you want to take though? Spending the rest of your life as a weapon to the most dangerous pirate in the universe.

“What am I to you?” You ask all of a sudden, keeping up with your trend of being spontaneous with your questions. Hongjoong’s brows dip together.

“What do you mean?” He counters, seemingly confused by the sudden inquiry.

“Everyone on the crew is something to you, no? So what am I to you?”

Hongjoong draws his lips together, pursing them violently, before offering a shrug.

“You are whatever you want to be. It’s your choice, and I will merely respect it.”

“No,” you say through a small shake of your head. “If it wasn’t up to me, what would I be to you?” The question makes Hongjoong pause for a moment. He has an answer; the hesitation isn’t in the lack of one but rather the internal debate of whether to say it.

“You would be… a weapon to me,” he admits, maintaining the same steady and even tone.

“And what is Seonghwa to you?” Again your words throw Hongjoong off.

“Seonghwa is different.”

“Given what Seonghwa is, what is he to you?”

“I don’t just give up something so personal that easily,” Hongjoong answers quickly, sharp eyes narrowing on you.

“Is he a key to the treasure, or is he something more?”

Hongjoong exhales through his nose.

“Seonghwa always has been and always will be something more,” he whispers, tone dropping for the first time. It isn’t enough of an answer for you though. You need more than that, you need a straight answer, and you need to know what Seonghwa is to him before you even think about telling him what you are.

“If Seonghwa is a Siren, and you are hunting Sirens, and Sirens are the key to what you want most, then what is Seonghwa to you?” You think you’ve crossed the line right then. Hongjoong’s expression goes cold.

“You still don’t understand a single thing about me. The treasure itself is not what I want most. It will give me what I want most. But that’s not the point of all this, is it? This started off as me telling you a story.” Hongjoong doesn’t have to say it outright for you to know that he wants you to drop the subject. You nod quickly.

“You left off at the mutiny.”

Hongjoong hums in response and faces the observation window once more.

“Yes, my highest in command after Seonghwa led the mutiny. He did know about Seonghwa and promised to come back for him one day. Every single day is a race to the finish. I fear that at the end of it I’ll lose. The ship, the fight, the treasure, the crew – Seonghwa. People have never scared me. I grew up in a cruel world surrounded by cruel people, and the only option I had was to become cruel myself. But this man? I’m deathly afraid of him and what he’s capable of. And I’m running out of time. My clock is ticking onwards.”

“Towards what?”

“I’m not sure I know the answer to that. I just know that it won’t be long until it catches up to me.”

His words make you pause. The more you think about it, the more similar you realize you and Hongjoong are. Time has been chasing you your whole life. The past rushing to catch up with you, and it seems that Hongjoong is in a similar position. Time may be the same, but purpose? You don’t know what Hongjoong’s purpose is; however, you can confidently say that his is not the same as yours. You’ve been a weapon for as long as you can remember. The military carved you out of a broken mold and made you the weapon you know yourself to be.

You don’t want to be a weapon any longer. You don’t want to only be valued for what you can do. You want to be valued for who you are.

Seonghwa is special to Hongjoong, and maybe… maybe by telling him what you are, you can have that too. At the end of the day, you don’t know what it means – to be special to someone.

The reflection in the observation window seems to flicker for a second. It isn’t your face that looks back. A rounded smile with bright twinkling eyes. Someone precious to you, someone treasured.

“Hey, I need to ask you something.”

“Fire away, Jisung.”

“Can I hold your hand?”

“W-What?”

That cheeky grin makes an appearance again. Jisung holds his hand out to you and says nothing else. Slowly, you stretch your arm out to him, letting your fingers fold around his. It’s a foreign feeling, one you’ve never had before, but it’s comfortable. Warm.

You wonder if Seonghwa is precious to Hongjoong, if the whole crew is precious to him. It’s a foreign warmth that blossoms in your chest as you think about it, and Jisung’s face continues to smile at you in the window.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna give me?” You roll your eyes ever so slightly. Only enough for Jisung to see it and scoff at your gesture, and he sits up to hit your arm with the back of his hand. You laugh, hair sprawled out across the ground. Jisung hesitates there. His expression melts, and his gaze is so gentle and full of emotion that you feel a deep pang in your chest. “S-Stop looking at me like that. It’s weird.”

Jisung doesn’t respond right away; instead, he leans down over you and blocks your view of the sky. All you see in that moment is him. You exhale, breath fogging in the air between you, and Jisung dips in to press his lips against yours. Soft lips. The taste of honey and vanilla. Stars hanging high in the sky. Jisung’s calloused hand reaching out and finding yours. Cherry wood and sugar on your nose. A fire crackling behind you.

Jisung was – is – precious to you. From the first hello to the last goodbye. Jisung’s face changes all of a sudden, and now it’s San before you.

“Oh, by the way, I’m sure you are wondering who I am. I’m Spectre. When you decide to talk, it would be for the best.” His voice rings in your ears. Perhaps it’s because of the increasing fever, but the volume of his voice is bringing a sharp pain to your head and adding to the already present ache in your body. “I am a spy and assassin for a reason. Finding people isn’t difficult at all for me. Especially considering that there is blood on six crates. Body heat coming from one. Tell me how that adds up for you.”

He had intimidated you so much then. Looking back, you aren’t sure why he did.

“You could repay me then,” he suggests, sending a teasing wink your way. You blink back in confusion. “A kiss, maybe?” You immediately roll your eyes at his remark, swinging an arm at his. He whines when you hit him, falling back as though you hit him with an insane amount of force. You steady him with the same arm and dip in before he can recover. You brush your lips over his cheek. He freezes under your touch within an instant. Red soars up his neck and cheeks.

“There. Maybe next time, you can get one on the lips.”

It felt easy then, even if you were still hellbent on running away and getting out of the mess you’d been thrust into. Yet San saved your life. Not once, but twice, maybe even three times if you were to count the second encounter with Cara. He opened himself up, cut his chest open, and gave you his heart. It almost makes you feel it—that sensation of being precious to someone.

“I’m scared to let you in,” you admit, bring your gaze back up to San’s eyes. He’s looking back at you with a gentleness in his eyes that catches you off-guard.

“You don’t have to let me in yet. Just try to trust me.”

“Okay… okay. I can do that.”

“Then that’s more than enough.”

San leans his head back against the pillow, but you take hold of his chin and pull him back to your face once more. It’s prompt and chaste, slightly awkward too, but you slot your lips against his in a rush. San inhales sharply at the sudden pressure. He melts into the soft kiss, pushing back with equal gentleness. He pulls away too soon for your liking, but the smile that resides on his lips as he falls asleep makes your decision to stay more than worth it.

San’s image doesn’t stay long, quickly dissolving into Seonghwa’s dark hair and delicate features.

Warm hands, warm lips against yours.

Warmth. It’s what you are desperate for, what you want more than anything else. You want what Seonghwa offers so severely that you don’t even stop to think about what sort of consequences might unfold because of this. Seonghwa’s hands find your waist and squeeze tight. He lifts you up to push you further onto the mattress, making room to climb on with you. Your lips never disconnect. The warmth spreads like wildfire through your body, every single touch leaves you hot, and when Seonghwa kneels over you on the mattress, that heat spreads further down.

Soft touches.

Your right hand seems to move on its own as it stretches in Seonghwa’s direction, fingers reaching for his. He slips his fingers through yours within a second. You hear soft skids as he moves closer to you, and before you know it, Seonghwa is flush against your side, the fire of his presence no longer overwhelming your senses.

“We’re going to keep you safe,” he whispers after a few minutes of sitting in a comfortable silence. “No matter what.”

Crossed legs on a bed and old books, then the fleeting memory of a hand draped over your waist as you slept.

You don’t push him away; you don’t slide out from under his arm, you don’t do anything except relax some of the tension in your shoulders. The sensation is comfortable; it takes away that nagging coldness and pushes the anxieties and worries surrounding San to the side. Funny how the slightest motion managed to have that impact on you. Seonghwa presses his head to the back of your neck. Hot breath fans over your skin, and you shiver at the sudden sensation.

For once, you don’t feel empty. You feel comforted, wanted, needed maybe. You’ve always felt needed, but only as a tool or a weapon. Not just as a person. And yet, as Seonghwa clings to you, you don’t feel like either of those things. You bring a hesitant hand up and drape it over Seonghwa’s, fingers finding his and lacing through the spaces between them so you can cling to him. You don’t know what time it is or if you should go back to bed, but you do anyway, clinging to Seonghwa without a care in the world.

