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not-krys · 2 years

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Fictober 2022: A New Resident

Prompt #25: You Know I'd Do Anything

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Rating: Mature

Characters: Comte de Saint Germain, Preg!Reader, Leonardo da Vinci, Arthur Conan Doyle

Summary: After finding that Blanc and Rogue could do nothing to help improve your condition, Comte decides the only option left to save your baby is to offer his own blood.

Notes: Blood, AFAB Reader referenced with she/her pronouns and feminine-coded terms, Pregnancy, Childbirth, Implied/References to pregnancy and birth complications, use of French and Italian when neither are languages I speak so the usage is possibly incorrect.

Word Count: 2,157

Also on ao3!

My Masterlist!

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"You know that I'd do anything for her… for them…" Comte brushed your damp bangs out of your eyes, closed in an uneasy sleep.

"Even risk turning her?" Leonardo said pointedly, glaring at his old friend.

"Blanc and Rouge aren't doing as well as we had hoped. I also don't want to risk the other residents either. It has to be a pureblood's essence. My blood."

"And what happens if you lose both of them? What then?"

Comte looked pained, looking again at his beloved's face.

"…We have to try something, Leonardo. I can't stand to see them suffering like this."

Leonardo glared, staring down the other vampire, his teeth grinding together.

"Fine… but we're using a knife. No need to get your fangs involved."

Comte smiled, tired, but relieved.

"Thank you, mon ami."

"I'll go ask Sebas for one." Leonardo turned with the speed only a pureblood could manage, his coat tails trailing behind him.

Comte turned his attention back to his cherie on the bed, pale but still breathing. He kissed your fevered forehead, brushing back more of your sweat-dampened hair. His other hand trailed down your side, to your swollen abdomen covered by the thin sheet. He pressed his hand into you, feeling a tiny heart beneath his hand against what he could only assume was his child's back.

"So strong." Comte said tenderly, his smile soft despite his fatigue. "for one so tiny."

His eyes turned back to his love, his smile turning to a frown.

"I'm sorry, ma cherie." he said, sadly, "this… all of this… none of us knew that this was even possible. For purebloods and humans to be able to reproduce together… and now you're paying the price for it…"

His hand trembled in your hair.

"If I could take away your suffering, all of it… you know that I would. But it's becoming harder and harder to find viable options. I thought that the Rouge would help as it's the closest to the real thing, but even that is starting to fail."

His breath shuddered, struggling to keep his voice even as he spoke to you.

"If nothing else works… if my blood isn't enough… what must I do?"

He received no answer aside from your steady breathing and the tiny heart beating beneath his hand.

Minutes later, Leonardo returned with Arthur in tow, carrying a bowl of hot water and towels.

"He refused to stay behind with the others," Leonardo commented, "and said we might need this."

"I'm no midwife, but I've delivered my fair share of babies before, so I'll help with what I can if it comes to that."

Comte frowned.

"It's too soon," he said, "they would be premature."

"It's always a possibility that we need to prepare for," said Arthur, "as another idea, in case yours doesn't work out, of course."

He then washed his hands in the nightstand bowl.

"What is the plan, anyway?"

"I'm going to give her some of my blood." Comte said plainly.

"But… won't that turn her?"

"Only if a pureblood's venom is administered first." Leonardo said, placing down the hot water nearby.

"Though the bite from a pureblood," Comte continued, helping you to sit up amongst the large pile of pillows. "However, to be effectively turned, the prospective vampire also has to drink their maker's blood, to complete the transformation."

"Has to be a pureblood's blood too, not one of you lesser ones. 'Scusa, cara mia." Leonardo helped fluff up your pillows.

"But, since Blanc and Rouge don't seem to be helping her anymore, we're resorting to more desperate measures."

"I see."

"That's what the knife is for." Leonardo said, putting a towel under your chin. "Comte's gonna slice himself open for our amusement. "

"Just a cut on my wrist, nothing more. Hopefully nothing more." He rolled up his sleeve, exposing the milky white of his arm, flexing his hand to release the tension. "And please don't be so crude in front of my wife and child, Leonardo."

"What better way would you have put it?"

"So, as far as I'm understanding what we're doing, " Arthur interjected, "We're going to have the bird drink your blood, and then what? Hope for the best? Pregnancy is meant to have an end where the little bundle has to come out."

"…Will she even be alright? With drinking a pureblood's blood?"

"We're not sure," Comte said, "but we have to try something…"

You winced and groaned, breaking Comte's train of thought. You gripped the sheets so tightly, your knuckles turned white.

"A-Abel," you whispered hoarsely.

"[Name]! I'm right here," Comte took hold of your hand, "What's wrong?"

"It… it hurts…"

"What hurts? Where does it hurt?"

You moved your hand over your stomach, grimacing.

"I… I don't know what's wrong…." you hissed, hot tears forming in your eyes. "It hurts…"

"[Name]," Comte said calmly as he could, smoothing back your hair again, "I want you to drink some of my blood. We're going to see if it helps."

"But… what if…"

"Please, cherie," Comte pleaded, "it's the last thing we haven't tried. Let me help you."

You swallow, breathing hard but shallow.

"…If… if it will help…"

Comte kissed your forehead.

"It will work."

He released your hand and took the kitchen knife from Leonardo, turning his back to you. You then heard a sharp hiss through his teeth and a grunt of pain. When he turned back around, a rivulet of red oozed down his arm. He sat down on the edge of the bed, holding out his wrist to you.

"It shouldn't taste too different from Rouge." Comte reassured you.

"Coppery, then…" you tried to laugh, but winced instead.

Comte held his wrist closer, giving your mouth easy access, rubbing your shoulder with his other hand. Carefully, you licked up his arm, pretending not to notice the shiver that went through him. It did taste similar to Rouge, coppery as blood had always tasted to you, but there was a difference. The warmth for one, how fresh it was, not diluted with thinners so that it was drinkable and kept for longer. It didn't taste particularly good but it wasn't completely disgusting. There was also something else there that you couldn't quite describe. Something old… powerful… Was this what made up a pureblood's blood?

When you had finished, nothing remained on Comte's wrist save for an angry red line, already on its way to turning white and faint.

Everything turned still save for your breathing. No other sound entered the room.

"How do you feel, Cherie?" Comte said.

"It might take a minute to fully take effect," Arthur said, "letting it get through her system and all tha-!"

Suddenly, you were sitting up, clutching your stomach, breathing hard and ragged.

"[Name]!" Comte called out.

"Well, it did something!" Leonardo said.

"Pardon me, sirs!" Arthur was now at your side, throwing the blanket off, blinking in surprise.

"W-wet…" you said weakly.

"Wet?" Comte said.

"I think her water just broke," Arthur frowned.

"It's too soon!" Comte said, "[Name]!"

"Can't do anything about it now!" Arthur said. "Comte, you help [Name] get control of her breathing. Last thing we need is her passing out. And I know you'll get mad if I didn't ask, but take off any underclothes she has on. And I'll only look as much as necessary. Leonardo, you get me some of those towels. Call out to Sebas that we might be needing more. And my doctor bag in my closet. And something soft we can wrap the baby in."

Leonardo nodded, helping Arthur place the towels and calling for Sebastian through a crack in the door while Comte gently pulled off your underwear.

"[Name]," Arthur said calmly to you, "what you're likely experiencing right now are contractions. What I want you to do, besides keep on taking as deep and easy breaths as you can, is to tell me when the pains become more intense. I'm timing them so I can know when to tell you to push. Only do so when I tell you to, alright?"

"O-okay."

"In the meantime," Arthur cracked a smile, "how about you two talk about names? Maybe place bets on if you're gonna have a boy or girl?"

You looked over at Comte as he looked over at you.

"Well… our odds favor having a boy. " Comte said, "Female purebloods are rare, even rarer to find one that can bear children."

"Rare?" you say, wincing.

"Rare enough to be quite valuable, especially in the old families. Mère had to be guarded at all times, before and after I was born. Other families would do anything to say they have a child-bearer amongst them."

