wyofabdoms

[wyofabdoms]

If someone wants to be close to you, they just are.

[wyofabdoms]

Din + running like That™ (#for science) 

(requested by anonymous)

[wyofabdoms]

How to Kill an Immortal - Chapter One

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OFC, with flashbacks of Marcus x other OFCs & OMCs

Rating: M (eventual smut, rating may change depending on how explicit)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst like WOAH, character death, mentions of the Black Plague,

Summary: Marcus Pike sees time differently than most people.

A/N: This is all @mandocrasis ‘s fault. But really though, they deserve all the credit for letting me spam them with ideas (and providing many of their own!!!). Thanks for Beta-ing this for me and telling me it’s not Too Much™. Yes, Marcus Pike is a feminist hero even in the middle ages, no I don’t care if that’s not realistic. I've updated my tag list to include this series so please go here if you want to be tagged in updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One - The Middle Ages

“Well hello, stranger. It's been what, two hours since we spoke last?” Marcus says into the phone, a teasing note in his voice. “What can I do for my beautiful new fiancée?”

He leans back in his chair with all the ease and carefree confidence of a man in love.

That's when his smile fades.

“He… he did what? Hang on, sweetheart, slow down.” Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Teresa, baby, I–”

Silence, as he listens to the voice on the other end.

“Can we… can we at least talk about this?”

He leans forward, putting his head in his hands.

“Sweetheart, this sounds crazy. You’ve got a job, a good job lined up here, I–I got a place that was big enough for the two of us and then some. We were supposed to build a life, a–a family, if you want–”

His voice is getting louder, more desperate.

“I–please, I–”

Silence. Deafening silence.

Marcus hasn’t removed the phone from his ear, although the person on the other end has long since hung up. He may as well be a statue–his body is unnaturally still for far too long. Most people, even when experiencing unimaginable grief, can only sit in stunned silence for so long. The body eventually has to move. It’s human nature.

Marcus sees time differently than most people.

Eventually, the phone slowly returns to his desk.

Marcus would have thought that eventually things would hurt less–that the years would ease the sting of rejection, of heartbreak, of loss. But somehow, his pain has only intensified and changed shape. He’s seen enough people die in front of him–far too many to count–that the tears currently spilling down his cheeks almost surprise him. Almost.

He knows himself well enough to know that love is his greatest weakness. And the pain never lessens, it only magnifies. One tragic loss on top of another.

In a way, Marcus is almost relieved.

It’s one less person that he has to watch die.

York, England. 1319 AD

The boy called Marcus skipped excitedly down the cobblestoned street, which was teeming with life on this, the most exciting of days.

He had waited all year for the St. Peter’s Fair. It was a little boy’s dream–the streets were lined with merchants from faraway lands, musicians and jugglers walked among the townsfolk, and there were so many games, dances, stage plays, and more food than Marcus could ever eat in his life.

Marcus had always been the curious sort–always eager for stories from peddlers and merchants who had seen the world beyond the walls of York. He remembered the events of last year's fair fondly–when he and his friends had found an explorer who had regaled them with tales of the Orient, telling the young children tales of adventure, of people who wore the finest silks, whose food tasted of the most exotic spices.

Marcus dreamed of becoming an adventurer himself someday, of seeing sights that no living man has yet seen.

He ogled the vibrant wares for sale and inhaled the aroma of meat roasting on a spit nearby. He had just noticed a stall filled to the brim with sweets, including imported dried figs and plums from Spain, when a sharp voice rang out behind him.

“You, boy!”

Marcus spun around to see a young woman with jet-black hair and piercing green eyes, wearing a dark cloak, pointing directly at him. He frowned, but didn’t turn to flee. He prided himself on his bravery–when he wasn’t dreaming of being an adventurer, Marcus wanted more than anything to be a knight, although he knew it would always be just a dream, as his family was not a part of the aristocracy. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t act like one, squaring his shoulders and facing the woman head-on, his head canted upward, giving him an air of authority that didn’t fit his small stature.

“Lady,” Marcus addressed her, with a polite nod of his head.

“Call me Sabine, for I am no lady. How old are you, boy?” the woman asked.

“I have seen ten summers,” Marcus replied. As she approached him, he spied an amulet hanging from her neck–an evil eye talisman–and his eyes widened. “You are… a witch?”

“What I am is not important. What, my child, are you?” Sabine asked him.

Offended by the tone of the question, Marcus stuck his chin out further, a suspicious frown gracing his young features.

“I am Marcus, son of William,” he declared.

Sabine’s features softened. “Marcus, son of William,” she said quietly. “You have a strange magic about you.”

“My father says that magic is for devil-worshipers and heretics,” Marcus said, his eyes wide with equal parts curiosity and fear.

“True magic knows no allegiance,” Sabine stated sagely. “Mark my words, Marcus, and mark them well. Remember this day. There are mysterious powers at work in your life. Heed my warning: love shall be your downfall.” She extended her hand toward him, and Marcus took a nervous step back.

“You shall not put a spell on me!” the young boy cried, spinning on his heels and running down the cobblestoned street.

Marcus had been brought up not to trust the words of a woman who consorts with the Devil, but he never forgot the warning from the witch Sabine.

Love shall be your downfall.

It followed Marcus through his adolescence and into adulthood, although he never told another soul of his encounter that day in the market. When he eventually fell in love with the baker’s daughter, Isabella, he vowed never to tell his young wife of the witch’s words. It was nonsense, the rantings of a heretic, he maintained.

Marcus and his new wife opened a little bakery of their own. She taught Marcus everything she knew, and the two of them would work side by side in the small kitchen, rolling out dough as she talked about everything and nothing. Marcus would always find an excuse to gather her into his arms, getting flour all over her dress as he kissed her.

Isabella brought two beautiful children into the world for him, Emma and Wade, who gave him more joy than there were stars in the night sky. He loved being a husband and father more than anything in this life, and it suited him well. As a commoner with a meager bakery, Marcus never had much to his name, but he would always feel like a rich man when he would walk through the door and see Emma running toward him on stubby legs, followed by his beautiful wife, infant son in her arms.

He would never want anything else in this life.

The witch Sabine was wrong, Marcus concluded. Love was his salvation.

York, England. 1347 AD

There was death in the air. It permeated the streets of York, seeping into the cobblestones and the cracks in the walls. Bad vapours, the clerics said–although Marcus didn’t understand what they were and how to avoid them, as the smell was unavoidable at this point. He pressed a cloth over his mouth as he hurried home from the apothecary, a bundle of ‘Four Thieves Vinegar’ under his arm–a concoction he had been told would offer significant protection from the sickness.

Four vials had cost more than what he could possibly make in a week, but Marcus would do anything for his family, and these were strange times, indeed. Simple concerns like work and money seemed like grains of sand against the deluge of death and decay. How would his family avoid the humours that had already killed a quarter of York’s population?

He slipped through the doorway and greeted his children–now seventeen and fifteen, he could hardly believe it–who were baking bread. Well, Emma was baking the bread. Wade was drawing pictures in the flour with a sullen expression.

Marcus’s heart ached for them both–Wade had been despondent since the blacksmith he had apprenticed to for many moons had succumbed to the same sickness that had taken so many others. He had not been back to the smithy since, and spent most of his days drinking ale and all-around being a nuisance about the house.

Emma ran the small bakery almost single-handedly these days, but had been longing for a suitor. Being the way with daughters, Emma did not tell her father much on the subject (and that was quite fine with him), but Marcus knew she had her eye on Alric, a merchant’s son, and that he likewise had wished to court her before… before.

Now, everyone’s primary concern was survival, and the survival of their families. Marcus passed them the vials from the apothecary and bade them drink it, before downing his own.

“Where is your mother?” he asked, as he set the vial down.

“She is out buying a bolt of cloth for a new dress,” answered Emma.

“A new dress?” Marcus frowned. “I know not where next week's bread will come from. Clothing should be the least of our worries.”

“A hot coal singed a hole through her skirts as she tended to the oven fire,” Emma said. “And we are out of patch material.”

Marcus nodded and smiled to himself, shaking his head fondly. Truly, he would never have denied Isabella a single thing, even a new dress, in these strange times, however frivolous it may be. She could have taken their meager savings and come home with a bolt of gold brocade if it made her happy. The march of time had not dulled Marcus’s affection for her, nor his regard for her beauty. He found her just as stunning at the age of thirty-six as he did on their wedding day, nearly eighteen summers ago now if he was counting correctly.