And when the vision of Seonghwa melts away, it isn’t one person that stands in his place. Rather it’s four. Yunho with his rough hands dressing your wounds. His gentle voice chastising you for not doing your exercises. Furrowed brows and an intent stare as you opened up about yourself. Half-hearted jokes about sex and intimacy. Jongho and his strangely good abilities at playing cards. Him going easy on you in sparring practice because you’re “fragile” in his eyes. The silent yet strong comfort he provides by just being at your side. Wooyoung with the heavy metal collar around his neck. A rocky and rough start. Loud complaints about Jongho’s cooking while clinging to your arm. Yeosang and his piercing eyes. His watchful stare out the corner of his eye. Him stepping in front of you to defend you for the first time.

It’s a twisting and churning sensation in your gut, a desire to be more and have more in your life than just the notion of being a weapon and a criminal.

“I…” You have to trail off as your voice catches in your throat. “I have to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.” Even though he’s given you permission, it feels near impossible to get the words out.

“I don’t want to be a weapon anymore. I’m tired of… being that.”

“What do you want to be then? It’s still up to you, but I can’t just let you walk away while you know what Seonghwa is.” You shake your head immediately.

“I don’t want to walk away. I-I really don’t. I’m – it isn’t that. I’m not an Elitist.”

Hongjoong all but snorts.

“I’ve known that for a long time already. Is this the part where you tell me what you actually are? Unless you want me to play a guessing game, which I would fail miserably at. There are only three options, since your eyes aren’t red.”

“A S-Siren,” you blurt out, eyes meeting Hongjoong’s. His smile melts, and his face goes completely blank in an instant. “I can prove it. I can – can do something or ask Seonghwa, or I can show you my tattoos or anything you want.”

Silence greets you. Hongjoong won’t look at you. And in that moment, you think you’ve ruined everything. Then he laughs, his smile returning, but this time it’s far wider than before.

“How’s that for fate?” He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I knew there was a reason our paths crossed. Why Seonghwa was so adamant about having you join the crew and why he’s so attached to you. I never expected it to be because of this though.”

“D-Don’t you want proof?”

“Of what? I’ll be calling Seonghwa to the bridge soon regardless. Besides, what reason would you have to lie to me now?”

“That’s… it?”

“Why do you sound disappointed?” Hongjoong inquires, brows rising again.

“Because you – I thought you would care more. I’m n-not sure. I was expecting you to be angry.”

Hongjoong shifts to face you head on. He places his hands on your shoulders, but his touch is gentle and light. Like Seonghwa’s. Like holding a piece of glass. When you look him in the eye, the gleam there makes you choke on air. You’ve never made a habit of making eye contact with him, but the emotion you see behind those dark eyes is not one you’ve ever seen from him before.

It’s hope.

And in that moment, warmth blooms in your chest and spreads across your whole body. He isn’t holding you as though you are something fragile or breakable. It’s something more than that, the very thing you’ve been after all this time. He’s holding you like you are something precious.

✧✧✧ a/n: hi guys 🥺 how we doing how we feeling what goes on this is a big chapter in terms of emotions and talking and what's going on finally some backstory yes! woohoo! lot's of info this chapter, but i hope you guys enjoyed it regardless feel free to gimme those theories and your fav parts! i love getting to chat about theories with you guys, yall are so smart and creative 🤧 anywho i can't wait to get into act four it's gonna be CRAZY if you thought it was a ride before just you WAIT we're going full effing throttle ((also idek if i’ve said it before the act names on the masterlist are hints 👁👁))

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caramelcal · 4 years

Text

Sparks Fly

Word Count: 1.26k

Ship: Aiden Steiner x Hale!Reader

a/n: So basically, the soulmate au sort of thing I chose for this was the one where when you’re close to your soulmate (you have to be very close) sparks literally fly. It shocks everyone around you but it feels very recharging for you and your soulmate. I hope this is okay and as always, requests are open and enjoy ! :)

Request: The reader is in the woods but doesn't know that the alpha pack is in the woods as well. The reader bumps into them and the reader is a beta. They don't kill the reader because Aiden finds out that the reader is his soulmate (this isn’t the full request as I asked for a further plot line due to lack of ideas, sorry)

Warning: There is one swear word (sorry!)

Masterlist

You already knew that Derek was going to be seething with anger when you arrived back at the loft but right now, you didn’t care. All he had been doing for days, weeks even, was complain and grumble about the alphas. You could barely breathe in there without being the victim of Derek’s grumbling.

That’s what led you out here. You weren’t annoyed at Derek for being concerned, but you just needed some quiet, and not being constantly riled up by him. However, the Beacon Hills Preserve probably wasn’t the best place to be by yourself at night, but you could hold your own, you had faced enough things in your life so far.

However, the silence you had been enjoying was disrupted when you heard twigs and sticks break from underneath someone’s foot. Your breath got caught in your throat as you hid behind the thick tree you were currently at, claws out and ears listening in to see who it was.

“Patience,” A strong British accented man called out calmly, his voice monotonous. It was the alpha pack. Staying quiet, you tried to figure out how many of them there was behind you by counting heartbeats.

You counted four. However, if you remembered correctly, there were five alphas in the pack. Deucalion, the British man, and Kali, the girl were people that you had unfortunately met before but your brother had told you about Ennis, the extremely muscular man, and the twins. So who was missing?

It was at that moment where you found out, a hand gripping your neck and holding you up, swinging you around the tree and slamming you into the bark. The rough bark pierced your skin as the hand dragged you up the tree. You looked down at whoever it was: Kali. Of course it was her.

The rest of the alpha pack advanced slightly as Kali sneered at you. You would have given it a go, trying to fight off Kali but she was an alpha and you were simply a beta. Plus, she wasn’t alone and clearly had the upper hand here, you’d be surprised if they even spared your soul never mind leaving here unscathed.

“If it isn’t y/n Hale,” Kali scowled, her eyes turning the alpha red color, “I’m seeing the resemblance, honestly. Both you and your brother have the scowl perfected now, don’t you? Did that happen before or after the fire?”

You could feel the anger bubbling in your stomach but your face remained the same, e/c eyes never leaving Kali’s. You wouldn’t tear your eyes away from hers, because that was a sign of submission and there was no way that you were letting this thing have the upper hand over you more than she already does.

Noticing that she wasn’t going to get a response for the deep-rooted childhood trauma you had endured, she continued, “Speaking of your brother, why don’t we get him down here? Let him finish off the initiation to the pack right here right now?”

It was clear that she was just trying to get to you, everyone here knew that Derek wouldn’t kill a member of his pack, let alone his little sister. You struggled to talk due to Kali’s ridiculously long claws digging into your neck, faintly drawing blood.

This time, you decide to reply to the woman. You expect her to get riled up and you know it’s a bad idea but you do it anyway, “Oh Kali you know my brother won’t kill me. He won’t get all jittery and kill his pack because someone asks him like you. He isn’t a little bitch.”

Shortly after you said that, you realized just how bad of an idea that was. You’ve been spending far too much with Stiles and now can’t keep your mouth closed, good job y/n. Kali clenched onto your throat harder and pulls you away from the tree, throwing you like a sack of potatoes onto the grass several feet away from her.

You tumble as you land but ultimately land on your feet, a hand on the grass as you turn, growling. You had briefly contemplated howling but you knew that was exactly what Kali wanted, she wanted your brother involved. But she also knew the deal, that she wasn’t allowed to touch a single member of Derek’s pack until the next full moon and that deal was now null in void.

Deucalion was angry at her; you could feel it and you knew that at the end of the day, even if you were bloody and bruised, she wasn’t going to be left unscathed either. That brought a smirk to your face as she advanced, you doing the same. Pain filled your face as you felt her claws dig deep into your cheek, you subsequently taking yours right down her stomach.

“Kali!” Deucalion shouted but Kali didn’t pay attention as she punched you in the face, making you fall to the ground, but in the split of a second, you were standing above her and she was on the ground; electrocuted.

In fact, most of their pack was now on the ground, but a feeling of rejuvenation filled your body. It was empowering and unlike anything you had ever felt before. It was like you were high, and nothing that anyone would do would affect it. Your eyes didn’t stay on the members of their pack that were on the ground, but instead noticed that there was one that was still standing up; staring at you.