"My mamma hated being guarded," said Leonardo, returning with more towels and a small yellow blanket. "always complained to Papà about it. Hated how it limited her freedom."

You grimaced and breathed in.

"Stronger now…"

"Just a little longer," Arthur glanced at his watch then back at you. "you're doing fine, given the circumstances."

"T-thanks…"

"Keep your breathing calm. You'll be needing it soon."

"How soon?"

"It varies, mostly, though not by this much. At best, this normally would be over in a few hours, a full day or so if you're not so lucky. This? This is happening so quickly, I'm a little baffled myself. Maybe the old chap's blood helped accelerate the labor?"

"It is normally supposed to help turn a normal human into a vampire," Comte thought aloud, "I'm sorry, Cherie. This is my fault."

You smiled tensely.

"No one knew something like this… how any of this was possible. We were all taken by surprise. You just wanted to help."

"Still…"

You reach a hand up towards his cheek, intending to try and comfort him, but another pain rattled you, your hand falling back to the bed sheets.

"A-Arthur!"

"Pardon the intrusion, luv!" Arthur was at your feet in an instant, grabbing a nearby towel. His eyes widened again in surprise. "Bloody hell, the head's already- Leonardo, grab my scissors and keep that blanket handy! [Name], I know this is going super fast, but when I count to three, I want you to push for me."

"Push!?"

"One!"

Your hand clenched the sheets while you gritted your teeth. Comte took hold of your hand, letting it clamp around his.

"Two!"

You looked at him, seeing him smile to encourage you, nodding.

"Three!"

With Arthur's command, you squeezed Comte's hand as hard as you could, holding your breath. You released when you felt you couldn't hold it anymore, panting hard.

"Head's almost out," Arthur said, "two more should get the shoulders out. On the count of three again, [Name]. One!"

You clenched Comte's hand again, his face thankful for his vampire strength keeping his fingers and palm from shattering.

"Two!"

On Arthur's call of another three, you pushed the second time, feeling your heart racing and your face turning red with effort. On the third push, Arthur called Leonardo over, the sound of snipping scissors barely registering in your ears.

"No wonder you were in so much pain, wrapped up in your own cord." Arthur bit his lip while cleaning off their nose and mouth. "Color still looks good, thank-."

He was interrupted by a new voice in the room, a tiny cough soon followed by a breathy cry.

"That's…"Comte started.

"Almost out," Arthur said, "almost there, little bairn. Nearly there, [Name]."

"Che cavolo…" said Leonardo.

The next few minutes blurred together through flashes of pain and tiny cries that stole your heart.

After what felt like hours, the pain stopped, gone completely. You could breathe easier.

Everyone was smiling, relieved.

"Congrats, [Name], Comte." Arthur said, wiping his brow.

"Say hello to your …bambina, cara mia," Leonardo said, handing over the tiny bundle of yellow, dwarfed by the vampire's large hands.

"Bambina?" you ask.

"Against your odds, you have a little girl." Arthur grinned.

"A little girl…" You said, taking in the wrinkly red face on your chest, Comte in just as much awe.

"She seems to be in good health overall, surprisingly," Arthur continued. "if on the small side, but that's to be expected with preemies. We'll have to keep an eye on her, since she is so tiny."

Comte gently rubbed his finger against her cheek, turning his head to kiss yours.

"She's beautiful, cherie."

You nodded, keeping your attention on your daughter. Arthur and Leonardo slipped out, presumably to go tell the others about their new 'resident', but you also heard distinct mumblings of badly needing a hundred cigarillos all at the same time and a drink strong enough to knock someone out into next Tuesday.

Comte continued to keep you company, crawling into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around you and burying his nose in your hair, tired and relieved as you were. You both fell asleep like that, holding each other close, a family bonded together.

#fictober 2022 #fictober #fictober22 #krys's adventures in fanfiction #ikemen vampire #comte de saint germain (ikevamp)#leonardo da vinci (ikevamp)#arthur conan doyle (ikevamp)#cw: blood #cw: pregnancy #cw: childbirth #ikevamp

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newpathwrites · 6 months

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Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 8 - Confessions

Karga took a moment to ruminate over this information, the concept of not feeling attracted to anyone ever or practicing physical intimacy as a non sexual act being very foreign concepts. But he was just so happy that Mando finally shared something real with him that he could easily accept this even if his brain couldn’t fully process it. Finally, he responded. “And you’re happy with this arrangement?”

Din smiled under the helmet, despite the heat of his face, still burning with self-consciousness, completely unused to speaking of such things. “Yeah,” he said wistfully. “I’m happy… happier than I’ve ever been, honestly.”

Summary: Din and Cyar’ika each discuss their relationship and orientation with friends.

Note: My intention for this main storyline is for the relationship to remain sex-free forever. However, one thing I wanted to do in this fic was dispel a few myths about asexuality, which is why you’ll see that I’ve subtly left the option open for them to explore sexual intimacy at some point if they ever wanted to. Asexual people may choose to take part in sexual activities for all kinds of reasons despite a lack of sexual attraction - for these two, the reasons might be curiosity or finding new ways to enjoy physical closeness, for example. So the option is there, though I don’t intend for them to ever take it.

I will eventually post an alternate storyline which diverges from here where they do decide to explore this possibility in a very thoughtful and intentional way. You can read it on AO3 here.

Warnings: Alcohol, sexual references, non-sexual nudity (sort of).

Read on AO3

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Din Djarin and Boba Fett were really cut of the same cloth it seemed, each eternally in debt to the other for every little favor, the cycle never ending. And so you found yourself again on Tatooine, Boba having insisted on accompanying Din to Nevarro when Greef Karga and Cara Dune called for assistance with an undisclosed problem (or rather, undisclosed to you). Both Din and Boba were adamant that your services were not needed and that you should spend a few days relaxing at the palace with Fennec until their return. You hoped their secrecy was a matter of limiting exchange of sensitive information and not one of expected danger.

You and Din would be separated for only a few days most likely, but you realized that you’d never spent more than one standard day apart in the entire history of your partnership. You would have thought nothing of that a year ago, but now that separation was a bit bothersome.

After recovering from the emotional ups and downs of the duel with Bo-Katan and its unexpected impact on your marriage, things had finally settled back into some sense of normalcy. As usual, while out in public, nobody would think that the two of you were anything more than business partners, often taking separate jobs and keeping professional distance, though among friends, your attachment to each other had become even more obvious, easily falling into habitual affection around those you trusted. At night in your own bed, you continued to enjoy physical closeness and the occasional kissing session, and the issue of sex had not come up again, both of you very content and comfortable with the status of your not-quite-platonic, not-quite-romantic relationship.

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It had taken most of the afternoon, but the weapons and supplies were loaded, and it was time for the two armored men to head out. Boba and Fennec clearly couldn’t take a hint, not understanding your pointed glare, silently asking them to give you and Din some privacy to say your farewells. You gave up on them and decided to work on Din instead, only to find him staring pointedly at you and turning his visor slightly to the side, apparently asking you to join him in another part of the hangar.

The helmet was off the moment you were out of their sights, and his forehead came to rest on yours. “I’m going to miss you, cyar’ika. I don’t think I’ve ever been away from you this long before.”

You sighed. “It’s only a few days, Din. I’ll be here waiting when you get back.” You leaned in to kiss him once chastely before the helmet went back on as Fennec unexpectedly rounded the corner.

“Hey, Djarin… DANK FARRIK, SORRY!”

Fennec immediately turned around to give Din privacy as he whipped his head in the opposite direction to replace the helmet, leaving you standing awkwardly in between them, both of their backs to you. Finally, Din’s modulated voice came through. “It’s fine, Fennec. You can turn around.”

“Boba sent me to get you - he’s ready to go.” If Fennec was embarrassed by the situation, she didn’t show it, stoic as ever.

“He’ll be right there. Just give us a minute,” you told her, face burning from having been caught. She gave you an amused smirk as she turned to walk away.

Once she was gone, you pushed the visor up enough to place a brief kiss to his lips. “I love you. Stay safe.”

“I always am, cyar’ika. I love you, too.” And with that, he was off, cape billowing behind him.