As if his remembrances had summoned her to him, Isabella returned at that very moment with a bundle of blue linen in her arms. She looked beautiful in blue, Marcus thought, as he crossed the room to give her a gentle kiss.

“My love,” he greeted her with a smile, then sobered. “You know you are supposed to limit your exposure to the bad air. I don’t like anyone leaving the house unless it is absolutely necessary.”

Isabella pouted her lip. “My dress is full of holes, but in truth, my sweet, I am desperate for something to occupy the time as we are confined to these walls. I am afraid I may go mad.”

Marcus chuckled. “Perish the thought.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You are a talented seamstress; but it is you that makes any dress you wear the most elegant of finery,” he told her with a fond smile.

She giggled sweetly at his praise. “If I am careful with the pattern, I may have enough to fashion you a new vest with the remainder,” she told him with a proud smile. “And perhaps some pocket handkerchiefs.”

“You spoil me, my love.”

She never finished the dress.

In barely a fortnights’ time, Isabella was struck with fever. Marcus prohibited the children from entering her room, for fear that they might inhale the vapours and fall ill themselves. Instead, Marcus tended to her night and day–bringing her water and broth, a cool cloth for her forehead, and any remedy that Emma or Wade could purchase from the apothecary.

Marcus watched her sleep fitfully through the night; she was rarely awake as the fever raged through her. He touched his lips to her forehead–still burning. He dipped the now-hot rag back into the basin of water and replaced it on her forehead, and she stirred.

“Sit up, my love, and have some broth,” Marcus directed quietly, as he placed a supporting hand under her shoulders to aid her.

“Oh, my sweet–have you been up all night again?”

Marcus closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the frailty in her voice. His strong, headstrong wife had always spoken loudly, and often–excited by some new idea–and Marcus loved when the house would practically sing with her laughter. Isabella had always been outspoken, something that had caused her father to warn her that she was not marriageable, and that no man would enjoy her silly thoughts and back-talk.

Marcus had never minded–in fact, he had always welcomed it. It was what drew him to court the odd young girl that snuck him pudding on the sly at the bakery in the first place. He was sure that the other townsmen gave him funny glances when he wasn’t aware, and that there was gossip in the church of the baker’s husband who caved to his wife’s desires and did not rule the household with a firm hand. As for him, he couldn’t understand why one would get married if one was not to treat their spouse with respect, as a partner and equal under the eyes of God.

“Think nothing of it,” Marcus replied gently. “I would see you well again, and if a few sleepless nights are my payment, I will gladly owe them.”

He watches as she takes one meager sip of thin broth before pushing the bowl away.

“I… I cannot–”

“Please, Isabella,” Marcus entreated, returning the vessel to her lips and making her take an additional drink. He tried not to notice how her lips trembled around the lip of the bowl.

“Marcus,” she murmured as he laid her back down on their bed. “Please do not despair when I am g–”

“Stop this,” Marcus interrupted firmly, his voice stern and thick with emotion. “Do not speak those words.”

“One cannot hide from death,” Isabella reminded him quietly. “He comes whether or not the words are spoken.”

“I will not hear them,” Marcus said through clenched teeth. “The years ahead of us are many, my love, I just know it.”

Isabella smiled and let out a weak imitation of her beautiful laugh. “Never change, my sweet. My fanciful dreamer of a husb–”

The rest of her words were drowned by a hideous cough that shook her diminished frame. Marcus held her until the shaking stopped, until she could again pull air into her body without wheezing. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and pretended he wasn’t crying.

“I need more time,” he pleaded–with her, or with God, perhaps, he didn’t know. “You must give me more time.”

Isabella palmed his cheek. “I have not the power to bestow such a gift.”

A dry sob racked Marcus’s body.

“I have given you all of my love,” she continued. “As you have given me all of yours, and what an exquisite gift it has been.”

He lowered his forehead to hers. “I have more to give,” he whispered. “So much more. And I shall give it all to you, my love, when you are recovered and for many years to follow.”

Her breath was shaky, her eyes already fluttering closed to sleep once more. “I look forward to it,” she whispered back.

She did not wake again.

In the end, it was Emma who finished the dress.

“I am not as talented a seamstress,” she said, when Marcus asked if she could, “but what little work remains, I am sure I can complete it." She started to cry. “She looks beautiful in blue.”

Marcus gathered Emma into his arms and held her furiously, clutching at his daughter's shoulders and kissing her hair. “She would not want you to weep,” he said softly, although the tears ran steadily down his face as well. “She would tell you that death is a part of life, and that we will see her again.”

“Do you believe that, Father?”

"In truth I do not know," he admitted quietly.

Emma let out a choked laugh. "The church would accuse you of blasphemy."

Marcus smiled through his tears. "Many things I say could be called as such."

His daughter pulled back to look at him. "Not nearly as many as Mother," she said with a fond smile.

Marcus laughed in spite of himself. "No one could possibly. Although I could argue that it is simply because she speaks three times as much as any other person."

Emma giggled and hugged her father again.

"I am a man unaccustomed to silence," he said thoughtfully, ruefully. "I should not like to get used to the quiet."

Emma worked through the night to finish the dress, and in the morning, Marcus dressed Isabella in it. Emma had wanted to help, but he had refused, not wanting Emma's last memory of her mother to be an unpleasant one.

"I made you something as well, Father," Emma told him tearfully, holding out a bit of blue cloth to him. "I do not know how to make a vest, but I made you a pocket handkerchief."

Marcus vowed to carry it for the rest of his days.

York, England. 1376 AD

Something was wrong.

Marcus could no longer pretend otherwise.

Over the years since Isabella took her last breath, life had continued on, as it always does.

Neither he nor his children fell ill with the sickness, and for that he was eternally thankful.

Emma married Alric and had three children of their own, whom Marcus doted on.

Wade, as the blacksmith's apprentice, took over the forge when the plague finally retreated from the town. He became a celebrated smith, and although he never married, he dedicated his life to his trade, and took on a great number of pupils in an attempt to bring as many of the village children out of poverty as he could.

Marcus swelled with pride whenever he thought of his children–both happy and healthy, and fulfilled in their own ways.

There was nothing as sobering, awe inspiring, humbling, or as joyful as watching one's children grow and change with the seasons, Marcus thought. To see the years of life etched on their faces, even though Marcus could still feel the weight of them as newborn babes in his arms.

There was only one problem: the years were not likewise etched on Marcus's features.

Emma would laugh and tell her father that the years were simply kind to him, but as time passed, and his own son slowly grew to resemble him in nearly every way, it became a problem that could no longer be ignored.

Marcus was troubled. He did not know the cause, nor the solution to his conundrum. But over and over, the witch Sabine’s words rang in his ears.

You have a strange magic about you.

You have a strange magic about you.

Strange… magic.

It was enough to drive him mad.

And that was why, on this St. Peter’s Fair day, Marcus wandered the streets of York searching for the witch. He did not have much hope that he would find her–he estimated that she was perhaps twenty or so when he encountered her all those years ago as a young boy. That would make her nearly eighty–far older than most people Marcus knew.

He spent an entire day searching with no luck, but as the evening fell, Marcus spied a female figure wearing a cloak as dark as the night sky. As he approached, he saw she was wearing an evil eye amulet.

"Excuse me, Lady?" Marcus asked.

When she turned, he saw that she was indeed not Sabine, for this woman was young and had hair the color of rust.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm looking for a woman named Sabine. I met her some years ago at this same fair, and she had a similar cloak and amulet as yours. I was wondering, perhaps, if you might know her." Marcus explained.

"What business do you have with Sabine?" the lady asked.

"She said something to me, many years ago, and I have some questions for her."

The lady narrowed her eyes, sizing Marcus up with a suspicious expression. "What did she say?"

Marcus paused. His business was his own, but he was so desperate to solve this mystery that he couldn't afford to be secretive.

"She said… I have a strange magic about me. I-I need to know what that means."

The witch studied him for a moment. "You do indeed, stranger. You are a man out of time," she said cryptically.

"I do not know what that means," Marcus said. "Please, do you know her? Sabine?"

She nodded. "I do. She is old and frail and does not have much time left in this world, but you are an intriguing soul and I am certain she would like to see you."

She beckoned Marcus. "Follow me. She lives in the woods outside of town. If you like, I shall take you there."

She led Marcus deep into the forest, where he eventually saw a small stone cottage sitting between two large oak trees.

When he entered the cottage, he saw a stooped old woman sitting by the fire. The years had weathered her features and turned her hair nearly bone-white, but he could still recognize her as the woman he saw as a boy.