His eyes were turned red, but it wasn’t because he was engaged to attack you and that was when you realized exactly what was going on. Your fangs were protruded with your mouth open, letting out heavy breaths, feeling high on adrenaline. It was one of the twins, they were your soulmate. He made his way towards you and suddenly, you didn’t feel the need to back away, he wouldn’t hurt you, right?

He stood about a foot and a half away from you, looking down at you with his red eyes. Kali stood up with a growl, clutching her side as she spoke, “I’m going to kill you.”

Yet, when she went to lunge at you her arms were caught by Aiden, his grip almost being strong enough to crush her bones as he growled menacingly, “You aren’t going to lay a finger on her.”

Kali stared up at Aiden, growling ever so slightly before realizing that she wouldn’t manage to get him to step down. She might have been a lot older than Aiden and had a lot more experience being an alpha but right now he was a lot strong than her due to the strengthening of his powers and weakening of hers because he found his soulmate.

Disregarding her, he turned back to you with a grunt to which you nodded your head in reply, a form of gratitude that only you two seemed to pick up on. As the alpha pack retreated, you were left to your thoughts, Hales were not normally big on soulmates, Cora hadn’t found hers and Derek had been forced to kill his, so you hadn’t had much hope to find yours. Yet, when you met him there seemed to be a formidable bond between the two of you like a promise that neither of you would break; he would see you again soon, you just knew it.

But as you began to walk back to the loft you thought, "oh no, how the hell am I supposed to explain this to Derek?"

#aiden steiner #aiden steiner x reader #alpha pack #season 3 teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x hale!reader #aiden steiner x y/n #aiden steiner soulmate au #aiden steiner x hale!reader #hale!reader #x hale!reader

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

I’m Always Curious Part Thirty Three

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Warnings: Cursing, a lil fluff, a lil angst. Y’all know me. (I know these are the same as last week but they are.... Still True). Summary: I’d been on the Pinnacle for the last couple of days, once the briefing that Eli and I had completed was cleared by Command.

“I just hope that you are fully aware of the fact that you are never allowed to criticize me again.” “That seems a little extreme—” “Oh, that seems extreme?” I retorted, brows raising, “I’m going to have to disagree with you, Captain. You are not allowed to tell me that I have taken a reckless action or made a snap-decision ever again because you jumped on a Phaser.”

“Out of necessity!” Chris argued, “It’s not as though I did it for fun, just to see what it would feel like.” “Mm. And what did it feel like?” I watched Chris on the holo, and saw how he directed his eyes to the ceiling for a moment of consideration before he answered, “...Sharp, seering...Painful.” “I see.” “Mm.” “You know why that might be?” “I do know—” “Maybe it’s because you jumped—” “I get it—” “On a Phaser.” “This is a very rich argument from a woman that launched herself into a space without a tether.” I felt a shiver trickle down my spine and I shifted in my seat a little, pulling myself from a memory of a different mission— one undertaken in the midst of a war; I pulled myself from the darkness of a void, a sudden yanking at my ankle, my hands desperately clinging to the side of a K’Vek Class Battle Cruiser as the space around me rattled and filled with Warbirds. “Trust me,” I said, careful to keep my tone light, “It’s safer without the tether.” I averted my eyes, reaching for my glass. Even on the holographic communication system, Christopher seemed to have clocked that shiver and shift; I could see his brow furrowing and his head tipping, waiting for the story. It wasn’t one that I was itching to share. I nodded to the bandages wrapped around his midsection as I set my glass back down. “Pollard give you hell, at least?” He chuckled lightly, wincing with it as he nodded and patted over his bandage, “She did.” “Good. Someone needs to without Boyce and Una around to keep you in line.” Chris’ eyes narrowed minutely, but he couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto his lips. I couldn’t help mine, either. I’d been fighting off smiles since I’d gotten the message that Pike was calling me at all. I’d been on the Pinnacle for the last couple of days, once the briefing that Eli and I had completed was cleared by Command. Eli had yet to find a Communications Bridge officer for the Pinnacle, and until he did, I was subbing in. Christopher had called to ask about the briefing. But… Like the old days, when I had been called into his Ready Room to confirm the details of a report, we had drifted to other things. We’d actually been having a light, amiable conversation until I’d noticed the bandages wrapped around him. Jumped on a Phaser. Unbelievable.

“So how are you finding the Bridge?” He asked. “Fine,” I shrugged, “But it’s… Different. A little weird. I’m used to having someone else in charge— I mean, there’s Durling, obviously, but there’s always been another level of Communications above me and now there’s kinda just… Me.” “What about during the war? Durling was a strategy officer previous to this post, wasn’t he?” “...I guess I don’t really count the war as time spent in Starfleet,” I realized after a few moments, shaking my head a little, “Maybe that’s wrong, or...Or strange, but it’s not what I joined to do. I was still translating, sure, but it feels like there was such a dissonance between it and this,” I nodded back toward my current quarters. Christopher took a long moment with that, watching me, and I fought the urge to avert my eyes or turn my head from him. It was hard, talking to him about these things, but if we ever wanted any sort of friendship again, they did need to be discussed in some estimation. I did turn my head, though, as a message chimed from my PADD. “Sorry—” I leaned over, grabbing it and scanning it. I sighed softly. “I’m needed on the Bridge,” I gave him an apologetic look, but Christopher just smiled and nodded. “Be careful,” He urged. “... I’m so sorry, which of the two of us—” “Okay—” “Literally threw themselves—” “Thank you, Commander—” “On top of a firing Phaser?” “I’ll have to review the notes of this call and get back to you.” I shook my head, fighting the urge to mirror Chris’ smile. “Unbelievable,” I muttered. “Speak soon,” He tacked on, and I felt my smile push through, then. “We will,” I nodded before closing the channel. -- Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Dropping out of warp hadn’t been an issue the first time, but the Pinnacle had stalled jumping into it the second, and the drop out of warp that had followed was a hell of a bumpy landing. Our shields had been up, as had the shields of the ship that we’d nearly collided with— the Enterprise. We’d been hailed, and I’d expected to find Una on the other side, asking where the hell our helmsman had learned how to steer (though she’d never use those words exactly), but… But when the viewscreen had flickered to life, we’d been greeted by a man— a man with dark blonde hair and suspicious, narrowed eyes. His uniform was Command gold, but not in the form that we were used to— he had a black collar, and gold bands around his cuffs. I rose slowly, cautiously, taking in as much of the man and the ship behind him as I could. Eli’s brow furrowed as he glanced back toward me, as startled as I was. “Identify yourself,” The man requested. “Eli Durling, Captain of the U.S.S. Pinnacle,” Eli answered, “Yourself?” “James T. Kirk, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise.” I blinked dumbly at him before I reached out, briefly muting our Communications as I turned to Eli. “This is bad.” “An astute observation, thank you, Commander.” “You’re welcome, Captain.” I raised my hand from the mute to allow Durling and this… Kirk to speak. Their stardate was years ahead of our time, and my stomach twisted, concerned. We were in another time, possibly another universe, so— “What is it?” I turned back to Eli, unable to help my folded arms and clenched jaw. “If he’s captain,” I nodded to the man, who had turned to consult with his own crew, “Then where’s Christopher?” Eli frowned, “Maybe he retired,” He offered. And maybe I would’ve accepted that before. Maybe I would’ve accepted that explanation and allowed myself to refocus on the matter at hand-- but in my time spent on Somonia, I’d come to trust my gut instincts strongly. I shook my head, turning back to my console as I muttered, “Something feels wrong.” “If you could send the coordinates which you jumped from,” We turned back to the viewscreen at the request from a new voice, “That would be most helpful.” “An excellent suggestion, Mr. Spock,” Kirk smiled at the man that had said so. I stilled, staring. He was older, of course— but same haircut, same brows, same pointed ears. He caught sight of me staring, and he lifted a single questioning brow. I lowered my eyes, turning back to the console. If anyone was going to be able to tell me where Chris was, surely it would be him.