—---------------------------

Fennec turned out to be an excellent host, showing you many of the hidden gems in Mos Espa and even agreeing to accompany you on a day trip to check up on Freetown. Still, she didn’t hover and left you often enough to your own devices to rest and recharge, much needed after a long string of difficult jobs.

Not once did she bring up the ‘kissing incident’, and you thanked the Maker for that. The embarrassment, which had plagued your every waking moment since, was finally starting to fade from your psyche. It seemed Fennec had forgotten all about it. But alas, you were not so fortunate…

A rap at the door to your temporary quarters roused you from your lazy, evening contemplation. “Hey, it’s our last night without the men!” Fennec held an expensive-looking bottle of liquor in front of your face. “I’ve got questions. Come on,” she ordered with a turn of her head, gesturing for you to follow. Not having the energy to refuse the formidable woman at this hour, you acquiesced and allowed her to lead you to her own quarters.

You fell into easy conversation as the alcohol warmed your system, but once Fennec had adequately loosened your tongue, the real inquisition began.

“So,” she started, “You and Mando… kissing… and acting very… ‘couple-ish’… When did that happen?”

Between the alcohol warming your skin and sudden, overwhelming self-consciousness, it felt like your whole body was on fire. Should you take the bait? Probably not. But you kind of wanted to talk about it… or maybe that was just the alcohol…

Anyway, your mouth was faster than your brain. “The kissing has been going on for awhile,” you rushed out, “since before the last time we were here in Tatooine. It’s nice.” You shrugged, trying to pass it off as if it was no big deal.

“Nice, huh? You two behave more and more like a happily married couple in love.” Fennec smirked.

You might just burst into flames - you hated this kind of attention. “Well,” you answered meekly, “We are a married couple, I am happy, and I do love him.” There, successfully circumvented the issue - or so thought your alcohol-addled brain.

“No, no, no… I think you are in love with him. And he is in love with you.” Fennec sat back in her chair, satisfied that she’d pegged you correctly. “Maker above!” she suddenly exclaimed, sitting up straight again and looking directly into your face. ”Did you two have sex?” She slapped the table in glee. “I knew it was just a matter of time!”

You wished you could literally just sink into the floor and forget this night ever happened. As much as you were comfortable with Din, discussing such things with anyone else was incredibly disconcerting. Still, you sort of appreciated the opportunity to get another female perspective on your unconventional arrangement. You mentally steeled yourself and attempted to release the butterflies gathering in your stomach.

Deep breath. “This is a little weird for me to talk about… Yes, things are different between us, but not… that different.”

Fennec, to her credit, became more earnestly curious and shook off a bit of her inebriated mocking, now recognizing your discomfort. “So what has changed then? The last time you were here, you were pretty adamant that your relationship was entirely platonic. I’ve always wondered how you two were so close without venturing into other territory…”

Kriff, explaining this would require some backstory. “Okay, so first… Din and I aren’t like most people. Neither of us has ever felt attracted to anyone that way or had any sort of committed relationship in our adult lives. I’ve loved him deeply for a long time, but truly, it was platonic, as hard as that is for people to believe.”

“Hmm… I get it, I think,” Fennec replied thoughtfully. “I can relate to not feeling romantically attracted at least - I’ve never wanted that.”

You grinned at her, glad to find that someone understood at least part of this, and continued. “The marriage, knowing his face, being allowed to touch him without the armor - somehow it changed things. It was slow, but the more we connected face to face and the more we got accustomed to physical intimacy, we both found that we craved being close to each other. But still, neither of us wants sex - it’s just not how we are. And although we’re committed and love each other in a way that’s not strictly platonic, it’s really not quite romantic, either. It’s difficult to explain. We’ve stopped trying to label it and just let it be.”

Fennec thought on this a moment before continuing her interrogation. “Okay… so, if you don’t mind me asking, where do you both draw the line? Kissing usually leads to other things…”

Stars, now you were really diving in. “Well, since neither of us is inclined toward those other things, that’s generally not an issue. Pretty much anything goes with the kissing - we just really enjoy the sensations and closeness I guess. It really doesn’t get heated, even when… you know… tongues are involved… It’s not foreplay - just kissing for kissing’s sake. We do a lot of cuddling and touching, too… more so, actually… but always over clothing and sticking to neutral areas. It might sound weird to you, but it works well for us… It’s been very enjoyable…”

Fennec stared at you a long moment before speaking again. “I’ll be honest… it does sound weird to me… But if it works for you, then that’s all that matters.” A smirk appeared across her face. “You said it ‘generally’ doesn’t lead to other things… so does that mean it has at some point?”

You could feel your face heating up again. You took a deep breath and pushed on. “Before the duel with Bo-Katan… We were terrified, emotional… It felt like our last moments together, and things started to get… out of hand… I stopped it before it got too far. We weren’t thinking clearly, and I couldn’t bear the possibility of regret… It was the right decision. Once the adrenaline wore off, that desire was gone.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go there?” Fennec asked earnestly.

“I don’t know, honestly. I have curiosity about whether it could be a better experience with him - I trust him more than I’ve trusted anyone in my entire life. And Din has expressed interest in trying it if I ever wanted to. But I’ve got so much trauma from my previous relationship, and I don’t want to associate Din with that in any way. Maybe I’ll feel differently someday, but for now, it’s off the table, and we’re both fine with that.”

Fennec looked thoughtful, dropping the tough facade for a moment. “Well, that’s fair. Thanks for indulging my questions. Just tell me one more thing… You really are happy? Because I’ve known Mando for a long time, and he’s been different since you came along. I didn’t know he was even capable of happiness, but that’s the read I get on him now… Quite an accomplishment on your part I think.”

You felt a few tears sting your eyes at her kind words. “Thanks, Fennec… Yeah, I’m happy, too.”

“Okay, now that I’ve satisfied my curiosity about your relationship,” she leaned forward and placed both palms flat on the table with a wicked glint in her eye, “Is he as easy on the eyes without the helmet as he is with it on? I’ve only ever seen the back of his head.”

“Oh, Fennec… you have no idea…”

She took another swig, giving you a mock salute. “Good for you, my friend.”

—---------------------------

Though Din was anxious to get back to Tatooine… and you… he couldn’t pass up the offer to spend an evening catching up with his old friends, such opportunities so rare for people like them in this lonely galaxy. Boba, on the other hand, was rather interested in the baths he kept hearing Karga go on about and decided to have a visit there himself before the long flight back home.

Two full bottles of spotchka later, and working on a third between the three of them, Din was relaxed and pleasantly buzzed.

“You know, Mando, you really should consider it. The baths might be just what you need to relieve all of that… tension.”

“I’m not tense. I’m fine,” Din replied good-naturedly.

Cara groaned. “Please, give it up, Greef. The man doesn’t even take his gloves off in public. He’s obviously not going to strip naked at the baths.” She took another long swig. “Besides, he can take care of the tension in the comfort of his own bed with his beautiful wife,” she added.

Karga grumbled under his breath with a raise of his eyebrow, “I’m not so sure he can…”

“Greef!” Din reprimanded him lamely, the alcohol removing the intended bite from his tone.

“Wait… what is this about?” Cara asked, sidling up to the table and looking between the two men. “Is everything all right, Din? You two seemed happy the last time we saw you.”

“We were… we are…” Din started, slow to formulate an appropriate response.

Karga, inhibitions lost, cut him off, blurting out in an unintentionally loud whisper in Cara’s direction, “They’ve never had sex!”

Din didn’t respond, frozen in embarrassment, visor pointed down at the table, his silence speaking volumes.

Cara spoke first, her voice incredulous. “Seriously? But you two are so close…. You share a bed…” Cara stopped herself abruptly and shook her head, taking in his withering posture, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. It’s none of our business.”

He really shouldn’t discuss this without talking to you, right? But these were his best, and really only, close friends. He’d had to hide so many parts of himself from them. Maybe this - his connection to you - was something he could share.

Din cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s okay… We have an unconventional relationship. We, uhhh… touch a lot… and enjoy kissing… but neither of us wants a sexual relationship.”