“Marcus, son of William,” she croaked.

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “You remember me?”

“I would not forget one who is touched with Magic so.”

“Please, help me. I beg of you. I do not understand why I do not age as others do.”

“How many summers have you seen now?” Sabine asked.

“Sixty-seven, and yet the long years do not show on my face as they do on my own kin.”

“You have been blessed with long life,” she told him.

Marcus slammed his fist against a wooden beam in anger. “This is no blessing; this is a curse!” he spat.

“I suppose that depends on the way you look at it," said Sabine with a sly smile.

“I measure it in the number of people I love that will die before my very eyes,” Marcus rebutted through clenched teeth. "Would you consider it a blessing if you must bury your own children?"

Sabine looked upon him with pity. “Did I not warn you that love will be your downfall?”

"Lady, please, remove this curse," Marcus begged.

Sabine shook her head. "This is magic I do not understand. I may be able to divine more answers from your future, but I am not able to remove this strange enchantment."

She motioned to the younger witch. "Agnes, the scrying vessel, if you please."

Marcus watched as Sabine gazed into the unnaturally still water–as flat as a mirror and black as night, offering no reflection of her face as it should have as she hovered over it. She was quiet for a long time; he thought at one point she had fallen asleep, but finally, just when he was starting to grow antsy, her head lifted and she stared at him with eyes full of unnatural knowledge.

"Marcus, son of William. Long life you shall have, and yet your face will age no further. Your death must come by the hands of another; any attempt to stop your life yourself shall not be successful."

"I cannot bring about my own death?" Marcus asked.

"This is what I have seen."

"Is there anything else? Anything else you can tell me?" he entreated.

"You are a man who loves strongly and deeply. A blessing, this is, for a man with but one life to live, but a curse for one who must experience many. I see a life full of love, yes, but also a life full of pain. You will love many, and lose many," Sabine warned him.

"Have you ever encountered another soul like me?" Marcus asked.

"I have seen many strange things in my eighty-four years, but none as strange as you," Sabine confessed.

Marcus crumpled. "I do not want a life full of pain," he murmured through the lump in his throat. He brought his hand to his pocket, fingering the blue handkerchief he carried with him always.

"Oh, my son," Sabine said, not unkindly. "What is joy without sadness? What is love without loss? These things must exist together; they complement each other. You crave love; this I can see without the aid of scrying water–I need only to look in your eyes. You are brimming with love. It is both a weakness and a strength."

"You said love would be my downfall," Marcus reminded her.

"I foresaw a vague impression of your future that day," Sabine explained. "I have seen much in the water that gives me a greater understanding, but I cannot see how it ends."

"How I die, you mean," Marcus clarified.

Sabine nodded. "This I cannot see. Perhaps the vision will become clear to you in the years to come."

Marcus walked back to town with a heavy heart and a head full of swirling thoughts. He had barely made it through Isabella's death; he couldn't imagine willingly going through that pain again.

On the other hand, Marcus had always been the curious sort. In spite of himself, he couldn’t help but feel a little spark of excitement of adventure underneath his grief. The things he could do in countless lifetimes! The sights he could see!

He resolved to keep that spark of raw curiosity alive, to help him through the dark times ahead.

He was a man without time. A man with too much time. And if he didn't have a choice in the matter, he supposed he may as well make the most of it.

---

A/N: Four Thieves Vinegar was a common potion used for protection against the Black Death. It is a combination of cider, vinegar, or wine with spices such as sage, clove, rosemary, and wormwood. It’s name comes from the legend that it was created and used by four thieves who were able to rob the graves of plague victims because drinking the potion made them immune.

---

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If you ever want to be removed from this or any story, please let me know <3

[wyofabdoms]

Character inspired bathing chambers

Pero Tovar:

Oberyn Martell:

Francisco Morales:

Ezra:

Javier Peña:

[wyofabdoms]

[wyofabdoms]

Hi, I'm very sorry about your hardships a lot, you deserve so much better. I'm here, you are not alone.

I’m sorry that I just seeing this. Thank you so much...that positive energy has helped turn things around. Hope you are well. 😍

[wyofabdoms]

Currently thinking about this commentary on what attachment means to Star Wars:      “[Jedi Knights] do not grow attachments, because attachment is a path to the dark side. You can love people, but you can’t want to possess them. They’re not yours. Accept that they have a fate. Even those you love most are going to die. You can’t do anything about that. Protect them with your lightsaber, but if they die they were going to die. there’s nothing you can do. All you can do is accept that fact.      "In mythology, if you go to Hades to get them back you’re not doing it for them, you’re doing it for yourself. You’re doing it because you don’t want to give them up. You’re afraid to be without them. The key to the dark side is fear. You must be clean of fear, and fear of loss is the greatest fear. If you’re set up for fear of loss, you will do anything to keep that loss from happening, and you’re going to end up in the dark side. That’s the basic premise of Star Wars and the Jedi, and how it works.      "That’s why they’re taken at a young age to be trained. They cannot get themselves killed trying to save their best buddy when it’s a hopeless exercise.” — George Lucas, Star Wars Archives 1999-2005 This entire scene is exactly what Star Wars has always been about, and Ahsoka gently asks Din exactly this question–”Are you doing this for Grogu or are you doing this for yourself?”  That’s exactly what George Lucas was talking about!!! The answer, of course, is that Din is (very, very understandably) doing it for himself, because he misses Grogu, because he is afraid to live without him, because he’s suffered the loss of so much, has just suffered another loss when his covert said he was no longer a Mandalorian, and he’s turning to the child that he misses. Din’s not a Jedi, he’s not a psychic space wizard with level 100 powers, this isn’t dangerous in the same way for him, because he doesn’t have the Force in his head, he doesn’t need to have the same kind of control over himself that a Jedi does. But Grogu is working to become a Jedi here.  He does have the Force in his head and every emotion he has resonates and echoes with the Force.  If he’s torn between Din and his training, then that is a dangerous path, because that’s precisely how the Force works. That’s why Luke asks him to choose in the end.  Not because Luke’s being a jerk, but because that’s how the Force works.  If you’re holding on to something that’s out of reach for you, if you’re splitting your focus, if you’re tumbling around in your storm of uncontrolled feelings, if you’re constantly being torn in two–that is a path to the dark side.

[wyofabdoms]

i’ve been reading your PATS series and i’m in love with it omg. pedro has fallen hard for the reader and i’m so excited to see where it goes!

i was wondering what his reaction would be if the reader is maybe feeling a little lonely and asks for something a little softer in hour two. like maybe she wants him to tone it down a little and it be more like slow, soft lovemaking. would pedro be totally down for it and then during it he looks into her eyes and just gets overwhelmed with emotion? do you think he’d ignore his usual rules and maybe allow some emotion to creep in during sex? would that scare him?

i’d be very interested to see where you take this but no pressure! <3

Hmmmmm. What a soft and unassuming ask. And yet… there’s a lot of danger here, isn’t there. *evil grin* No pressure, you say. Okay.

Let’s play. <3

Truth or Dare: I Want to Play a Game (GTTT PATS)

FANDOM: Calls - Apple TV (PATS is a character from ep. 3. “Pedro Across the Street.” This is not RPF.)

Warnings: smut under the cut

Keep reading

[wyofabdoms]

now i’m not din djarin, but if i WAS din djarin, and i used sacred beskar to make a gift for my foundling, something i considered it fundamentally his right to have, and i entrusted it to my foundling’s current caretakers to give to him because i trusted their judgement enough to not visit him myself, and they withheld it from him unless he gave up his jedi identity, effectively using my gift, this sacred gift, to emotionally blackmail my baby into choosing between us, i would fucking kill them. but that’s just me personally

[wyofabdoms]