“You seemed quite alarmed by my name, Commander. Is it safe to assume that we are familiar with one another when you’re from?” “Yes,” I nodded, giving Mr. Spock a small smile. I had beamed over to the Enterprise, along with Durling, and two of his Science officers. “May I inquire about the nature of our acquaintanceship?” “We have been stationed on the same ship and we attended the Academy together. We’re friends.” I hesitated before, “Mr. Spock, if I may ask… Are you familiar with a man named Christopher Pike?” Spock’s brow rose again, his head tilting to the side for a moment as he seemed to contemplate both my expression and my question. “Quite familiar,” He nodded slightly. “Was he Captain of the Enterprise?” “Previously, yes.” “And now?” Spock went quiet again, eyes drifting briefly to the table. “You say that we are friends, in your time,” He said. “Yes.” “What relationship have you to Captain Pike?” I had to be careful. This Spock was not my Spock, but I could assume that he would reason through these things the same way: he wouldn’t want to tell me about anything, for fear that any knowledge on my part could lead to some change. So I was careful to keep my face neutral, and I lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “He is as good a friend of mine as you are.” I could see Spock considering my answer, and his. “Captain Pike suffered an incident that left him unable to command.” My gut twisted, but I was careful not to suck in a breath or reel away as I wanted. It was possible that whatever occurred in this timeline would not necessarily occur when and where I was from— I seemed to not be on the Enterprise at all in this timeline; it was possible that I hadn't even joined Starfleet. Whatever may've happened to Christopher here may not happen to Christopher when I was from. But on the off-chance it did— I had to learn what I could before returning home. That was, of course, assuming that we could make it home. “...What sort of incident?” Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner ; @tardis-23 ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranel ; @blueeyesatnight ; @hotchswifey

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike x reader #captain pike/reader #captain pike imagine #Captain Pike x You #Captain Pike/You #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #christopher pike imagine #Christopher Pike x You #Christopher Pike/You #Christopher Pike fic #Captain Pike fic

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bastillia · 4 years

Text

Rough Landing

Part 2 of First Lesson

Summary: Commander Ren has a few more things to teach you.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.4k

Warnings: cockwarming, overstimulation, threats during intimacy, inappropriate use of the Force, oral sex (ROUGH, m receiving), unsanitary sex location, public(ish) sex, kinda exhibition kink, no aftercare, uhh bit of cumplay

A/N: Whew alright I know it’s been 3 months, but we’re picking up pretty much right where we left off. Thank you all SO much for the love on part 1. And huge thanks to my incredible friends who have supported me, beta read, and helped me conquer my stuck points. I couldn’t have pulled this through without y’all. Enjoy!

***

There was plenty to like about being in space. For one, it was absolutely quiet.

Perfectly soundless. Unfathomably endless. In a way, the void between the stars had always been your perfect aegis; a blank slate to nurture everything you’d hoped to become. It held power in its silence, and possibility. It was calm, dark, vast-- it was home, for as much or little as you knew about the word.

If you thought about it, living aboard the roving flagship of the First Order had always given your life more or less a perfect structure. Most of the time, you didn’t even mind the predictability of it. Your days were purposeful and productive. If, sometimes, just a little boring. But, that was okay--you liked the quiet.

And you were never ever taking it for granted again.

“Stop moving.” Kylo Ren’s voice broke through the growing rumble of the hull. It was only the sensation of gloved fingers tightening down into your hip bones that finally alerted you to the fact that you were squirming. Again. You grimaced.

"I'm trying."

Friction from the gathering atmosphere punched the craft into a sharp rattle, and your heart struck your sternum as the controls lurched underneath your palms. Your fingers cinched down tight, the lack of circulation in your knuckles settling into a dull throb as you continued to wring the contoured grips, as if you could strangle some desperately needed assistance out of them that way.

Fuck.

Breathe.

You could do this, you just had to stay calm--think about home, about the tedium of whatever meeting was probably going on right now. About how all eyes would be on you if you were there, about the dumbstruck look on General Quinn’s face when you presented that fucking perfect dossier you’d compiled on some key New Republic official he’d been trying to track down for months.

Yes, think about that.

Not about the sweat beginning to break out across your skin, the unnerving rattling around you growing louder and louder. Not about what was still sheathed inside your twitching cunt, stretching you, demanding that your body yield to its presence.

Warm echoes of your last orgasm flared up with another clattering vibration of the atmosphere. It felt almost trapped within you, an electric refrain to the adrenaline melody that pounded your veins now. Your floor muscles quivered tight with it, eliciting an approving twitch from within your walls as Ren’s fingers flexed into the bruises on your hips.

It was incredible, really. How time had begun to feel almost obsolete until now. It had passed abstractly in the quiet serenity of space as you’d sat filled to your limit, feeling nothing but the commander, his breathing, the omnipresent ache of his cock. Your world nothing but an aroused haze-- stirred every so often by a subtle buck of his hips, a kiss to your neck, hot breath in the hollow of your ear whispering don’t move, don’t you fucking move. Good girl.

Your thoughts snapped back to the present with a vaguely wistful pang as the hull gave another violent shake.

Atmospheric entry. What was that, week five? Six? Of the TIE pilot training program? It was on the phase-3 test, you were certain. And you’d put credits down that none of the novice pilots had ever experienced the added curriculum of a cock shoved inside of them.

A warning squeeze stilled another involuntary shift of your hips.

You gritted your teeth against your discomfort, instead trying to let the adrenaline form a whetstone to sharpen your senses.

Breathe.

You could do this. You were way beyond just some novice trooper, you were a fucking lieutenant general of the First Order. And what did you do to earn that rank? You adapted. So, fucking adapt.

A jolt slammed the craft, and your muscles locked up as the head of Ren’s cock speared something tender and abused deep inside you. The ship squirreled under your grip, leaving you paralyzed as the movement of it set off every panic alarm in this new and untested region of your brain. Without missing a beat, two huge, leather-encased palms came up to wrap over your shaking hands, steadying you with remarkable certainty as they coaxed the vessel back under control.

“Focus, lieutenant." There was almost an amused purr in Ren’s throat, his voice low and close, utterly lacking in any kind of concern. Your pulse gradually came back down, and with it, your fear curled into a flicker of annoyance. If he was going to mock you, he could at least use your proper title.

You know.

The one you’d worked your ass off for.

The drag of fingertips across the bare skin of your upper thighs jolted you. Your body felt hyper-sensitized, like the sudden touch ignited a cascade of fission that couldn’t seem to find equilibrium anywhere. It fractured your brittle composure in two, just as the roaring blaze around the viewport flared again with a powerful tremor that kicked your heart back up in a sudden panic.

Sweat lined your palms, adrenaline congealing and turning to acid in your veins. You felt your nerve slip.

"Com-commander, s-sir, I--"

A hum. “Control yourself.”

It was only two words, but each one cut through your rising panic like a blaster shot to the sternum, rattling you to a realization.

Control.

That was the test all along. He’d laid it right out in front of you, challenged you to a game with incredibly fucked up stakes, and he was drawing his hand. Taking a seat at a proverbial Sabacc table, stretching out his chest and waiting for you to either bet up, or lose your nerve. The ante was rising, piece by piece as he silently tested the parameters of your breaking point.

But he wouldn’t find it. Not like this.

Fresh determination fixed your grip around the shaking controls. It was even enough to keep you from reacting this time when a dull pain lanced under your skin, his teeth catching a tender spot where he had marked your neck some time before. He growled. You tucked that card up your sleeve.

“Decelerate.”

His tone had shifted quieter in a way that made your ears prick, snapping your attention away from the dull ache of your insides. It sort of stunned you, actually, into something of a quiet curiosity.

His hand reached around you to swipe at a holopad on the console. An altimeter blinked to life, just before the soft heat of his lips returned to your ear.

“Drop to this zone.” He pointed to a region on the display. “Remain there until we get closer."

Remnants of panic still swam somewhere in your blood, but you managed to draw a careful breath and nod your understanding. Your ante was still on the table, you told yourself. But perhaps he’d decided that challenging you could wait. For now.

Refocusing, you caressed the controls. The ship banked beautifully, intuitively at your will, before lurching a final time as the thrusters hit a stable layer of atmosphere.

Beneath you, clouds floated in gossamer ribbons over the calm air, as tattered and thankful for its mercy as you felt. Farther down, the dim moonlight breathed monochrome shapes into being, half-swallowed by the murky vapor of shadow between them. Droplets condensed on the viewport as you dropped through the thin cloudbank, skittering shyly outwards and allowing the shapes to solidify into the oppressive grid of a cityscape.