Now Karga was incredulous. “How do you touch and kiss and share a bed and… not give in to temptation?” He took another drink, adding under his breath, “You are a stronger man than I, Mando.”

Sincerely wanting to be understood, Din countered, “There has never been temptation… I really don’t experience that like most people, and neither does she. Things did slowly change after we got married and the beskar was no longer a barrier between us, though. We connected in a more intimate way, I guess, and we both found we enjoyed… physical closeness… but not the sexual kind. We just don’t feel that.”

Cara was thoughtful. “Hmm… I didn’t realize not feeling that was possible. I figured it was a natural response. Doesn’t biology… you know… ‘do its thing’ once in a while?”

Din’s face was growing more flushed by the second under the helmet, but he tried hard not to act as flustered as he felt. “No, not usually. There’s still biological needs, but I prefer to handle those myself than with another person. We’ve both had sex before, when we were younger, but since it was never something either of us enjoyed, there’s really no draw to it, even when we’re doing physically intimate things. Those things aren’t arousing for us - just ‘nice for the senses’ as she puts it.”

“You sound like a man in love,” Cara’s voice betrayed her typically stoic nature, so pleased to know that her rough but unexpectedly kind friend had found some happiness.

Din replied with emotion, voice cracking a bit, as the alcohol made his thoughts of you even softer than usual, “I’ve loved her… like a close friend… or like family… for years. It feels different now, more committed and more intimate… but I’m not in love with her in the romantic sense. I don’t think either of us is capable of that - or even knows what it should feel like. I wish there was a word to explain it - it’s not platonic, as I feel for both of you, for example, but it’s not quite romantic, either.”

Cara smiled as she stood up from the table and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I should hit the sheets. I’ve got work tomorrow. However you define it, I’m really happy for you, Din. You seem different with her - calmer… at peace… and you deserve that.”

He briefly touched the back of her hand with his gloved fingers, as he replied genuinely, “Thanks, Cara. I mean it.”

Once the door shut behind her, Karga cleared his throat loudly. “All right… I have a follow-up question. I understand if you prefer not to answer…” Din nodded for him to continue. “You said it usually doesn’t get heated, which suggests that at some point it has…”

Din cleared his throat uncomfortably but replied honestly. “Before the fight with Bo-Katan… We were both sure I was about to die… It felt like I couldn’t get close enough to satisfy my last moments with her…” Din’s voice was becoming strained, and Karga put a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “The adrenaline probably… led me to initiate some things… But she had her head on straight enough to stop it… It’s the only time either of us has ever felt true sexual desire, but it didn’t last once the adrenaline wore off, and it would have been a mistake. She has so much trauma, and I could never have forgiven myself if I’d contributed to that. She’s told me not to feel guilty, but the shame of having initiated it at all still keeps me up some nights.”

“Din,” Karga used his given name to convey his seriousness. “You did nothing wrong. It sounds like the confusion was mutual… and a very normal human response, by the way... You need to let go of this guilt.” Din relaxed slightly but didn’t look entirely convinced. Karga pressed on, still worried at the tone of this typically self-assured warrior. “Tell me - was she upset about it?”

Din answered quickly, “No, not at all.” He even managed a chuckle. “She was as kind and level-headed about it as she is about everything else. We talked about it the next morning. She’s not ready for that and likely won’t ever be… And I’m honestly indifferent. I’m curious what it could be like with someone I trust the way I do her. But I don’t need to satisfy that curiosity. I’m happy with our relationship as it is. If she ever changes her mind, then maybe it’s a possibility.”

“Well, Mando, despite its… oddness… your relationship is… enviable…. Men like us don’t often have the opportunity to be close to someone the way you two are, and I’m so glad you’ve found your version of happiness. It suits you.”

“Thanks, Greef. I never would have believed it before I met her, but it does suit me.”

—--------------------------

You stood under the hot shower at home in your own ship, trying to wash away your anxiety. Din had commed to let you know he was running late heading back from Nevarro and to meet him at the ship in a few hours. But that was five hours ago… and he hadn’t called since. Radio silence wasn’t really that unusual for him, communication of delays and altered plans often slipping his mind when piloting or focused on a job. You tried not to get too worked up about it, but as hours passed, you could no longer control the anxious thoughts that flooded your mind.

But now alone with your thoughts in the small shower stall, memories of your conversation with Fennec brought a new kind of angst - embarrassed self-consciousness over sharing the intimate details of your relationship. To be completely honest, though, it was nice to talk to someone about it and let it be known among friends what you and Din were to each other.

A sudden jolt took you out of your own head as you registered heavy footsteps approaching the fresher door. You hadn’t even heard the ramp, and Din would have announced his presence. Kriff, you had nothing but a thin towel at your disposal - no clothes and no weapons.

You braced yourself for a fight and held the threadbare towel closed at your chest, fingers in a death grip. The knob turned, and the door began to slowly open... And there stood your husband… turning redder by the second.

You let out the breath you’d been holding as your grip on the towel loosened enough to allow circulation to return to your fingers. “DANK FARRIK, Din! You nearly scared the life out of me! You’re lucky I didn’t have my blaster in here…” You paused your reprimand as you assessed the situation. “Why in the Maker’s name would you sneak up on me in the fresher?”

“I was… excited to see you…” he said guiltily, feeling terrible that he’d induced such a fearful reaction. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through. “It didn’t occur to me in the moment that you were obviously… naked in here…”

You didn’t really know what to say to that. All you could manage at that moment was a slightly lame, “It’s all right… We’ve seen all the parts before, so… no harm done… ”

“I just… missed you… Surprising you seemed like a good idea in the moment… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you… I’ll just go wait out here…”

You took a large step forward to grab his arm with your free hand as he turned back toward the bunk. Maker, this sweet man. “Din, come back in here.”

“Are you sure it’s all right? I should give you some privacy to get dressed first.”

You didn’t answer but instead turned off the shower as you tightened the towel a bit more and dragged him gently by the arm to join you in the small space, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his torso. His head fell into its usual position in the crook of your neck, hands caressing your back, and you just stood there together, relishing in being close to each other again after your brief separation. Finally, you spoke into his shirt, “I missed you, too… This is nice.”

His chest rumbled as he chuckled lightly, “Well, I’m still sorry. Seeing parts when you’re injured and actively dying is a bit different than walking in on you in the fresher. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“It’s really all right, Din. Let’s just make a habit of knocking, yes?” You kissed him firmly, all forgiven. “By the way, Fennec got me drunk and made me tell her all of the intimate details of our relationship…”

If he was upset, he certainly didn’t show it, as his chest rumbled again with laughter. “Well then I don’t feel badly about everything I told Cara and Greef over a few pints of spotchka.” You giggled at the mental image of your inebriated mandalorian spilling his heart out to his equally battle-hardened friends. “I’m not sure they entirely understand, but they did try. Apparently, you and I are quite the anomaly.”

“I believe the word Fennec used was ‘weird’.”

“Does it bother you, cyar’ika?” Din asked tentatively, “that our friends think our relationship is strange?”

“No, Din, not in the slightest. I am very much at peace with myself… and you…. It doesn’t matter that others find it odd. I never thought I could have this kind of happiness.” You smiled up at him, the soft moment interrupted by a sudden shiver shaking your still wet form.

“You really do make me so happy, Cyar’ika… I hope you know that… Come on, let’s get you warmed up.” He pulled away from you, careful to keep the thin towel in place, and guided you to the sleeping quarters, warm hands vigorously rubbing your shoulders as you went.

You assumed he’d leave you then, to give you privacy to put on your night clothes. But instead, he stayed and rifled through your drawers, clearly searching for something in particular. Finally, he found what he was looking for and turned to you triumphantly. Maker, it was the wool nightgown you’d inherited from your mother - ugly but insulating, something you’d kept mostly for sentimental reasons. And he remembered, all this time later.

As he pulled the thick cloth over your head, keeping eyes averted and hands safely by your shoulders as the towel fell to the floor, you were awestruck by the complete lack of awkwardness and discomfort in this vulnerable situation… a man dressing your nearly nude form, respectfully, and with no other intention except to make you warm… and you were fine with it.