Currently thinking about this commentary on what attachment means to Star Wars:      “[Jedi Knights] do not grow attachments, because attachment is a path to the dark side. You can love people, but you can’t want to possess them. They’re not yours. Accept that they have a fate. Even those you love most are going to die. You can’t do anything about that. Protect them with your lightsaber, but if they die they were going to die. there’s nothing you can do. All you can do is accept that fact.      "In mythology, if you go to Hades to get them back you’re not doing it for them, you’re doing it for yourself. You’re doing it because you don’t want to give them up. You’re afraid to be without them. The key to the dark side is fear. You must be clean of fear, and fear of loss is the greatest fear. If you’re set up for fear of loss, you will do anything to keep that loss from happening, and you’re going to end up in the dark side. That’s the basic premise of Star Wars and the Jedi, and how it works.      "That’s why they’re taken at a young age to be trained. They cannot get themselves killed trying to save their best buddy when it’s a hopeless exercise.” — George Lucas, Star Wars Archives 1999-2005 This entire scene is exactly what Star Wars has always been about, and Ahsoka gently asks Din exactly this question–”Are you doing this for Grogu or are you doing this for yourself?”  That’s exactly what George Lucas was talking about!!! The answer, of course, is that Din is (very, very understandably) doing it for himself, because he misses Grogu, because he is afraid to live without him, because he’s suffered the loss of so much, has just suffered another loss when his covert said he was no longer a Mandalorian, and he’s turning to the child that he misses. Din’s not a Jedi, he’s not a psychic space wizard with level 100 powers, this isn’t dangerous in the same way for him, because he doesn’t have the Force in his head, he doesn’t need to have the same kind of control over himself that a Jedi does. But Grogu is working to become a Jedi here.  He does have the Force in his head and every emotion he has resonates and echoes with the Force.  If he’s torn between Din and his training, then that is a dangerous path, because that’s precisely how the Force works. That’s why Luke asks him to choose in the end.  Not because Luke’s being a jerk, but because that’s how the Force works.  If you’re holding on to something that’s out of reach for you, if you’re splitting your focus, if you’re tumbling around in your storm of uncontrolled feelings, if you’re constantly being torn in two–that is a path to the dark side.

[wyofabdoms]

Look I don’t know what this episode of The Mandalorian was doing in the middle of The Book of Boba Fett, but it reminded me how madly in love with Din Djarin I am so I’m kinda fine with it.

[wyofabdoms]

A love like ours

Pairings: Pero Tovar x F!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, p in v smut, oral (female receiving), angst, unrequited love kinda (at the beginning), slow burn, fluff.

Summary: Your father arranges your marriage to the local mercenary who has returned from the east. Can you make your marriage work or does his heart belong to another?

A/N: I’ve had this half written for a while now and someone requested a fic with a similar theme so thank you for giving me the kick in the butt to finish 🥰 hope you enjoy

(Also for those waiting, the last part of taking a Chance will be posted this weekend, I just want to give it a good ending.)

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

As your feet carried you towards the top of the small church, your heart beating erratically within your chest. Your hold on your father's arm tightened as he walked you down the aisle, clinging to the last piece of your old life. The nerves that were flowing through you kept your head bent to the floor as each step brought you closer to your future husband. You weren’t a timid girl, quite the opposite actually, your father often commented on how strong-willed and opinionated you were and had you been a son, he would have been proud. Such as it was, women were to be seen and not heard. At least that’s what your mother would say.

You cried yourself to sleep the night your parents told you of your betrothal to the Spanish mercenary, having heard the rumours of his temper and late-night rendezvous with the women from the brothel. You have had this foolish notion since you were young of marrying for love, blaming all those romance novels your grandmother had gifted you. Now you were to be married to a man you didn’t know, who had a terrible reputation all because your father couldn’t pay his debts.

You stood across from your future husband now, the veil still covering your face as the priest rambled on.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

As you slowly lift your head, your husband reaches across and lifts your veil, his brown eyes blown wide as he takes in the features of your face. You can’t look away from his eyes as he slowly leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips. Taking your hand, he guides you back down the aisle and out of the church where you're met with a crowd of cheers and claps. You chance a glance at your new husband and find him smiling brightly and you think how you’d like to see him smile more often, that is until you follow his line of sight to find he’s smiling at a beautiful buxom blonde standing behind the wedding guests. Your heart sinks, knowing now that you will never have his heart.

***

Weeks have passed since then and life has been hard, having to run a household wasn’t easy and your days were filled with never-ending chores. Pero has been kind although he rarely spends any amount of time in your presence, your marriage hasn’t even been consummated. He’d told you he didn’t want that, at least not yet, but you knew the truth as he ventures most nights into the local village, that he was spending his nights with her. How you wish your father had chosen someone else but you are resigned to live the life you have.

Late one evening, with Pero gone to the village, you take it upon yourself to plant vegetables in the garden, your grandmother had shown you before she passed. Deep in thought, you’re startled by the sound of a male voice at the gate, a blonde-haired man with a bright smile.

“Ah, you must be the new Mrs Tovar! William, an old friend of Pero’s, is he about?”

“He’s actually in the local village. I'm sure you will find him at the inn or maybe the brothel!” William notices the slight tinge of hurt in your words and dismounts his horse, careful to tie him up.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather wait here and keep you company.”

“Of course, how rude of me. Please come in and I’ll fix you some supper.”

“I'd be forever grateful, I’ve come a long way.”

William, it seemed, ate his food exactly like Pero, as if it was going to be their last meal for months. You found him kind and easy to talk to, offering to help clean up and make the tea while you sat by the fire. He regaled his travels with your husband and you’ve never laughed so hard in all your life.

“If you don’t mind me saying, is Pero treating you right?”

“He’s very kind, although we rarely speak and..” a blush creeps onto your cheeks and your head drops as embarrassment takes hold.

“No need to be embarrassed around me lass, go on tell me what ails you.”

“He hasn’t touched me since we’ve been married, I fear he finds me repulsive.”

“You did not consummate on the wedding night as all wed couples do?”

You shake your head and look at him with saddened eyes.

“I fear I have become nothing more than a housemaid to him. He seeks his pleasure with a woman from town. I think he loves her.”

“Hmm! Well, it seems I must have words with my dear friend.”

“Oh please don’t, I want him to come to me himself, because he loves me, not out of some duty.”

“Hmm, alright well then at least allow me to help him see what’s right in front of him then?”

“What do you have in mind?”

He leans forward with a bright smile on his face, “Leave that to me.”

***

Taking in a deep breath you fix the pearl necklace around your neck, a wedding gift from William, which came with the dress he also purchased. A note is attached informing you to wear it this evening. Pero was waiting outside as you descended the stairs, newfound confidence growing within you.

“The carriage is here…”

Looking up, your eyes meet with him, as he takes in your form, eyes wide, mouth agape. Clearing his throat he offers you his hand, helping you into the carriage.

The journey is quiet but not the usual silence that fills your time with him, this was different, full of unspoken tension. Lifting your head you glance his way to find him already gazing at you, pupils blown wide. The corner of your lips twitches into a smile as you play with the pearls on your necklace.

“Do you like my dress?”

“Hmm! Is it new? I did no know you went into town!”

“Oh no I did not, it was William who chose for me, he said he thought this colour would suit my complexion. Do you agree, husband?”

Your eyes catch the twitch in his hand as he grumbles in Spanish and turns his attention to the passing trees. You smile as you think how William was right, Pero is jealous.

His home was beautiful although he’d invited slightly more people than he had informed you, including her. The confidence you had quickly faded as you settled int his home.

“Y/N, let me introduce you to a dear friend Robert.”

You scrunch your eyes in suspicion, William was scheming and you just knew it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure is all mine. Please allow me the pleasure of your company this evening.”

“Um…alright.” A throat clearing draws your attention and all eyes are on your husband as he appears beside you, hand around your waist.

“Amigo, I see you’ve met my wife.”

“Your wife? She’s far too beautiful for you Tovar, surely you're mistaken.”

“I’m afraid not Robert, Pero has been my husband for the last two months.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. How’d you pull that one Tovar, she’s gorgeous.” His grip tightens around your waist and you look at William with a sly smile.

“Alright I think it’s time we sat for dinner, Y/N why don’t you sit beside Robert tonight, Pero I’m sure you’ll be comfortable with Margaret, you two know each other am I right?”

Pero is staring daggers at William and you can’t help but bite your lip trying to contain the laughter that is threatening to slip past your lips. Robert escorts you towards the table, pulling out your chair as a kind gentleman would and sits to your left. Pero takes his place beside Margaret although his attention is focused solely on you.

The night continues on much like this until Pero has had enough and pulls William aside.

“What are you playing at amigo?”

“So you noticed then? Good!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Pero, you have a wife who is strong-willed, intelligent, has the wit to match any man and is extremely beautiful and yet you would rather spend time with a whore.”

“I have never done this before, be someone’s partner, not like that and I don’t want to disappoint her. I didn’t want her to feel she had to satisfy me simply because she is my wife.”

“Alright but you’ve made her believe you find her repulsive, you barely spend any time with her.”

“I feel quite the opposite, I’ve never met a women as beautiful. What should I do?”