Slowly, you could begin to make out vague details. Industrial sectors, shipyards, scrappy comms towers. The occasional twinkle of speeder headlights creeping between dilapidated buildings, and--

Your gaze snapped back to the holopad on the nav console, a deft swipe of your finger bringing up your coordinates. The planetary code blinked neutrally back at you, but the unmistakable string of numbers harpooned you with a bolt of clarity that had your ribs tightening down around your lungs. A question resurfaced from the bottom of your memory, curling up to slither coldly along the back of your neck.

“Commander?”

“Hm.”

“Why, um--” You faltered.

In truth, there was no reason for you to ask. The answer was already swimming around in your gut, acquainting itself with the sour feeling of dread that settled there. Waiting for your brain to analyze it while at the same time sitting in an insidious state of knowing that didn’t need to reach your head at all for you to feel its weight.

You swallowed, and adjusted your grip. “Why a TIE fighter? Why didn’t we bring the command shuttle?”

A pause. He reached around you, flicking a switch on the main console, and the Silencer’s headlights shuttered off with a resounding click. “We may need to leave quickly.”

For the first time since leaving the Supremacy, you felt something familiar settle inside of you. Deep and quiet, like the way sound doesn’t travel in space. It was the same, utterly instinctive feeling that took over every time you managed to get yourself in over your head-- when a negotiation turned volatile, when an unforeseen flaw surfaced in a mission strategy mid-execution. Those moments where the fixed parameters of your training ended, and the only thing left to take the pilot’s seat was your own intuition.

But this time, there was something else there with it. It glowed within the powerful shroud of calm, thrumming quietly, filling you with something potent and restless and--exciting, that you couldn’t quite place.

Real, physical danger was not something you had much direct experience with. The various moral complexities associated with putting others up against it at your command, you had come to know well. But you were here now. Facing it in the flesh, not protected by the reinforced hull and ion cannons of a Star Destroyer.

You were here, looking down on the dark streets of Corellia, a planet so lawless and foul and flat out fucking dangerous that the First Order had all but given up establishing a presence here long ago. Even the New Republic’s ties here were thin.

A tightness struck through your chest as you very suddenly realized that it was only a matter of time, now, before you were going to have to--

“Drop lower.” The commander shifted to tap something into the nav console. A flight course lit up the holopad, leading to a destination marker just a few klicks ahead. “Land here.”

The sector you entered seemed somehow even darker than the rest as you brought the Silencer down over the shadowed streets, hints of crumbling walls and rusted vents just barely illuminated by the occasional weak street lamp. No headlights, hardly any ground lighting--you were no ace pilot, obviously, and it took your full concentration just to maneuver the ship between the vague silhouettes of broken antenna towers, avoiding them where their spindly shadows jutted up from the rooftops. You jumped when Ren’s hands enveloped yours again.

“Right here.” He guided your hands, expertly swinging the craft around and into a hover above a dim alleyway, empty and lined on both sides with large, abandoned-looking industrial structures. Your pulse jumped. He released your hands, a finger drawing your attention to a switch on your right, then flicking it casually. “Landing gear.”

The hull rumbled and thumped. An array of green lights flashed to life in what you could only assume was an indication of the ship’s readiness for landing. If only you felt the same. Your hands were frozen on the controls, your mind simultaneously racing and completely blank. You waited dumbly for guidance, heart hammering, shallow little breaths trapping themselves high in your throat.

“Relax.” Ren’s voice permeated to your bones as both arms slid around your stomach, liquefying your fear into a trembling plea.

“P-please, Commander, I d-don--” You cut off with a shiver when his lips met your neck, his hips beginning to rock in a slow, enunciated rhythm that had your cunt immediately bearing down with need as you felt him harden. “Fuck, p-please, I don’t know how t--... h-how to--”

Your eyes rolled back as a hand slid down between your legs, the leather pad of his finger finding your clit stiff and sensitive, its touch featherlight. A hum rumbled under your shoulders. “Your intuition, lieutenant. Feel it, don’t think.”

Maker help you, there were a lot of things you could fucking feel right now. Namely, your commander’s cock slowly massaging your walls, lazy in its rhythm. Your grip on the controls banishing the circulation entirely from your knuckles. His fingers sliding down your slit, spreading as he reached the root of himself, shamelessly feeling the obscene way your body yielded to the thickness at his base. The lust that erupted low in your belly in response. The panic that was rising as you remembered your task, its sharp tendrils threatening to reach your head and overwhelm you.

Control yourself.

A turbulent breath shook some air back into your lungs as your tiny inner voice of reason managed to surface again. Collecting yourself, you let it expand, pushing each distraction away one by one as it went. Focus, it reminded you. Remember the card up your sleeve, get through this round.

You tethered your awareness to the ship, to the curve of the controls against your palms, to the way they extended like a continuation of your own neural circuits to command the sleek metal beast encircling you. A steady, downward press of your hands, and it purred its obedient response, settling slowly towards the ground below.

“Good girl,” Ren said. “Just like that.”

There was something--a tiny flicker of mischief in the shadows of his voice. Maybe you would have caught it quicker, but your tunneled focus left you one fatal step behind him, too slow to anticipate his move. His hand shifted, easily finding your raw clit against his fingertip, and pressed down--hard.

Electric. Everything was electric. Your vision doubled, the shredded remnants of your nerves shorting out and screaming against the paralyzing flood of sensation, ripping a ragged gasp from the bottom of your lungs. Maker, don’t scream, don’t fucking--

A shift of his finger and your hips jerked, an involuntary movement of sheer desperation for escape that carried right through your whole body and into the ship.

One wing dipped to the side, and it was only the sharp trill of a proximity alarm that managed to blast through to what was left of your reflexes just in time. A curse cut the air through your lips, your shaking hands grappling the controls into a clumsy counter-correction that swayed the craft wildly as you wrestled it back to center. The rocking slowly stilled, the ringing in your ears no longer from the alarm, but your own pulse bludgeoning your temples. Ren simply chuckled, and released your clit.

“Commander.” A few rapid blinks cleared the blur from your vision, but oxygen was still painful through the panic in your chest, leaving you frustratingly breathless. “With all due respect, sir, do you want me to crash your ship?”

“You won’t.” The smirk was audible in his voice. “Or is my confidence in your aptitude misguided, lieutenant?”

A slew of unkind words lashed themselves to your tongue, fighting for freedom with the fuel of indignation that scalded your throat like bile, but you swallowed both, smothering your thoughts into silence. Stay calm. Maintain control. You drew a tight breath. “No, sir.”

“Mm. Good.” He rocked his hips firmly up into you, and a pitiful little noise clutched in your throat. “Then land my ship, and perhaps your proficiency will be rewarded.”

Desire shot up your spine like a flare, igniting at the base of your brain and rocketing your thoughts clear past apprehension and ahead to the promise of relief. It was enough to allow bravery to wriggle back into your fingers, your hands finding the wherewithal to resume their task even as your lungs stalled in anticipation of another distraction.

But none came.

The relief that flooded you was immediate and powerful the second you felt solid ground settle under the landing gear. The hull groaned around you as the craft came to a full rest, wheezing like a fathier after a hard gallop, and you, its master, just thankful to have survived the race. But there was one more hurdle for you.

“You know this part.” Ren gestured vaguely to the console, still alive with various lights and indicators, many of which, no, you certainly did not know anything about.

Your eyes darted back and forth a few times before it hit you. Of course. The ignition sequence.

Presumably, to shut the fighter down, you would just need to… to do it backwards? That seemed like the logical course of action, at least. Stars, how long ago had you even taken off? The Supremacy already felt like a faint memory, the edges of its shape scattered through a hazed prism, each facet reflecting nothing but incandescent pleasure and the blinding heat of Kylo Ren.

But you had to remember. This was--you hoped--the final test, and there was no way you were going to fail. Maker, what was wrong with you, you were better than this, just think. The last thing he turned on had been…

Thrusters.

Right console, three switches. Bring all of those down. The roar of the ion engines quieted, taking the vibration of the hull down to a faint rumble. Okay, good, next was--

Ignition. Yes, ignition: off. Much quieter now, and stars, when was the last time you breathed? Fucking breathe. Okay, next.

Compressor: disengaged. Auxiliary last.

Everything went black as you killed the main power. Your breathing seemed to echo around in the stillness of the cockpit, your cunt twitching to life in acknowledgment of what was now pressing harder than beskar steel against your guts, amplified by the darkness. It was almost as if the power from the ship had never really shut down, but simply transferred into your own body instead, flicking your ignition switch and bringing your arousal roaring back to life with a vengeance.