You almost didn’t recognize yourself these days - completely comfortable with such intimate things that once would have struck anxiety and fear in your heart. With him, it was so easy… It made you wonder what other things might be possible… You would have to think on that a bit more…

Newfound comfort levels aside, you were feeling perfectly content with the current status quo - having established the validity of your unconventional but committed relationship with trusted friends and having reinforced its importance in your life and your happiness.

A piece of paper that would solve all of your problems - that’s what Fennec had called this marriage all that time ago when she first made the suggestion. Stars, it was so much more... As Din had once said, on the same day you’d consummated this marriage no less (Mandalorian style, anyway), it was truly the greatest blessing of your life.

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading!

Next chapter

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #queerplatonic relationship #newpathwrites #a marriage of convenience

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sawyerfalksthesilverfox · 2 years

Text

WIP: "Cherry Garcia"

[Below is a snippet of a David Rossi x Penelope Garcia work that I started, which started off as a very basic "fake dating" trope that quickly ran away from me once Dave and Garcia decided that wasn't enough for them.

It's currently abandoned, but who knows? I might pick this one back up, as I already have quite a bit written for it.]

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

"Cara mia," Rossi whispered softly, his beard tickling her cheek as he did so. Immediately her cheeks bloomed scarlet; he was so quiet and so, so genuinely affectionate-sounding that for a moment, Garcia believed him. For a breath, she forgot they were co-workers and nothing more and she whimpered as her traitorous, forgetful body responded to the seductive pet name. A shiver raced down her spine, as a throb echoed between her legs.

Then in her peripheral, she caught a glimpse of the other person in the room and was immediately slammed back into reality.

Activate theatre face! Break a leg! Show must go on! Show must go on!

"David!" she softly chided, with a purposeful glance to her right. "We're not alone..."

Rossi did his best not to laugh out loud at her performance. She made it look so natural, even tossing in a light swat and an embarrassed chuckle for effect. Her audience was appeased, smiling to herself and politely ducking out of the room.

Once they were in the clear, Garcia let out an exhale of relief. Rossi lifted his head from her shoulder with a smirk.

"David?" he chuckled.

"Sorry, I know, it sounded funny to me too! It feels weird calling you by your first name," Garcia huffed.

"Well yeah, for starters, Kitten, I go by "Dave." You made me have a weird flashback to my mama scolding me for breaking a window," Rossi said, pointedly raising his brows.

"Okay, well, I was being a naggy girlfriend because you were being naughty! It was perfectly in character!" Garcia hastily protested, as she crossed her arms.

"Oh yes, that reminds me... Don't think I didn't catch that," he warned gently, with a dark eyebrow cocked in amusement.

"That? Catch that? THAT what?" Garcia attempted, her eyes darting around.

"Your um, ahem... Actual reaction to my little pet name there. If it's too much, I can not-"

"No, it's good!" Garcia denied, shaking her head so hard that her earrings swished against her cheeks.

"But you..." Rossi started. "I don't want to blur the lines here. This is pretend, Penelope."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the bespectacled young woman insisted (as her stupid fidgeting hands betrayed her).

Rossi's hand gently reached out and stilled them before they mutilated the hem of her cardigan. "I'm a criminal profiler, honey. I can read you like a picture book."

Garcia gulped hard, and looked up at him through her lashes. Embarrassing! He could tell! But time was not on their side... She would just have to sort her confusing feelings later. (Maybe after her little arrangement with Rossi was over. Or maybe never! Denial denial denial!)

"Show must go on," she said, affecting the voice of a snobby actress and finishing with a swirling hand gesture.

"Okay, but just... If I do something that crosses the line, tell me," he insisted, with a look of worry that grounded Garcia and sucked all the air from her lungs. It crinkled his eyes, drew attention to the streaks of white at his temples. Dammit, why did he have to be so ridiculously handsome? Like all the time?

"You won't," Garcia said simply.

Rossi stared at her without flinching, probably debating on whether or not she was insane. But she wasn't, really; Really, she just trusted him that much. After all, he saved so many people on a weekly basis, and some of those times her life had been the one in danger.

"Rosso," said Rossi.

Despite the delicious roll of the consonants, Garcia was a bit confused.

"Rossi?" the young woman returned, thinking she hadn't heard him correctly.

"Nope, rosso. It means "red." However, given that it does bear a resemblance to my surname, it will suit our purposes well should one of your family members overhear it. They'll think they just misheard you, like talking about me or my family or something," her pretend boyfriend continued.

"Wait, why red- Oh. Oh!" Garcia responded, and mid-sentence it dawned on her what he meant. "Red" as in "stop." Rossi was still convinced they needed a safe word, which she found infinitely amusing given that they weren't in a sexual situation, which was what terms like "red" and "green" were commonly used for.

(Oh god, she was such a freak for knowing that!)

#rossi x garcia #david rossi #penelope garcia #criminal minds #fanfiction #sfw #age gap cw #age gap ship #age gap fic #fake dating trope #fake dating my beloved #sawyer falks fanfiction #sawyer snippet #sawyer falks the silver fox

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mando-forgive-me · 3 years

Text

Cara Mia

Kinktober

(Holiday Traditions and Period Sex with Javier Peña)

Requested by: @somesaltycorner (I veered from my original idea a little, hope you like it!)

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Tags: Oops all kinks, I wrote this all today I don’t even know, Halloween, Costumes, PDA, Language kink, hints of jealousy kink, Period sex, Period kink, Vaginal fingering, PiV, Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please), maybe a little religious kink??, Aftercare, This is so sweet and indulgent, As sweet as Halloween candy, Seriously you might get a sugar rush from this, No beta

“What do you think?” Javi steps into the bedroom just as you’re putting the finishing touches on your own costume. Your breath catches in your throat as your gaze meets his in the mirror.

He’s stunning. Dark hair slicked neatly back, mustache trimmed to pencil thinness, an unlit cigar clamped between his lips and dressed in a dapper pinstripe suit, he is a drop dead ringer for Gomez Addams.

You check your long black wig one last time before carefully turning to face him. “Mon amour,” you breathe.

“Oh, Tish. That’s French!” He clutches his chest as he finishes your quote, rolling his eyes theatrically and making you squeal with very un-Morticia-like open delight.

You eye him up and down, thrilling at every detail he’s painstakingly nailed, down to a silk handkerchief peeping from the pocket of his double breasted suit. “You look incredible.” It had taken a little convincing to get him to agree to dressing up with you (“A costume party? Really?”), but your idea for this particular couple’s costume had sold him and he’s clearly warmed up to the notion. “Thanks for agreeing to do this with me.”

“But of course, cara mia,” he croons, still in character, pulling you toward up and kissing your fingers, wrist, and arm passionately. In a spin worthy of a tango, he whirls you from his side until your fingertips are barely kissing, his eyes roving over you appreciatively as he drops the Gomez impression to grin. “Baby you look gorgeous.” His gaze lingers over the way your tight black gown clings to every curve, the deep V of dress splitting nearly to your navel.

Heat blooms in your cheeks and you cover your cramping belly self-consciously. Despite your elegant gown and impeccable makeup, you feel bloated and somehow visibly hormonal. Seeing that hesitation in your expression, Javi frowns, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. “What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You try to shrug it off but your perceptive partner is having none of it. He crosses his arms and pins you with a silent stare until you sigh, resigned. “Ok fine it’s just- my period came early and I’m not feeling so hot.” You’re mortified to feel the beginnings of tears prickling at this admission and swallow the lump rising in your throat. Fucking mood swings.

He shrugs. “We could just stay in.”

“What? No!” Your protest is genuine. Despite feeling a very strong urge to curl up on the couch with a heating pad, rather than hand out candy before heading out to the annual costume party, you don’t actually want to miss out on the Halloween festivities. “I just don't feel super sexy right now and I wish I were doing the costume more justice, that’s all.”