“Well if it was me, I’d take my beautiful wife home and fuck like rabbits.” William laughs as Pero grumbles. Clapping him on the back, “start by being honest with her, maybe have a conversation. I’d do it soon too, I think Robert has taken a shine to her.”

A growl emanates from deep within him and he stands tall and strides towards you both. His hand slips around your waist again as he glares daggers at Robert.

“Mi esposa, it is time we went.”

“Of course, it was lovely to make your acquaintance Robert.” He takes hold of your hand and presses his lips delicately to your skin, eyes fixed on you.

“I assure you the pleasure was all mine Y/N. Perhaps you will permit me to call upon you some evening, I’m sure your husband wouldn’t mind, would you Tovar?

Pero scowls at him, his grip on you tightening for the second time tonight and you can’t help the smile that works its way onto your face. Placing your hand upon his chest, the other reaching for his face, “Pero, take me home.” His eyes meet yours and you can see the lust growing within them. Clearing his throat he bids Robert farewell and offers you his arm, leading you out towards the carriage. Meeting William's gaze as you leave he smirks at you, a wink sent your way as you hold your husband a little tighter.

***

Arriving home Pero ushers you inside, instructing you to wait in bed for him as he puts more wood in the hearth. You’re full of nervous excitement at the prospect of finally being intimate with the man you’ve come to love, despite his obvious flaws. Wearing nothing, you sit atop the bed waiting patiently for him, the last piece of advice William gave you in the seduction of your husband. Opening the door and closing it behind him, Pero stops dead in his tracks. The sight of you completely bare on his bed has all his blood rushing to one place. He says nothing as he stands stiffly at the end of the bed, eyes focused on your bare breasts. Time to show your husband who you truly are, you think as you take a deep breath and stand from the bed. Approaching him slowly you reach out to him and guide him to the bed where you help him remove his clothes.

“You….we do no have to do this, I…”

“You do not want to? Do you not find me appealing?”

His eyes, those warm chestnut eyes that have been imprinting your image to his brain, meet yours and at that moment you catch a glimpse of the real Pero Tovar.

“You are beautiful! I only mean I will no force you to do this. I..” Your finger rests against his plump lips and the words get stuck in his throat.

“I have wanted this since our wedding night. Do not make me wait any longer.” He quickly grabs your hips and pulls you into him, your legs on either side of him as you straddle his waist. Your lips meet in a searing kiss as he lays you back against the mattress, his body resting between your thighs. Peppering kisses along your breast and stomach he buries his face into the curls covering your mound, licking between your folds. A gasp escapes past your lips as your fingers run through his hair, grasping it hard as he continues to ravage your cunt. You were no virgin, but no man has ever made you feel like this, your body weightless as pleasure courses its way through you.

“Pero!”

He continues to work you through your orgasm and when you’ve come down from your high he lifts his head, a smirk on his face, some of your juices on his chin.

“Did you like that mi amor?”

“Yes….please I need you, Pero.”

“What do you need? I want to hear you say it.”

“You….need you…inside please.”

Grabbing his thick length he lines up at your entrance, the tip hitting your bundles of nerves. He looks at you with a question on his lips. “Are you sure mi amor? This is what you want?”

“Yes, I want you, my husband.” His hips thrust forward and he fills you, a slight burn as his thick length stretches you open. He stills, allowing you to adjust to his size, kissing you softly on the lips. A thought creeps into your mind that you want to show him he no longer needs that whore, he has everything he needs in you. You push on his chest forcing him to lay on his back, a look of confusion on his face. You quickly straddle him and slowly sink down on his cock, a moan of pleasure leaving him as he closes his eyes, his head pushing into the pillow.

“Mierda!” He grips your hips as you begin to roll your hips up and down his cock. Hands resting on his chest as thrusts up into you over and over, another orgasm building. “Pero…feels so good.” Your head rolls back as you cry out in ecstasy, the walls of your cunt fluttering around his length. Sitting up he pulls your nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting as he pushes you down on him, thrusting faster and faster as he nears his climax.

“Want you to come inside me Pero, fill me up, claim me..make me yours.”

With a growl he thrusts into you hard once more as he spurts rope after rope into you, his come coating your walls. He falls back onto the bed pulling you with him, his cock now softening within you. You run your fingers along his chest, the beat of his heart calming slowly beneath you.

“I am sorry mi amor, I have treated you badly. I promise I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll have me?”

“I know this isn’t what you wanted Pero, but perhaps you can grow to love me as I have you.”

He gently tilts your chin upwards, his eyes full of emotion. “I have loved you from afar for a while now, I just did no think you felt the same, and I did no want to make you do anything you did no want. Te amo mi amor.”

“Seems we both were mistaken then, perhaps we can start again?”

“I’d like that mi alma.”

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[wyofabdoms]

Yes pleeeeeeeease!!! Sign me the hell up! 🙋🏻‍♀️

A year to love me

Part 1

Pairings: Din Djarin x F!reader

Warnings: Modern AU, smut 18 +, explicit, p in v smut, unprotected sex, oral, being held captive, cursing, sub/dom relationship, obsession. If I missed anything let me know, also if you hit keep reading you agree to whatever is below the cut.

Summary: Din takes you captive and offers you a deal you can’t refuse.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

A/N: thank you to those who showed an interest in this, I’m going to keep going with it!! Like I said it will follow the film 365 with my own twist. So please NO MINORS 🔞 ok so let begin!!!!

The water washes over your feet as they sink into the wet sand, a cool breeze blowing through your hair. You laugh at something Cara said and you feel free for the first time in months. Having finally left your mundane life behind.

“I’ve got us into The Crest tonight, VIP too.”

“How? I thought that was like super exclusive.”

“Oh it is but I’ve seeing this girl Fennec Shand and she works for the owner Boba Fett, so she got us in.”

“Well well has thee Cara Dune finally find the one?”

“What can I say she’s feisty and I kinda like it.”

You both continued to walk along the beach completely unaware of the deep brown eyes currently fixed on you.

Later that night you’re looking yourself over in the mirror, black form fitting dress hugging your curves in all the right places. Deciding on leaving your hair down but curled you paired your dress with silver earrings and black stilettos.

“Wow wee, if I wasn’t already with someone I would totally hit that.”

“Thanks and if anyone was going to sway me it would be you.”

“Tease. You ready to go.”

“Yes lead the way.”

You link Cara’s arm as you walk the short distance to the club walking straight up to the bouncers and being ushered in. You’re in awe when you step inside, the place is very extravagant, dimly lit with the only real light coming from the strobes on the dance floor. The beat of the music vibrates through you and you pull Cara straight onto the dance floor. You move in rhythm to the beat, your bodies pressing against each other until another pair of arms are on your hips. You turn your head slightly to see a gorgeous looking guy behind you. Catching Cara’s eyes she mouths that she’ll leave you to it.

As the night progresses you find Luke the guy you were dancing with, isn’t all that interesting so you ditch him. You search through the throngs of people for Cara but there’s no sign of her. Deciding you need a drink you make your way towards the bar, eyes still roaming the crowd for any sight of your friend. You suddenly bump into something solid, firm, and you almost fall backwards when an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you up. He gorgeous. Your hands are on his chest, you can feel the beat of his heart beneath your fingers. Looking up your met with the most beautiful brown eyes.

“Are you lost baby girl?”

You can’t speak, this man and his good looks and his firm grip on your waist has rendered you speechless. The sound of shattering glass grabs your attention for a moment and when you turn back to him, he’s gone. Your in a daze, heart beating rapidly, skin clammy and a growing ache between your thighs. Your head turns frantically looking for the exit sign, the urge to get some much needed air taking over. Quickly finding it you make your way outside, the cool night air refreshing your clammy skin. You’re suddenly startled by a strange man standing right in front of you.

“Good evening.”

“Hi…”

“We’d like you to come with us?”

You turn to see another man exiting the black car and you suddenly feel sick, your vision begins to blur and then the world goes dark.

Sometime later you wake to find yourself laying in a very plush bed, the sheets soft on your skin. Looking around the room you notice it’s very expensive looking and has a very large walk in shower at the end of the room, on display for everyone to see. You can’t think straight as your heart beats erratically in your chest, your legs moving you towards the door to find it locked. This can’t be good!

It’s much later in the day when someone finally enters your room, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into a very large office.

“Let go of my you fucking idiot.”

Pulling your arm from his grasp you rub the now reddening skin. You’re standing in front of a huge metal desk. Is that beskar? When the chair suddenly turns around revealing the man from last night.

“You! What the hell am I doing here?”