Every line of the commander’s body against you was lighting up your awareness, filling the sensory void with his presence, the unbearable stillness of him. What had he meant when he said he’d reward you? You’d learned his lesson, yes, and passed every fucked up test he’d thrown at you to prove it. For that, you could commend yourself.

But if there was one lesson more poignant than the rest, one that now stuck like thermal sludge to every crevice of your understanding, it was that his next move could come at any moment--and not always in a way you could anticipate.

This seemed like one of those moments.

A shift of his chest under your shoulders made you jump, one arm reaching up somewhere you couldn’t see to flick a control, and the hatch cracked open with a hiss. The night air flooded the cockpit, all but drowning your racing thoughts as it drew in like a cool sigh to kiss the heat in your cheeks. Your head fell back, lungs gratefully accepting the damp and oddly foreign relief of atmospheric oxygen, even as the scent of it stuck in your mouth. It was thick, leaden with rain and crude fuel, but you hardly cared. It felt divine.

Beneath you, an impatient grunt and a single squeeze to your thighs brought you back to the present with a tiny flicker of alarm.

“Out.”

Your muscles froze.

“But, I--” Whatever you might have expected out of this moment, that was possibly the last thing you could have prepared for, and your brain was fumbling spectacularly in an attempt to process the one word.

Did he actually mean that? Was this another test? You didn’t even feel like you could move right now, let alone clamber out of the ship with your whole body aching and clenching as it was. And you were so full, and he was so hard, and now you were nearly trembling with need and--

And you took too long to act.

Wide hands locked around your waist, and then everything shifted--he was picking you up. Holy shit he was strong, he hoisted you upwards in one effortless motion, throwing your world into a blur. The only thing you distinctly registered through your disorientation was the feeling of his hard cock pulling along your tired walls, finally popping free for you to flutter and clench around nothing for a moment before your bare ass came down on the lip of the cockpit.

Cold metal bit your flesh, a harsh and unforgiving contrast to the warm lap you’d grown accustomed to. Fuck, everything was dark. But hearing him shift underneath you had you hurriedly swinging your legs around to jump down.

And... the ground was a lot farther down than you thought.

You landed hard. Hard enough for your knees to buckle, and you stumbled against the hobble around your thighs in a clumsy attempt to keep yourself upright. But before you could lose your balance you were moving again, being yanked by the arm and slammed back hard against the ship.

A huge, black mass crowded in on you, looming and pressing you back against creaking durasteel, the metal still warm under your shoulders as the ship settled from flight. Your heart slammed against the commander’s advance, eyes darting through shadow.

In the span of a shared breath, his mouth crashed down on yours, open and wanting and hungry in the darkness, and everything inside of you detonated.

The heat of his mouth was dizzying. You mewled into it, the feeling of him so strong and warm and everywhere, tugging at your hips, tongue sliding past your teeth. Your hands gravitated upwards for any leverage they could find just to pull him closer, to taste him deeper. A low, rumbling sound scraped the bottom of his chest and two huge hands encircled your wandering wrists, easily plucking them off of their feverish course and slamming them up beside your shoulders instead.

His exploration of your mouth grew brazen as he pinned you open, crushing you against unyielding steel, even taking a moment to suck at your bottom lip before his hot tongue was licking deep into you again, stealing your breath and coaxing soft sounds from your chest in its wake.

An immobilizing sensation locked your arms in place, keeping them tight against the ship even as his touch slid along your arms and around to the front of your torso. The extra sensations hardly even registered through the feeling of his mouth on yours until you realized you still couldn’t move while he was cupping your face with one hand, the other leather-encased palm flattening over the confines of your uniform, squeezing at the soft swell of your breasts hidden beneath.

A low growl into your mouth, a shift of pressure up your sternum, and then his fingers found and curled over your pressed collar. With one purposeful tug, the material popped open, and you gasped.

"Commander," you broke the kiss, your head spinning as his breath immediately blazed against your neck instead. His movements were impatient, uncharacteristically clumsy in their urgency as you felt the material of your top continue to separate all the way down to your cleavage. “Commander, w-we--”

Fuck, it was impossible to think, everything in your brain felt thick with a vibrating fog. You could feel tiny points of rational thought trying to take form, trying to remind you of where you were, of why this was risky. But they were like infant stars peeking through a hungry nebula, unable to solidify before being swallowed again.

"Fuck, w--” His tongue slowly rode the curve of your jaw, and stars, what were you even going to say? “W-we sho-shouldn’t-"

“Shouldn’t what?” he purred, smooth fingertips trailing slowly down the bare plane of your sternum and sliding under the open edge of your coat.

A soft whine was all you could muster, broken thoughts dissolving on your tongue the moment he cupped the curve of your breast and scooped it free of your neckline, pushing the fabric aside to let your nipple peak up against the open air.

The empty street was quiet enough that your breaths seemed to ricochet as they tripped softly over each other, sliding along the walls of the alley and joining the soft buzz of a flickering street lamp farther down. Stars, anyone could be listening-- watching, for all you knew. In a city like this, it was impossible to anticipate the stakes. Rife with the sorts of creatures who took refuge in shadow, even the darkness seemed to betray you, leaving every inch of exposed skin glowing as if the dim moonlight had suddenly adopted all the strength of a Tatooine sun.

Your heart raced. You scrambled to clutch at the caution left within yourself, for any remaining instinct that would tell you that this was wrong, that you shouldn’t be going along with this.

But you found no purchase. Your inhibitions were dissolving through your fingers-- dwarfed in Kylo Ren’s shadow, smothered under his hands, the power of his presence atomizing any need for your guarded reluctance and casting it into obsolescence.

And as you surrendered, suddenly every eye that might be watching, every ear that could be tuned to your pleasure just around a shadowed corner, was like a hit of fucking spice. The thrill of it arched your back, coaxed bolder sounds from your chest that bounced daringly off of the bullet-scuffed duracrete to fade into the darkness of the alley.

Ren gave voice to it first, a growl breaking through the roar between your ears.

“You’re enjoying this, lieutenant.” A swift yank of your undershirt revealed both of your tits to the damp air, and the chill of it settled wonderfully on the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered under your stiff uniform. The sigh that melted through your lips was as much confirmation as you could provide him.

“Filthy thing.” His voice was a darkened hiss as he roughly took both of your breasts in his hands. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? Right here in the fucking street.”

There was no doubt that he could sense the pleasure soaking your thoughts with every passing second, the heat coiling up through your body, breaking you into soft trembles against the solid seams of durasteel.

Stars, this was wrong.

But there was something about it--about being pinned up, shameless, tits bared and groped in the middle of a dirty Corellian backstreet like some cheap outer rim whore, that had you feeling freer and fucking hotter than you ever had in your life.

Yes.

He could do anything. Take anything. And right now, you’d fucking give it to him.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, head nodding in desperate submission as your fingers wiggled against their invisible bonds. It was like your body was coming alive for the first time, finally catalyzed to its transition state, now burning and shifting and begging silently for him not to fucking stop touching you.

“I want to know, little whore--” His hand spread over your bare collarbones, the wide junction of a thumb and forefinger pressing the base of your windpipe. A gasping little moan left you as his lips brushed your jugular, heat striking up through your belly and all the way into your neck when his other hand urged your thighs apart to tease your slit. "I want to know just how far you can take me down this pretty throat."

Everything in you shuddered, and your unrelenting bonds were probably all that held you up against the sudden lack of support that your knees offered. Kylo Ren pressed the tip of one thick finger inside you, barely curling at your soaked entrance.

“Do you think you can swallow my cock, lieutenant?”

“Fuck. Yes, yes sir, please.” The breathless response left you before you even registered what you were saying, so thick was the need enshrouding your brain. It muddled your hearing, put everything else on a sensory delay to the pulsing heat that slid down and coiled up in your core.

And that’s why you almost didn’t catch the gritted command before the strong presence of his body suddenly drew away from you, leaving your head spinning.

“Get on your knees.”

The Force evaporated from around your forearms. The loss of physical support nearly made you buckle, your body sagging against the fighter and leaving you to clutch at a ridge of metal for balance. You’d heard him, vaguely, but your brain still felt spectacularly slow. You were having trouble remembering which way was up, blinking against the low light, and the small hesitation was enough.