Javi snorts at that and he looks pointedly at your costume. “Bullshit. I’m going to have to spend half my night keeping people’s hands off you and the other half trying very hard not to pull you off the dance floor so we can find a broom closer to fuck in. Not sexy, Christ.” His muttering gets you to crack a reluctant smile.

He trails one finger down the deep open V of your gown before looking pleadingly into your eyes. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in? We could just hand out candy and watch scary movies on the couch.” His touch suggests he has plenty of other ideas on how the evening could be spent.

Your spirits raised once more, you smile and shake your head. “Oh we’re handing out candy, and maybe we’ll watch movies later but in between we are definitely hitting that party. I can’t pass up the opportunity to dance with you dressed like this.”

Javi gives in with only a bit more of the big brown eyes routine. The two of you pass out what seem like bucketloads of candy to the neighborhood kids, all while you ask them questions about their costumes and Javi leans against the doorway behind you, glaring silently at the few dads who struggle to keep their eyes to themselves. Eventually, when the candy runs out and the last of the costumed trick or treaters have traipsed down the jack o’lantern-lit path, it’s time for some more… adult fun.

The party, a surprisingly lavish and well-decorated affair hosted by your workplace, is heaving with people in various stages of inebriation by the time you arrive. Somehow, seeing all your coworkers in their own glamorous, sexy, elaborate costumes have you doubting yourself once more. Maybe you should have stayed in, after all.

As if sensing your shifting mood, Javi throws himself into his role as your own personal hype man with enthusiasm Gomez himself would be proud of. He spends the evening practically wrapped around you, kissing your neck, splaying his broad palm over your belly like your own personal heating pad, even dancing with you. The more you relax, the more he leans into his role as your worshipful spouse until the two of you are both practically swooning for each other. It’s a relief when the party begins to wind down and you’re able to slip away to head home.

_____

You kick the door shut behind you, reaching blindly for the light switch as Javi’s mouth descends on yours. “I’ve been waiting all fucking night to do that,” he groans against your lips.

Twining your arms behind his neck to keep him close, you slant your lips over his and chase the exhilaration of that kiss. “Is that all you were waiting for?”

The grin Javi flashes you in the near dark of the hallway is practically feral and he growls a simple “no” before seizing you around the waist for another fierce, hungry kiss. The two of you leave a trail of discarded clothing behind you as you stumble and laugh your way down the hallway, sharing breathless kisses and greedy touches, pausing more than once against a wall or doorway as you go.

By the time you’ve made it to the bed, you’re practically bare and belatedly remembering that you’re on your period. “Shit, Javi I’m sorry. I forgot.”

He shrugs, utterly unfazed. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you. “We could just put on sweats and watch a movie. Or…”

Bending his head to capture your lips once more, Javi sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you down to straddle his lap. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, his hands gliding smoothly down your back, circling your hips, cupping your ass as he licks deeper into your mouth. He kisses you until you’re dizzy with it, your lips tingling and your eyes half-closed as you prompt “or…?” in a breathless whisper.

“Or,” Javi answers, nuzzling your cheek affectionately, “I get some towels, lay you down, and help you get rid of those cramps. I hear orgasms can do wonders. What do you say, querida?”

He waits patiently while you squirm indecisively. On the one hand, the idea makes you feel extremely vulnerable. Sure, he’s seen you naked, hugged you while you cried, even held your hair and rubbed your back that night you’d sworn off tequila forever. This though- this seems like a whole new layer of intimacy between you and Javi.

On the other hand-

“Yes,” you nod, stealing another kiss for courage before you let yourself back out. “Just give me a few minutes, ok?”

By the time you return, face scrubbed clean of makeup, Javi’s not only laid down towels but lit a few candles. The flickering light is soft and golden and the thoughtfulness of the gesture makes your heart clench with love for him.

Javi, down to a pair of silky black boxers, stands waiting for you like a broad-shouldered, tan-skinned god and your breath catches at the sight. He reaches for you, one hand outstretched, and tugs you down the lay on the bed beside him.

It’s not long before you’re clinging to him again, your nails digging into his scalp while his mouth devours yours. Javi laves your breasts with kisses, his hands kneading, his mouth hot and eager as he consumes you. Any thought of shyness fades as his teeth scrape over the underswell of your breast or his lips pull at your tender nipples. They’re sensitive, hard and swollen already so when his tongue grazes one you gasp and shudder, needing more. You pull him closer, arch your back to push yourself deeper into his mouth. “Javi, please,” you beg, needing the relief only he can offer.

He does, latching on at once, eyes fixed on yours, the wet, insistent pull and suck of his greedy mouth setting you on fire. It’s pure instinct when your thighs part for him, your earlier reticence forgotten as Javi moves between your legs. He brushes your thigh with the backs of his knuckles, setting you shivering in anticipation. “Let me touch you, querida.” It’s an order, a plea, a supplication. You bite your lip but nod.

“Need to hear you say it,” Javi purrs, catching your legs in his firm grip as you move to close them, shifting, embarrassed, on the pillow. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you mewl, covering your face in embarrassment. This seems wrong, profane, him touching you like this but gods, you crave it.

“Then you need to tell me, cariño.” You don’t know if his insistence is genuine concern over you giving your consent for something so new, or him torturing you by making you say it out loud (likely both, the bastard), but he’s unwavering and you finally relent.

“Fuck, fine, I want you to touch me Javi. I want your fingers your- your cock, anything, please.”

“Good girl,” he hums and fuck, you can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice, his eagerness to please you. The instant his fingers make contact with your overheated pussy you gasp. “Shh, it’s ok baby. I’ve got you. We’ll go slow.” He strokes you slowly, gently, gauging your reactions. When you squirm as his fingers brush your too-sensitive clit, he eases a finger inside you instead. Your tense muscles ease as he rubs soothing strokes over your inner walls, adding a second finger when he knows you can take it.

“You ever let anyone else do this for you?”

You spread your legs wider, rutting against his slippery fingers playing over your cunt. “No, Javi, only you.”

“Damn straight,” he huffs proudly. He splays you open to rub patient, barely there circles over your clit, increasing the pressure only when you arch your back to chase the feeling. “Does that feel good?”

“Mmmm,” you hum in contented agreement. It comes out as a wordless sigh as you sink deeper into the mattress, submitting yourself gladly to his ministrations. His fingers curl and rub and push, massaging gently but insistently behind your clit. Even your cramps are easing, tense muscles soothed by his tender, assured fingers. Just as you’re about to lift your head and ask him how he’s so goddamn good at this, you gasp as a sudden orgasm overtakes you.

“That’s it, beautiful,” he murmurs, stroking you through it. “Had enough?”

You raise your head to glare at him, his brow raised and a smirk gracing those plush lips, and he chuckles at your indignation. “Just checking, querida.”

Javi cleans his hands using a damp washcloth he’d placed on the nightstand earlier, apparently completely unruffled by the red staining his fingers. Before you can start to feel self conscious again he’s cupping your jaw tenderly and kissing you slowly, deeply, passionately.

You reach down to ease him out of his boxers, but not before stroking him through the silky fabric, marveling all over again at just how thick his cock is, how perfectly shaped- like you were made to take him and he to fuck you. Javi drops his forehead to yours and ruts against your hand and fuck, even through the thin material you know every vein and ridge of him, can already imagine how good he will feel sinking inside you.

“Want you so bad, baby,” he confesses while you stroke him with one hand and run your nails through his hair with the other.

“Even now?”

“Especially now.” The confession takes your breath away. You’d thought he was being incredibly sweet, or maybe just more mature than the other men you’d been with but this-

“Javi,” you ask with a smile curling your voice. “Are you getting off on this?”

His hips stutter for a moment and he groans. You wonder if it’s more from shame or lust- or possibly both. He nods without saying a word but you tsk sharply.

“Need to hear you say it.” You teasingly echo his words from before, trying not to enjoy suddenly having the upper hand too much.

You can practically feel Javi’s glare as he sighs. “Fuck. Yes, ok? It’s- hot.”

“Oh, I think we both know you can do better than that.” You push his boxers the rest of the way off and guide him to your wet heat until he’s pressed against you, hard and ready and a breath away from slipping inside you. You hold him on that precipice, your fingers curled around his shaft, rubbing yourself slowly against his tip- letting him feel how hot you are for him, how wet.