He stands and makes his way around the desk towards you, handing you a glass of whiskey. You slam it out of his hands and it crashes to the floor, the only sound in the room is that of glass breaking. He puts his hand on your shoulders and ushers you to sit.

“Don’t you dare touch me.”

You stand in defiance and he grabs you roughly but not enough to hurt and forces you into the chair.

“You asked why your here? Sit and I’ll tell you.”

He waits a moment to ensure your truly listening and then he begins.

“Fate brought us together, you crossed my path at a party last year and I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since. I searched everywhere for you, and just when I had given up hope of ever seeing you again, there you were. Walking along the beach of my hometown and I knew, I knew you would be mine.”

“Huh, I do not belong to anyone, I’m not an object for you to own.”

His hand runs down along your face and you jerk it away from him.

“I know baby girl, that’s why I’m giving you a chance, a chance to fall in love with me, not because I made you but because you will want to.”

“Ha your joking right? You can’t do this I have a life of my own you need to let me go.”

He stands tall, his frame intimidating as he hands you a black folder. Your eyes drift from him to it and back again, looking for an explanation.

“This is a contract I have drawn up, you will give me one year. One year in which to fall in love with me and if at the end you do not, I will give you the amount written on the paper and you will be free to go.”

Reading over it your eyes go wide, “you can’t be serious?” When he doesn’t say anything or look away you know this isn’t a joke.

“One year?”

“Yes. I won’t do anything without your permission, I want you to come to me on your own, I want you to desire me.”

As the words fall from his lips he inches closer to you, his arm wrapping around you pulling you close. His hot breath on your skin sends a shiver down your spine and an ache in your core. Your body was betraying you already. You look into his honeyed brown eyes and see the sincerity in them.

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Of course.” He leans in close, his plump lips brushing against your skin, “and when you do come I cannot promise I will be gentle.” You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from whimpering. Why was this man so handsome. He pulls back slightly so he can look you in the eye.

“Well your answer!”

“One year?”

“One year!”

“Fine but I won’t make this easy.”

“I didn’t expect you too. I love a challenge!.”

“I bet you do.”

Part 2

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[wyofabdoms]

Let Me Follow

I literally cannot be stopped at this point. There is nothing to explain - I write for Joel now - here we go.

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) angst, language, age-gap (about 10-11 years, legal, reader is of age), Yearning, dirty talk / p i v sex (wrap it up) violence, post-apocalyptic world

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

---

She moved quickly, but not quick enough.

He saw it almost in slow motion, the one seemingly fatal misstep in her path and unfortunately - that’s all it took. The clicker had rushed her, knocking them both down onto the concrete. He had to hand it to her - she wasn’t panicking but it was taking her longer than it should have to gain control of the situation.

“Joel, we have to help her.” Ellie chimed in beside him and despite thinking the same thing he huffed.

“If the clicker doesn’t get her, the hunters will.” His voice was gruff but he did a quick scan - regardless of his words.

“Not if we help her.” Her voice was annoyed and he responded with an aggravated sigh.

He made quick work of it, lifting the once-human thing off of her to slit its throat before turning back. She was up and dusting herself off, laughing lowly - a nervous habit. If he had to guess her age it would have been somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties. She looked healthy, pretty even.

Focus old man.

“You almost-”

“Shh, not here. The hunters are close, we have to get out of here. Follow me.” She was running almost silently through the detritus of civilization scattered through the empty road. At first he’d thought she was a tourist, a very lucky one to still be alive here but it soon became apparent that she knew this place and they followed her reluctantly. She opened the door to an indistinguishable building crumbling with decay and hid behind the window before gesturing for them to follow quickly. Her finger pressed tightly to her lips as she peeked outside.

A patrol of the people he’d been fighting off since he stupidly drove into this city was making their way down the street - peering around for any signs of life.

“They always pass by here at this time of day - once they pass we can make it out of the city.” She wasn’t watching them as she spoke, she was focused and he noted that if he hadn’t saved her - she would have probably been fine.

“Who are you?” Ellie asked what Joel was thinking and she flashed the younger girl a bright smile - giving her name freely.

“I used to live here, before everything. In that building over there actually.” She pointed at a fallen high rise. “My parents died, and my brother and I survived here for years, until the hunters took over. Now I have my own little place outside town, in the woods.” Joel watched her speak with the frown permanently etched on his face.

“You have a place to stay?” Ellie was too friendly.

“Yes, it’s small but it’s safe and I have room- you should probably take care of that.” She pointed to his arm, he had been shot.

“It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.” He gritted out. They were wasting time.

“It’s up to you, but I have supplies - that I’d happily share - you did save my life.” She smiled but it wasn’t grateful, it was teasing.

Ellie was watching him expectantly and he grit his teeth.

“We’ve wasted enough time here, we should find another car and go.” His words were gruff and Ellie huffed at him.

“Whatever you decide - do it fast. I’m hungry and I want to get clean.” She stood and Ellie made to follow, he wasn’t going to win this one.

Getting clean sounds good.

“Fine - we check out your place and take stock there. I don’t have to mention what’ll happen if this is some sort of trap do I?” He gave her a hard look and she raised her eyebrows.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have.” She left then, once again moving silently as she guided them safely out of the city.

---

He breathed a small sigh of relief when they made it out of the city limits and into the woods surrounding it.

“You said you had a brother.” His voice cut through the stillness of the trees and he knew she understood what he really meant.

Where is he, this better not be an ambush.

“Yes, had.” She left it there and he didn’t push it further. He vaguely wondered how much further it would be when she turned abruptly and made her way into a dense coppe of trees.

If she hadn’t pushed through a particularly dense patch of brush he never would have taken a second look. When he got closer he saw that what looked to be a big mess of bramble and greenery was actually a cleverly disguised RV.

“Move those branches back when you pass through. I’d like to keep this place hidden.” She spoke over her shoulder at him as she opened the door and climbed inside.

It was impressive to say the least - there were boxes lining the bedroom visible from the entrance, boxes that read ‘Rations’ and ‘Supplies’ and for a moment he was stunned.

“A supply truck got caught in a trap set by the hunters not far from here - back when there was still military presence in the city. It got overrun by clickers - we managed to grab all this before anyone came looking. I’ve been using it sparingly but you’re both more than welcome to go through it. There are military food rations, clothing, some medication-”

“Weapons?” He interjected quickly and she nodded.

“We took a few guns, but there’s ammo if that’s what you need.” She guided him over to a box and he could have cried. “Help yourself.”

You shouldn’t be so trusting.

“You’re sittin’ on a gold mine here.” He said it with a frown, keeping what he actually meant to himself. She shrugged.

“How long have you been alone?” Ellie was looking through another box.

“Few months, before it was Johnny and I.” She dropped her pack and locked the door before making her way towards the bigger room in the back. She came back a few seconds later with a couple of towels. “Here - I’m guessing you guys could do with a hot shower. I have a tiny little water heater and Johnny rigged up the roof of this thing to catch rainwater so as long as you make it quick it almost feels normal.”

Ellie all but ran past them.

“Thanks for today, for helping.” She smiled at him shyly, a soft ray of sunshine and he shook his head to clear away the thought.

“It was nothing, you can thank the girl - she insisted I help although something tells me you didn’t actually need it.” He tried not to sound gruff but he couldn’t help it. She didn’t seem to mind.

“No, I didn’t - but I appreciate it anyway. Now - let's have a look at that arm.” She grabbed what looked to be a first aid kit and made her way over to him. He sighed loudly, rolling up his sleeve.

---

It was strange to have people in the trailer. If Johnny had been there, he would have lost his mind and you could almost hear him - are you insane? You don’t know these people, this is dangerous - he wasn’t wrong.

“What brings you two through here?” Your voice felt loud compared to the gentle sounds of the water running in the bathroom. There was no mistaking the way he tensed and you had to pull his arm back towards you in order to clean it.

“Looking for a group of people.” His face was lined, a perpetual frown on his handsome face. He was older than you by a few years if the gray in his hair was anything to go by but it in no way diminished his allure. His skin was golden and marred with scars, he’d been fighting for a long time.

“I see.” You didn’t press him, knowing he most likely wouldn't have answered.

“How long have you been here? In this trailer?” He gritted out the last few words, the alcohol swab had to be stinging but he kept his arm in place.

“We moved in when the hunters took hold of the city - would have been about two years ago. This place used to be a trailer park - it was already parked here so we fortified it, did our best to move nearby ones away or to destroy them. I’ll wait until you get clean to bandage this but it looks okay.”