In a flash of movement, his saber cleared the clip on his belt, cracking the air in two as it ignited in his hand and leveled to heat your neck.

"Now.”

For a second, everything was extraordinarily still. Your lungs, your mind, even the faint drizzle of mist seemed to suspend in the air, vaporize around the searing plasma, and equilibrate into a deathly quiet.

The red aura vibrated in your immediate periphery, engulfing your retinas and casting everything around it in near-total blackness, unwavering in its proximity as the cold street pressed your knees.

A very marked shift took place in the state of your awareness as you knelt, waiting-- feeling. Everything was hazy and warm before, but now. Oh, now, everything was hot, and sharp.

The snap of plasma echoing through the empty street sounded somehow both hushed and magnified. The gravelly bite of duracrete into your knees was both painful and electrifying. And all you could do was sit here and accept the way Kylo Ren drank you in, just hold absolutely still and let the tip of the saber rotate to your front, the light of it illuminating your bare chest.

And, fuck. Oh, fucking Maker--

You were wet.

Every beat of your heart was an enunciated hit to your core, giving your arousal a wicked edge that cut into every last molecule of your body. Your cunt ached more with every pulse, and yet Ren just held there, his breaths shaking the damp air between you as he gazed at your naked tits under the light of a weapon that could kill you in half an instant.

You were possessed, the danger and thrill of it flooding your skin with intoxicating fire, and in a moment of what might have been either immense bravery or unfathomable stupidity, your hand began to move.

Very, very slowly, it pulled along your belly, fingers twitching to splay downwards. The saber heated your knuckles, following as you guided it all the way to the apex of your thighs, where you paused. And then you sat back on your heels, spread your knees as far as they would go, and curled your hips forward, letting the crimson light gleam off of the wet shine of your cunt.

“Fuck,” Ren rasped from the shadows, something delirious and urgent unearthing itself from the gravel of his voice. Somewhere beyond the snapping hum of the blade, you heard the slick sound of leather moving over flesh. “Fuck- touch yourself. Sh-show me--”

But you were already moving. Your fingers slid into the wet heat of your folds, tender with arousal, the flesh plumped up from abuse. You dragged your slick all over yourself, spreading for him, pulling up to circle your neglected clit and letting out a soft sigh at the relief that saturated you in a deluge.

The cool air did little now to temper the exquisite heat that flooded your body as you pleasured yourself openly for him, whimpering when you felt a familiar swell prime itself deep within you. It brightened with every practiced curl of your fingers, blooming outwards to rival the lightsaber that illuminated you steadily, and it wasn’t long before your thighs began to clench, your hips rocking against the movement of your hand while heady gasps punched your chest, that luminous heat coming closer and closer to a blinding apex.

You began to flutter, tightening with closeness, but the blade shot up under your chin, freezing you in the one movement.

“Don’t cum.”

Your heart slammed in your throat, every muscle locking into place where it was. You could feel errant sparks biting your skin, daring you not to move or speak.

And then darkness swallowed you, a hiss of steam resounding as the saber abruptly disengaged. The lingering imprint of it marred your sight, and you gasped when the whirl of movement in front of you turned into a large hand snaking into your hair, hips crowding your face, and the warm, solid length of Kylo Ren’s cock pressing against your cheek.

You whined, stiff muscles liquefying as you turned your mouth towards it, moisture already welling under your tongue. But his fingers tightened at your scalp, stopping you.

“See what you do to me, little thing?”

His other hand gripped around his base, letting the weight of his cock thump against your cheek once, twice. Fuck, he was so hard, and if you thought he was big before, it was even more obvious now that he was pressed right up against your face, so close to the soft heat of your mouth.

You nodded and whimpered, letting your cheek brush against his erection, still damp with your own slick. He rocked his hips forward, and the sheer breadth of his stature dwarfed you as he pressed in closer, until your face tilted and your jaw rested up against the hard plane of his adonis belt. Heat seeped into your cheekbone, radiating from the saber hilt strapped deftly back to his hip, like a warm sun to the earth and smoke of his body.

An absolutely crippling wave of desperation crashed through you then, pulling an audaciously loud moan up tight through your chest that morphed into a pitifully sobbed out, “Please.”

The hand in your hair gave a firm tug until you were looking straight up his torso, the glint of his eyes just visible to your adjusting sight. He held you there, his strength commanding, voice slipping like dark matter through his vocal cords when he spoke.

“Are you going to let this whole filthy fucking city hear what a little whore you are?” He rocked your head back and forth by your hair, turning your neck muscles to liquid. “Begging for my cock?”

You bit your lip, too far gone to deny or assent. Perhaps caution would still be the smart thing, but stars--you didn’t fucking care any more. You’d let every wretched street rat on Corellia hear you beg for him, if it came down to it right now.

Not trusting yourself to answer verbally, you simply let your mouth fall open so that your wet tongue could drag over the tiny slip of exposed skin above his groin, never once taking your eyes off of his shadowed face. Your reward was a thick groan and a twitch of his cock by your cheek, shooting a hot spasm into your core. Ren huffed out a tense breath.

“Keep that fucking mouth open.”

He drew back and pumped himself, long and slow right in front of your obediently waiting tongue, black glove squeezing almost too roughly along his shaft until a thick bead of pre cum wept from his slit. Your brow pinched upwards as saliva pooled behind your bottom lip, threatening to drip down onto the duracrete, seep into a blaster hole and add to the memory that this roughened street would keep of you, so soft and wanting, incongruous next to its grit.

Ren stepped forward, obliterating your thoughts as finally, finally, he rested his thick head on your tongue, removing his own hand and letting you test the full weight of him in your mouth. Your moan was almost a sob when you closed your lips and dragged your tongue across his frenulum, letting him feel you, swirling the pre cum from his tip before sliding him deeper into the hot depths of your mouth.

“Fuck, good girl,” he hissed, resting both hands in your hair, but not controlling. You took him another inch, tongue working to lubricate your path, satisfaction unfurling when his chest heaved at the feeling. The taste of him shot a primal fire through you, equal parts sharp and masculine, the remnants of your own cum leaving a tang on your taste buds.

Arousal careened through your belly, and you couldn’t help but dip your hand between your thighs, fingers finding your clit stiff and sensitive as your tongue passed over a thick vein.

But he caught your movement, and your hands were immediately wrenched upwards by an invisible strength, both wrists flying up and into the waiting grip of Ren’s palms. You squeaked.

“Impudent thing,” he growled, and wrapped your smaller hands around the base of his cock, securing your grip with a warning squeeze before carding his fingers into your hair again. “Keep them there.”

You gave a tiny nod and a shallow whimper, briefly mourning for your aching clit yet almost instantly distracted again by a twitch of his shaft on your tongue. Relaxing your jaw, you took him further, letting him begin to feel the tight silk of your throat.

“Fuck--” every muscle in Ren’s body seemed to go rigid enough to rival the durasteel frame of his ship, and his fingers clenched tighter into your hair. “Yes, take it--” he hissed as you slipped back an inch and enveloped him again, relaxing to take him deeper.

You found a steady rhythm like this, gradually acclimating to the feeling of intrusion. It became a little easier with each appreciative sound you drew from the commander, arousal permeating your body’s natural defenses and slackening them, even as your throat began to protest the moment you got about halfway down his cock.

But as hard as you tried to ignore the sensation of breathlessness, your lungs still screamed for air. You got maybe eight or nine good strokes in before your lips drew off of him with an obscene pop, slick hands taking over to work his length while you gasped a few starved breaths.

It would have been easy to stay like this, jaw slack, lips plump and wet, simply marveling at the hard and beautifully flushed appendage in your palms. But then a finger tapped twice under your chin, breaking your daze with a wordless command that struck an immediate response--your eyes flicked up.

“Are you determined to test my doubts in your capabilities, lieutenant?” He laid a flat palm under your jaw and ran his thumb over your blushed lips, leather slipping lewdly over saliva. “Or must I teach you everything?”

Your heart struck your pelvic floor, dread and excitement charging up like a shot from a plasma cannon. “N-no. I--” Heat surged into your face. “I me-mean, I, uh--” Fuck, it was stupid to think you were somehow out of hot water. He expected more. Always, always, expected more, and now you were going to have to play your cards carefully. You swallowed against the thundering of your pulse. “I c-can take it, Commander, ple-please--”

“Can you?” He wiggled your jaw slightly in his palm, face tilting until a sliver of moonlight slanted across it like a translucent scar. You tensed, resisting the urge to shrink. “Or should I have selected someone more adequate?”