Javi makes a strangled, broken noise deep in his throat before he finds his words again. “It’s just so- taboo. Like I’m not supposed to want you this way, all messy and raw, but that only makes me want you more. Let me fuck you baby, please. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

You don’t reply, not in words. Instead you raise your hips just high enough to begin to swallow his cock. Muttering in Spanish, a curse or a prayer, you aren’t sure which, Javi takes over from there.

Even with your earlier release, you’re tight as Javi plunges into you and he hisses at the sensation. He takes it slow, giving both of you time to adjust as he fills you, as your blazing cunt nearly chokes his swollen length. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, finally beginning to move in shallow, probing thrusts. “You’re so fucking wet.”

It’s true, you realize- of course you are. Between the blood smearing your thighs and your orgasm earlier your channel is slick, audibly squelching as he pushes deeper, faster, harder. It’s filthy and wrong and-

“Feels so fucking good,” you whimper, canting your hips to match his rhythm.

“Yeah?” Javi picks up the pace, fucking you properly now, making you both gasp and grunt with the force of it. Angling his hips to thrust deep, he pushes your knees down until you’re howling as every stroke of his cock hits something absolutely devastating inside you.

“Oh fuck Javi yes, don’t stop don’t stop,” you keen, mouth stretched wide as your body shakes with every thrust. He’s making your fucking teeth rattle, the bed frame shaking against the wall, both of you slick with sweat- among other things.

“You like that?” It’s a rhetorical question ground through clenched teeth. Javi knows damn well you like it, can feel your cunt pulsing around his cock as he spears into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

You can feel yourself teetering on that edge once more, sense that Javi is holding himself back, using every ounce of restraint not to spill himself inside you then and there and oh, you can’t wait for that control to snap. “I’m gonna come, Javier,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re gonna make me come again and when I do I want to feel you fill me up.”

Javi’s thrusts into you harder, faster, pushing you up the mattress with the force of it. “Fucking do it,” he snarls. “My sweet, filthy girl. Come on this cock right - fucking - now!”

And oh gods, you do. You soak his cock as the two of you come- his teeth buried in your shoulder, your nails digging into his back. It’s overpowering, the sheer sensation sending you flying, pleasure pulsing through you in overlapping waves. For a long moment, the two of you lie tangled together, breathing ragged, bodies molten, seemingly melded together after that display of love and passion.

You cling to Javi, dimly conscious of his lips dragging kisses over your forehead, the bereft feeling as he pulls out, him swiping another clean washcloth over your thighs. You drift off a little then, and when you rouse it’s to the sound of water hitting tile and the feeling of Javi’s strong arms lifting you up. “Come on baby, quick shower and then we can sleep.”

You drift through the shower in a haze of blissed out, drowsy pleasure, though you pull yourself together enough to shampoo Javi’s hair after he’s done the same for you, and to knead his shoulders while he gives you lazy, open-mouthed kisses beneath the pounding spray.

Some time later, you both tumble back into bed, blissfully boneless, utterly spent, and smelling faintly of his soap. Javi curls himself around you from behind, one arm slung over your waist.

“How’re you feeling now?” His voice is deep, a low, sleepy rumble right behind your ear.

You snuggle back against him, careful to keep your wet hair off his face. “So, so good,” you mumble.

“Good.” There’s a pause then, and you almost think he’s fallen asleep before he adds “goodnight, cara mia.”

“Goodnight, mon amour.”

Kinktober Taglist

@teejaygee @prettylilhalforc @keeper0fthestars

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x F!Reader #Javier Peña x Fem!Reader #Javier Peña x Reader #Fic #My fic

177 notes · View notes

ikefool · 3 years

Note

Can I request headcanons of the MC comforting the suitors (Leonardo, Theo, Jean and Mozart) because they had a terrible nightmare?

Sorry this took me so long but I was in school and also depressed lmao. Anyway all is good now and I hope you like these angsty boyes, now I really wanna hug me some vamps -𓆏

Leonardo:

* You’ve been sleeping in Leonardo’s room for only a short while now. You had fallen asleep while watching him work by candlelight at his desk. He had shushed you gently about an hour later when you stirred as he got into bed, and you hadn’t woken up again until well into the night.

* At first you don’t know why you’re awake, but then Leonardo groans again. It’s a long, drawn out groan of pain, and he’s panting like he’s just ran a marathon. The laces of his shirt are open to reveal his heaving chest and his hair clings to his forehead, his expression drawn.

* You shift anxiously into a seating position and try to wake him gently. “Leonardo?” He shakes his head and groans as he slaps your hand away, rolling himself into a tangle of sheets. “Leo?” You ask, now wide awake as you shake him more firmly. He nearly smacks his forehead right into your face whe he sits up with a start.

* At first you just sit there, half on his lap while you wait for him to come back into himself properly. You brush his sweat-soaked bangs from his face, smooth out his skewed cotton shirt while he pants gently and grips your shoulders firmly, eyes slowly focusing on you. You’ve never seen him so tense and worried, and as you gently caress his face and search his golden eyes he relaxes into your touch and heaves a great, shaking sigh.

* “Cara...” he murmurs, swallowing harshly, then chuckles self-depricatingly “Sorry for waking you.” You shake your head with a frown and he leans heavily into you until you both thump genly back onto the bed. “You alright?” he murmurs into your hair, head held close to his chest where you can hear his heart rate slowing down. “I should be asking you that” you chide. He chuckles again, more sincerely this time “Nah, you’re here, no? I’m alright now.” You press your lips against his collarbone and gently trace patterns on his back until he falls asleep once more.

Theo:

* He doesn’t move much in his sleep, so when you wake suddenly from the sharp pain of an elbow to the ribs you spring wide awake in an instant. Theo is jerking like he’s fighting his sheets in his sleep, and you barely have time to be concerned before he wakes himself up with a gasp of your name.

* “Theo?” You ask, unsure, holding your side absently. His eyes flit all over the room, taking his surroundings in frantically and then finally landing on you. His brows are set into a deep frown, and you hover anxiously next to him, not knowing if you should approach him just yet.

* “You’re hurt.” he finally rasps. He extends an arm and you exhale as you go willingly into his embrace. His hands are strong and firm as he checks your face, your arms, scanning his eyes over you to make sure you’re alright. “No, Theo. That was just a dream, see?” You try to pull away to show him you’re alright but he instantly tightens his hold on you, you give up with a soft grunt and smile up at him reassuringly. “I’m whole, I’m fine.”

* He eyes you, suspicious. Then rubs a thumb gently over your ribs. “Oh, that?” you chuckle “Theo, you know I’ve ran into the counter harder than that.” That pulls a half smile from him, and you lean in to kiss his cheek reassuringly, reveling in the pouting blush that results from it.

* “Clumsy little Hondje” He mutters, raising a hand to gently ruffle your hair and then trail it back down against your neck and shoulders in a soft caress. His breathing is evening out, and you pull him back down to the bed close to you. “There, if you hug me close like this you won’t have any room to elbow me” He glares down at you, but the effect is dampened by the sweet kiss he gives you in apology before tucking you close to his side.

Jean:

* You run into the room, heart pounding wildly. You had been just outside in the hallway when Jean had started screaming. A rasping, pained howl that sent you into immediate panic. You had burst into his room, running to his bed and calling his name in worry.

* Before you even know what is happening, Jean is awake and grasping your arms roughly in his strong hands. His eyes instantly rage with cold fury, but his expression morphs from hatred to terror in a second. “Mademoiselle?” His eyes widen and he quickly turns his head to hide his scar. “I told you not to come in here.” His tone is sharp, but his voice tremors slightly “I could have hurt you”.

* He seems to be preparing to either lecture you or kick you out, but stops and swallows his next words when you expression crumples into a teary frown. He seems at a loss as you step forward and hold onto his shoulders, looking at him for a moment before practically falling onto him.