Ellie came out then, dressed and in a noticeably better mood and you frowned. She had a visible bite on her arm and for a moment you panicked.

“It’s not what you think!” She hurriedly threw her arms up in surrender and before you could react Joel was standing in front of you, his hands on your arms to pull your attention to him.

“Listen to me, I know this is going to sound crazy, but she’s immune.” You stared at him, wild-eyed and frightened with your heart hammering in your chest. “Take a deep breath.” Despite the angry look on his face, his voice was calming, the slow Texas drawl of it that you hadn’t really noticed before. “Ellie, tell her how long ago you got bit.” He spoke to her but his eyes, honey brown and intense, were laser focused on yours.

“A few weeks!” Her voice was shaky and for a moment the words didn’t make sense.

A few weeks? Longest I’ve seen has been a few days.

“I know you might be thinking you made a mistake in bringing us here but I assure you, we are good people. She is immune and we are not here to hurt you.” He let go of your arms slowly and held his own up in front of you.

“This is crazy.” The words fell out of your mouth like small rocks, disjointed and foreign.

“I thought the same thing.” He stepped away and let you digest the info.

“Me too.” She said it sadly and it occurred to you then how scared she must have been when it happened, how terrifying to just wait for the turn, and having it never come.

“The Fireflies.” You looked at him then, the gears in your mind returning to their usual speed quickly. “That’s who you’re looking for, both of you.”

He nodded, and she spoke.

“Yes- we’re looking for Joel’s brother Tommy - he can lead us to the Fireflies. There’s a little quarantine zone there with doctors, whatever happened to me is the key to finding a vaccine.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, nervous about your reaction to all of this. Joel sighed big as he sat down at the tiny little table, he was obviously not happy with this plan.

“Where is this place?” You’d made up your mind.

“Jackson Wyoming.” His voice was gruff again.

“Take me with you.”

---

A human being can get used to anything, Joel knew that better than anyone. He had loved a woman once, but she didn’t want the same things he did and instead had given him a daughter, and left. He had gotten used to that.

He’d gotten used to being a single father, to being there for his little girl - and then he got used to being without her. He’d acclimated to the world going to shit, to surviving; to being alone. He thought about all of this as he stood in the lukewarm water of the cramped little shower of her trailer. Standing there, getting clean with real soap he almost felt normal.

Whatever the hell that means.

He didn’t get out until the water ran ice cold.

She’d given him a bundle of clothes and he wore them now, blessedly clean and dry. She gave him that same shy little smile when he came out of the bathroom, his greying hair dripped onto his shirt but he ignored it. He let her bandage up his arm in silence while he looked around the space once more.

“Where’s Ellie?” His voice cracked slightly, he didn’t talk much these days.

“She’s asleep, she ate and then went to lie down in my room - she was snoring when I went in to grab my towel.” She made quick work of patching him up, moving towards the little kitchenette after to fix what looked like two plates of something steaming. “I made some soup- It’s not much but it’s warm.” He should have said no, he should have grabbed Ellie and hightailed it out of there - they had taken long enough as it is.

Instead he pulled the bowl over and thanked her quietly. It was a dark broth with what looked to be real vegetables floating in it, it was very good. They both ate silently, awkwardly but he caught her looking at him, she caught him as well.

“Thank you, I- it’s been a while.” She brushed him off graciously while clearing away the tiny table.

“I would like to take all of the supplies I have with us - it could be my contribution towards the quarantine zone.” She pulled out a couple of big duffle bags from a drawer under the built-in sofa. He protested but she spoke over him “I know it’s a lot to carry, but I think I know a way we could steal a truck. Tomorrow I’ll show you the patrol schedule in town - we can move around unseen and be well on our way before they even notice we’ve been there.” She was animated and confident in her idea but he was wary.

He’d seen what these people could do, on the other hand - she’d survived here a lot longer than he had and that definitely counted for something.

“We’ll check it out tomorrow and see. If I think we can do it - then we do. If not - we leave as is.” He gave her a hard stare and she nodded.

“Deal. I’m going to lock up for the night, shower and go to bed - that room is yours.” She gestured to the supply room behind him. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Bright and early tomorrow.” He said the words low and she agreed.

You better be right about this.

—----

The water was freezing but you powered through it, shivering through the shower quickly - cursing every icy drop. You hurriedly got dressed, barely drying off before making your way out to make sure everything was turned off.

He was standing shirtless in the common area digging through his bag for something when he saw you.

“Forgot to mention - make sure you turn off all of the lights before it gets fully dark, I don’t want to stand out at all. Don’t want anyone seeing signs of life in the trees.” He seemed angrier in the gloaming, his face a deep frown. He gave a slow nod in understanding and you left him there to retreat into your space. When you looked back, he was still watching.

You caught your reflection in the little mirror hanging in the back room and saw that your shirt was damp, and more transparent than you’d realized.

Oh, so that’s how it is. Well, you aren’t alone Joel, I’m lonely too.

You lay there in the dark beside the girl, thinking about how long he’d been alone.

—-----

The baby was crying but it didn’t sound right, it was distorted but he couldn’t focus on it. Her mom, his partner - was leaving.

“Baby please, we can work this out-“ It was like he was watching from outside his body. “I know it’s hard, but she needs us, both of us.” He was frantic, how could he be a single dad?

“I don’t want this Joel, I don’t want-“

The soft knock pulled him out of the depths of sleep, yanking him back to the present.

“Good morning - we should get going, it’ll be light out soon.” She spoke softly into the darkness before closing the door again at the sound of his gruff be out in five.

He didn’t want to dwell on the dream, instead he focused on getting dressed, on making sure he had everything he needed.

She was alert and ready to go when he exited the room, her eyes bright in the early dawn.

“Here - we’ll probably be in the city most of the day, I packed us some food. Eat this before we go.” She handed him a protein bar along with a small bundle of packaged foods, a bottle of water.

He nodded his thanks, shoving it into his bag.

“Ellie is sleeping, I left her a note just in case. Safer she stays here.” She spoke quietly as she led them both out of the trailer and he agreed- grateful that he didn’t have to worry about her.

-

They went in using a different route to the one they’d followed out and despite his bad mood he couldn’t help but acknowledge just how cautious she was.

“How often do you come into the city?” He all but whispered, afraid his voice would carry in the stillness.

“Only when I really need to- shh, coming up on a patrol.” She gestured to a dark alleyway about a hundred yards away. He didn’t have to wait long, soon a small convoy of beat up vehicles rolled out and into the street. He imagined they’d be on their way to set up more traps like the one that caught Ellie and himself.

Once the last car filed out he saw her scanning the area, mouthing at him to follow her. He did and she led them into what seemed to be an old subway terminal.

“They don’t use these tunnels, but keep your voice down anyway - clickers everywhere.” She walked purposefully through the platform, a flashlight in hand for the trek through the pitch black tunnel. “It’s one stop over, quarter of a mile I’d say- masks on.”

They both dawned gas masks, he just knew it would be thick with spores.

They walked in silence and blessedly, undisturbed.

He followed her out of the darkness and into the sun, trying his best to remember the route in case he needed to get out without her.

“Okay- we’ll perch ourselves up there.” She pointed to the top of a decrepit looking building. “It’s too far into the city for them to check but it has a good vantage point into their camp.”

They were on top of the building a few minutes later and he had to hand it to her. They had made it there safely, without a hitch.

I would feel better with a rifle.

She sat near the edge of the roof, making sure not to stick her head up too far over the edge and he followed her lead.

“Now we wait.” She spoke low, ever cautious. They both watched and waited, silently.

—

He watched intently - taking note of every car - every guard and you could safely assume that he tucked it all away.

“Makes sense right? We could sneak in after the last shift change.” The frown was permanently etched onto his face.

“Yes. There’s a window where we could but we’d have to put it in neutral and roll it far enough away that they wouldn't hear it, or else we’d be caught within minutes.” He looked to you then, lowering himself from the edge.

“Would have to plan it just right, have to pick the right streets to go through.” He was calculating something in his head at your words.

“Then we’ll watch for a few days, until we know which route to take.”

—------

Ellie was waiting when you got back to the trailer.

“How was it? Can we do it?” She was antsy, and you couldn’t blame her.

“With a couple of days worth of intel I think we could, the two of us. You’ll be waiting just outside the gates.” he gave her a hard stare and she rolled her eyes at him.

“I can help-”

“But you won’t. You’ll be waiting just outside the gate and that's the end of it.” He let the word hang in the air, forcing an angry scowl from the girl and her gaze then turned to you. A silent plea for backup but you put your hands up in silent surrender. Whatever this was, it would stay between the two of them.