The plasma charge inside you flared, fusing atoms of dread into something deadlier with the affront. Your teeth gnashed, tension breaking your body into trembles under the strain of caution. “N-no, sir.” A muscle in his face twitched. “Please, I was... I w-was just--”

“Perhaps I should return you to General Quinn,” he said. “I’m sure he would be more than accepting of such inferior talents--”

You lunged, and in a single, smooth stroke, you swallowed his cock straight to the base, your body heaving its protest with a soundless convulsion.

A noise strangled in Ren’s throat, and a firm hand slid around the nape of your neck to hold you there, gagging and completely stripped of any capacity for breath.

It probably would have been too much for you to handle, were it not for the hot sparks of indignation that quickly soldered each fissure in your resolve. Each one forced you to soften, to accept the agonizing incursion, if nothing else just to prove that you could.

Relax.

Tears welled as you glanced up, funneling all of your willpower into sacrificing your need for breath. Movement was impossible with him holding you there, but the huge hand on the back of your neck spasmed, and your opportunity struck.

Doe-eyed, you gazed up and swallowed, letting your pharynx flex and ripple around the thick head of him just as hot tears spilled over to soak your cheeks, and one hand curled around to cup him by the balls.

You could almost hear something in him snap with the choked roar he let out, and it made your chest swell even as both of his hands coiled roughly into your hair and locked your head back. You met his stare, fire in your own, and gave him a challenging squeeze. In less than a second, your hands were no longer your own, seized by the Force and shackled down to your thighs, just before his hips drew back and oxygen smacked your lungs with a less than pretty sound.

He gave you no time to recover before his cock was gagging you again, his rhythm punctuated and slow, each thrust forcing submission from your body. Gravel shifted under your knees as you trembled with all of the muscular tension that you redirected away from your jaw, the coarse pain of it serving as a welcome diversion from the intense sensation of having your throat fucked.

Relax. Control yourself.

Wetness began to streak your face, tears and saliva converging on your chin, and the vague thought shimmered in the back of your mind as to what you must look like right now: a slutty mess completely at your commander’s mercy, drawing choked breaths only when he allowed it, tongue fluttering soft and wet under his thick shaft while your clit fucking throbbed between your legs. But from the broken sound that Ren let out as he watched another violent gag roll through you, you’d have thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.

His grunt bottomed out into a snarl as one hand slid out of your hair, his palm turning outwards while two of his fingers began to curl in a salacious motion.

The fluid sensation of the Force coiled and rippled across your clit at his command, its motions just like your own fingers but even better, making your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Ren gave a knowing hum as your moan was choked down into your throat by another thrust of his cock, and a bend of his fingers sent a toe-curling rumble over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, lieutenant.”

The sound of his voice slid down your body, settling low in your belly where your orgasm was starting to simmer again. Even the ache in your jaw began to meld into your pleasure, making your head swim and buzz with the renewed promise of climax.

Ren’s breathing started to crack and falter, coming in half-formed curses through his ribs as he continued to steadily fuck your mouth, and it was clear that he must have been leaning on the edge of closeness for some time as well. You could feel it in the way his cock pulsed on your tongue, the way his stomach began to tense and flex.

Fuck, the thought of it--Kylo Ren, this grand enigma steeped in poise and brutality, a man who could obliterate life with a flex of his hand, was about to pull you apart by the threads, shatter you into pleasure with that same power and cum down your fucking throat.

The wave of arousal that slammed you was almost maddening, and it was all you could do to flatten your tongue over your teeth and swallow thickly around his cock once more before everything was coiling up tight and fast inside you.

His voice shot you to the precipice with a gritted out, “Fucking whore, let me f-feel you cum--”

There was a moment before it hit, like the way a seismic charge pulls in all of the sound around it into a single devastating point, and then with a choked sob you shattered, pulses of ecstasy ripping through your body while your cunt spasmed and wept its bliss onto the street with each unrelenting surge of the Force at your clit, wringing convulsions from you until you began to shake from the intensity of your orgasm.

You blinked the fresh tears from your eyes just in time to see Ren snarl above you, jaw tight and hips stuttering as the tension in his body threatened to snap, echoing in a rough pull of your hair. Pain seared your scalp as he pulled you off of his cock just in time for the first jets of his release to coat your tongue.

He groaned, a harsh sound that rivaled your surroundings in its sheer impurity, and he wrenched your head back further, working his length while thick ropes hit your open, gasping mouth, splattering your lips and chin with his bitter taste. He was grunting, swearing, panting through clenched teeth, and then--

Your name. Not your title, not a mocking belittlement of your rank, but your name, cracked through his lips, a desperate sound half-buried in the delirious stream of filth.

Before you could even process what you just heard, he sharply released your hair and stepped back, your invisible restraints dissipating and leaving you to crumple over on yourself, gasping and trembling and painted in cum.

Slowly, through the ring of pleasure and shock in your ears, you rubbed your sore jaw, before using your fingers to gather the warm mess around your lips. But just when you were about to slip them into your mouth, his voice stopped you, a graveled whisper from the shadows.

“Look at me.”

Breathless, you looked up, suddenly conscious of how plump and stained your face felt as the cool air began to dry the tears on your cheeks. Ren had already adjusted himself to decency, but your walls still fluttered with aftershocks of pleasure at the sight of his huge stature, swelling with deep breaths like a sated, black tide under the moon. You gazed at him in the dim light, holding his stare while you dipped your slippery fingers into your mouth and dutifully sucked the cum off of them, admittedly letting your tongue lick out along your knuckles just a little more than you probably needed to.

Ren’s nostrils flared, and he took a few strides in your direction. When his hand came out towards your face you flinched, but he simply curled his fingers under your chin and slowly passed his thumb over a spot on your cheek that you had missed, expressionless as he pushed it through your parted lips. He watched you like this for the smallest moment before he drew away again.

Your mind felt blank; wiped and recalibrated by the staggering intensity of whatever your life had become over the past few hours. Exhaustion settled on you with the weight of a freighter. The one thing still tethering you to reality was the sensation of oxygen drawing in and out of your lungs, sweeter now than it had ever felt in your life despite the taste of grease and rust in the air.

Stiffly, you began to readjust your clothing, pulling your undershirt and coat back over your breasts before beginning the painful process of climbing to your feet. As shaky and sore as they were, your legs somehow supported you, and you managed to wrestle your pants back up over the curve of your ass, only fumbling a little to secure them around your waist.

For some reason it was only after you were covered again that you even thought to look around the alley, a brief pang of fear seizing your ribs, but it was just as still as when you’d landed. Just as empty, just as quiet. Maybe even moreso.

You glanced back around to Ren where he stood by the connecting beam of the ship’s wing, still and ruminative, a sleek device raised in his hand. After a moment, he pressed a button and spoke into it.

"Report."

A crackle of static peeled through.

“Have eyes, dropping in,” you could faintly hear the voice on the other end say, and a spear of alarm jabbed you back to sudden alertness. Ren's eyes flicked to you, his face stone.

“Clear to land,” the commander returned through the commlink, before tucking it back into his pocket.

Your heart pumped uneasily against your ribs, your face surely a canvas of confusion. Ren cast you a blank look before grabbing a metal ridge on the ship and smoothly disappearing into the cockpit again.

Okay, this was getting unnerving. But the whine of an engine snapped your attention to the sky, where a standard-issue TIE fighter was descending with predatory swiftness upon the alley, its headlights killed, swooping into a hover just behind Ren’s Silencer. Half-shielded by the wing already, you recoiled instinctively into the shadow of it, as if you could find safety in the way it jutted forward like a protective talon.

You jumped when heavy boots hit the ground next to you again, looking up to see a masked Kylo Ren. He watched the other fighter land, standing silently as its cockpit popped open with a whisper of hydraulics. A shadowed figure leapt out, and you took a few steps backwards as it strode in your direction, vaulting the wing-support beam of the Silencer in a smooth motion before coming to a halt in front of the commander.

“Ren,” a dusky voice rasped through the tinny filter of a vocoder. He was masked as well, similar yet altogether different from the commander he addressed; rougher-looking, shrouded in strange black armor. As you stared, his head quirked, the mask tilting to settle on you. “Who’s this?”

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