“Whatever.” She huffed the word out and fell into a chair, defeated.

The rest of the night was tense. Ellie was annoyed and kept quiet, her nose stuck in what looked to be some sort of comic book. Joel was pensive, mostly in his head. He was obviously working out all of the possible outcomes and you were content to stay out of their way.

—

The next morning Joel was up before you. You found him waiting by the door - already dressed and packed for another day of recon. You had packed supplies for the both of you the night before and within minutes you were on your way to your perch.

He kept pace with you, having memorized the route from yesterday and sooner than you would have thought you were in place.

The whole perch was a muddy mess, it had most definitely rained during the night.

Great. Going to have to sit in filth the whole day-

“That could be a good option-“ He drew your attention towards the side street opposite the main compound. “-I have yet to see anyone come out of that alley. We could push the truck straight through.” He was frowning at the empty lane way.

“You’re right, but they patrol the street it leads to, we would have to time it just right.” You guided his eye towards the general vicinity but found him looking at you instead. His eyes quickly darted away, you smiled to yourself.

“Maybe we should watch the other side of the building.” He half crawled around the perimeter to see if he could get a good vantage point and you followed; moving so quick you had to practically run hunched over to keep up with him.

“There-” He gestured to the street below, “We’ll roll the truck out here, time it so that this street is empty and then start it up closer to the outskirts. Ellie will be waiting for us just outside the limits.” His gaze was focused and you took the time to study him, despite his perpetual scowl he was so handsome. He was older than you, that was for sure but it in no way dampened his appeal - his lined face was attractive; the gray in his hair and in his beard made him look distinguished. You couldn’t help but want it.

“You listenin’ to me?” He brought your attention back to him, a strange narrowing of his eyes and you saw recognition on his face.

“Yes Joely - I heard you.” You averted your gaze, embarrassed a little at the pet name you’d called him but he didn’t, his stare burned into your skin - it heated your skin and lit up your ears.

“Good, lets focus.”

-

The walk back to the trailer was full of something. An electric charge you’d never felt before with anyone and you couldn’t help wondering whether he felt the same.

Ellie was quiet when you got back, still very much annoyed that Joel had forbidden her involvement in the whole plan. She avoided the two of you, and you didn't try to interfere. Joel didn’t speak much as you put your things down, instead you felt his eyes every so often and when you heard him make his way into the bathroom - you had an idea.

—-

He’d seen something.

He had seen something on the rooftop and he had a feeling he knew what it was, the question was - would he pay it any mind. He’d had a physical relationship with someone before -Tess- and it had lasted years but it never went where he thought it would go. After everything that had happened with the woman he’d married what felt like eons ago, he’d stayed alone. Joel had come to the realization over and over, that the little bit of softness within him was not wanted.

He pushed the feelings of inadequacy away and tried to drown his annoyance under the hot spray when he heard the door open.

“I won’t be long- what the hell are you doing?” He watched in shock as she squeezed into the already cramped shower with him.

“Sorry Joely, I’m not letting you use up all the hot water again. I’ll be quick.” She smiled and he had to do his best to keep his eyes on her face. He failed miserably, he devoured her with his gaze. A violent shudder traveled through him and when she turned to wash the dirt out of her hair she caught him staring.

He kept his mouth shut and let his eyes travel the expanse of her body. When he saw the little smile on her face, he knew his suspicion from earlier was right.

He covered himself with his hands the whole time.

-

The creak woke him quickly, his heart hammering in his chest until the door opened quietly. Clickers weren’t quiet, neither were hunters.

“Joely?” Her nickname for him both irked and thrilled him.

“What’s wrong?” His voice came out angry much like always. She didn’t answer, instead she crawled into the bed behind him - confusing him until she pressed herself against his back. “What are you doing?” It came out more surprised than angry.

“I think you know.” He felt her lips on his shoulder, softer than anything had any right to be and he held himself stock still; torn between loving her, and kicking her out.

—-

“Go back to your room.” There was no bite in it and you knew.

“Joely, I’m lonely - I need this-“ you could feel his back tensing with every kiss pressed to the scarred skin. “And I think you do too.” You moved the kisses up towards his neck, to just behind his ear and he sighed heavily.

You want me just as bad.

The room was dark, the only bit of brightness was a sliver of moonlight shining in through the little skylight built into the ceiling. The part of his face you could make out was a grimace and it was hard to tell whether it was pure hate, or animalistic want.

“You came in here for me to fuck you?” His hands moved quickly, pulling down your underwear bodily while you gasped and nodded.

You tried to help him undress himself but he didn’t let you, instead you pulled your shirt up to expose your breasts to him - he lowered his head to capture a nipple into his mouth: his tongue swirled around the stiff peak.

You tried to pull his face up to kiss you but he pulled away.

“You didn’t come here for romance.” He bit the words out and while it hurt to think he didn’t want to kiss you, it was something you could live with.

Your sex clenched around nothing when he pulled his bottoms down, his cock was hard and you felt that all too familiar ache to be filled. You tried to make it easy for him, spreading your legs wide to make room for him and he shuffled closer.

You watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched him spit into them before rubbing it onto the tip of his dick.

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t loving - it was rough and dirty and it was the best thing you’d felt in years. The stretch of his cock was enough to make you moan.

“Quiet.” He gritted out the word into your neck, one big hand on your breast; his hips keeping up a steady filling stroke. It was hard not to whimper, not when you raised your legs slightly, not when he breathed hard into your ear.

You felt him shift slightly, felt his thumb press delicious circles onto your clit: your cunt rewarding him with a fresh wave of slick. Your hips rolled with his rhythm and before you knew what was happening the words bubbled out of your mouth.

“Come inside me.” They were a whisper in his ear and although he gave you a firm no, his thrusts got harder.

“Please, give it to me - I want it.” You pressed a kiss to his neck.

He grit his teeth, increasing his force and it served to push you over the edge.

“I’m gonna come..” you fell off the cliff, the wet suck of your pussy clamping down on him in your ecstasy.

A handful of thrusts later he was up and stroking himself above you, glazing your belly in himself.

You caught your breath as he reached blindly for one of his shirts to wipe his mess off your belly, the ever present scowl on his face replaced by a sleepy frown.

“You can stay or you can go, but I’m going to sleep.” It shouldn’t have shocked you that his words would be completely at odds with the softness of his actions. You half expected something more but were quickly proven wrong when he turned over and soft snores filled the tiny space.

Should I stay? Do you want me to stay?

—-

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[wyofabdoms]

triptych

The Thief x Marcus Pike x F!Reader (18+)

chapter 3: the empress (reversed)

series masterlist | taglist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: A thief, an artist, and the head of the Art Crimes program in the FBI all share a soul-bond. What could go wrong?

Series tags/warnings: Sexual content, art crime, light angst, art history and criticism, soulmate-identifying marks, slow burn, f!reader, a reader who doesn’t always do the right thing.

Chapter-specific warnings: Detailed descriptions of anatomy, pining, sexual tension, sexual content, emotions

Referenced works linked in the text.

also on AO3.

##

Your process was held to your whims on the best of days. Some commissions took months, others completed in a matter of days you can’t remember, frenetic energy keeping you alive while you missed meals and phone calls and a little thing called sleep. Every process had some kind of break in it, where you had to step away from the work for your own sanity. You were an accomplished artist, well-versed in several media and proficient in many others.

Fuck graphic design, though.

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[wyofabdoms]

Beautiful.

yellow

A/N: it’s 3.30am. I don’t know, man.

Summary: Post sex softness, wearing the good ol’ aviators that haunt my dreams.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: no idea. tis but a drabble.

Warnings: spiciness that I will label 18+ just to be safe, post sex goodness, nakedness, soft moments, give this man soft fluff because he’s constantly stressed. This is probably a mess and I absolutely don’t apologise.

———

You blink down at him through the yellow lenses, smiling softly in the warm lamplight of the bedroom while your favourite record plays quietly in the background. The air is thick, sticky from the hanging humidity and causing a small sweat to gather along the back of your neck. His chest is hot under your fingers as you trace random patterns into his skin, your nails gently dragging paths up and down his torso.

He shifts under your hips, his large hands moving to smooth over the bare skin of your thighs, fingers splaying over the flesh and digging in for a long second.

“What?” You finally question, head tilting in slight curiosity.

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[wyofabdoms]

—Salvador Plascencia, from The People Of Paper