* He accepts the hug, willing to let you hold him but confused as to why you would want to. “Mademoiselle?” he whispers again. “Oh Jean, it sounded like you were in so much pain.” He winces, embarrassed, but still raises his hands to rub your back tenderly. “Oh, just look at me” you huff suddenly, rubbing your eyes pointedly as you step away from the embrace “I should be the one comforting you, not crying into your shoulder like a weak little child.”

* “It was only a dream” Jean frowns, clenching his shaking hands onto the sheets “I’ve had them before, I can deal with them on my own.” It was the wrong thing to say, because your gaze turns sad again. Ignoring the painful pounding of his heart, he reaches out for your hand, taking comfort in the soft skin under his calloused fingers. “And I don’t think you weak.” He adds. You smile at him brigtly, and he forgets the burn of fire on his skin when you reach up to trace the line of his jaw.

Mozart:

* You stir gently awake, feeling Mozart’s gaze on you even before you open your eyes. “Sorry to wake you.” he murmurs “I just had to...” He trails off, long fingers trailing from your ribs, down over your waist and settling on your leg, where he rubs back and forth with his thumb for a quiet moment.

* “Are you okay?” you yawn, shifting closer so you can cuddle into his side. He holds you tighter and nuzzles into your neck, nodding against your skin. “Bad dream?” You ask, he nods again. “Shh” You soothe, gently and sleepily threading your fingers into his soft hair as he heaves out a relieved sigh.

* “We’re in the mansion, I’m safe, you’re safe... I won’t let you get hurt, even while you’re asleep.” He huffs against you, indignant. “I’m the one that’s supposed to protect you.” You smile and scratch his scalp gently, despite his tone, you can feel him relax around you. “There’s nothing wrong with being taken care of once in a while, Wolf. ‘Sides, we protect each other, right?”

* He scoffs, apparently almost back to his usual self. “What will you protect me from, huh? With those weak arms of yours.” “Wah-?!” You stare up at his mischievous smirk, he’s teasing you again. You pout “Well, see if I dust your room again.” You ignore his grumble of ‘I manage dusting just fine’ “-or bugs! I protect you from bugs all the time. Also, for someone so protective of his sheet music you sure do leave it lying around a lot, half of your notes would have flown out to the garden by now if I- hmp!”

* You deflate against him as he takes your chin in his hand and pulls you into a deep kiss. “Never leave me.” He murmurs, surprisingly vulnerable. Ah- so that’s what this was about. “Never” you whisper against his lips. “I’ll love you until you tire of me.” Instead of chuckling like you expect him to. he inhales sharply and pulls you into a kiss once more, his eyebrows furrowing as he melts into you. “You’ll just have to love me forever, then.” You have no problem with that at all.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Consider, mayhaps, leaving feedback?

Taglist: @juminly @thesirenwashere

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo #ikevamp jean #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire fic #ikevamp hc #ikemen vampire headcanons #a thing that i wrote #hurt/comfort #nightmares #ikevamp theo x reader #ikevamp jean x reader #ikevamp mozart x reader #ikevamp leonardo x reader #Headcanon #ikevamp headcanon #ikevamp headcanons

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

Text

Spandex and Smiles

I blame @aesnawan for beginning this entire fiasco of an AU based on this idea, and @alliterative-albatross for enabling us both with the most perfect headcannons. Is this edited? Nope. Beta’d? Nada. A complete mess I just had to get out of my head? Absolutely.

I randomly tagged it to a Detective!AU I’m playing around with so who knows where this will take us. Anyway, on with spandex covered Cyclist!Din.

AU Masterlist

Word Count: 1,200

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

“You finally going to say more than two words to her this time?”

The harsh exhale that left Din wasn’t in exertion as one might think as he easily kept pace on the uphill climb known ominously as ‘Heart Attack Hill’ to anyone who bothered doing cardio this side of town. A two mile stretch with a constantly steep gradient, it was the biggest hurdle on the route before the more relaxing downhill cycle back into town.

No, Din exhaled in exasperation as Fennec shot him a wolfish grin from beneath her helmet, barely a sheen of sweat on her skin and peddling much too easily for Din’s liking.

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a ‘mind your own business’, Shand,” he bit out, his thighs burning with the repetitive push of every peddle. He could feel the tension in his quads and hamstrings, the muscles working hard against the resistance gravity attempted to push on him. His lungs burned and his skin was slick with sweat beneath his gear.

God, it was fucking roasting this morning.

There was no way of escaping the heat this time of year, not even at seven thirty in the morning and momentarily, Din lost himself in the thought of the shower he would have once he got back home after dropping the kid off at day-care.

Fennec merely threw back her head and laughed, releasing the handlebar with one hand to give him a light punch to his shoulder and Din wondered aimlessly if he should stop being so competitive. After all, Fennec was the only one who kept pace with him at this part of the cycle, the others falling behind to a slower speed as exhaustion crept closer. Maybe, he would get more peace if he slowed down and let their chatter drown out his existence where he would mercifully be left to his thoughts and Grogu’s quiet gurgles and nonsensical, half-formed words from his child seat.

But then he remembered who made up the rest of this ragtag group of cyclists he had somehow found himself training with every morning and he scraped the idea entirely. No, Fennec was the least of his worries when it came to teasing.

One passing comment that he cycled to Cara at the office and suddenly he had a cycling partner, which turned into a cycling trio, which turned into a certifiable cycling circus. He still envied Boba for flatly refusing to join a team of any kind even when his own partner – Fennec – decided to test all their mettle by joining since she was a literal machine, her endurance unfathomable and awe-inspiring.

“You teasing Din about his crush on teacher again, Fen?” he heard Cara call up from behind. The two were incorrigible together. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a moment’s peace with them all working together in the same office.

Din sighed, his grip tightening on the handlebars of his bike.

That would teach him to tell them that his kids’ new day-care centre was on the way. Instead of continuing on to their own homes, like normal people, this motley crew of spandex covered idiots decided they wanted to wait at the school gates as he brought Grogu to the door before making their way home.

We’ll watch your bike!

“I usually bring it in with me.”

We want to say bye to the baby!

“Say bye now.”

I just really want to watch your ass in those tight shorts. It’s enough to give even me bi-panic.

“Fuck off, Cara.”

Suffice to say, none of them left. Which made Din overly aware of his every movement as he pulled off the small, bright green, frog shaped backpack from over one shoulder. Grogu sat comfortably in the crook of his free arm and squealed joyfully when he saw where he was, his small fists slapping onto the sweaty fabric against Din’s chest and shoulder.

Even if the slaps felt feather-light to Din, he knew his son was strong and it filled him with pride. Then the colourfully decorated door - filled with painted handprints and large colourful rainbows – swung open and suddenly, Din was filled with something distinctly different to pride as you wandered out with a bright, disarmingly beautiful smile on your face when you saw them.

For the first week or so, Din had been met by the owner of the day-care, who kept him updated on how Grogu was settling in. It looked like the bottomless toyboxes and the nutritious meals this place claimed to provide wasn’t the only reason he was excited to come here every morning.

When you lifted your eyes to meet his that first day, Din blushed. He could damn well feel the heat rise to his cheeks when you smiled at him and offered him your name. God, you were pretty. No wonder he way paying an arm and a leg for this place, with people like you taking care of his son.

“Mr. Djarin, isn’t it?” you had ventured kindly when Din made no effort to respond. He cleared his throat and nodded, your eyes softening at the corners as your smile turned gentle.

“Well, Mr. Djarin why don’t you let me take this little monster off your hands, we have a big day planned for the sandbox, don’t we?” you directed the question to Grogu who babbled on excitedly and reached a small hand out towards you.

“Uh—sure,” he responded lamely, inwardly cringing at how rough his voice sounded, harsh against the backdrop of children’s laughter and your sweet smile. He turned to look at Grogu, equally dark eyes staring back at him and his own gaze softened as affection bloomed in his chest,

“Be good,” he muttered before letting you take the kid into your own arms, the little boy nestling his cheek happily against your shoulder and popping his thumb into his mouth as he snuggled close to you. Din ran a hand carelessly through his hair and winced a little at the sweat-soaked strands; not the best first impression.

“Say bye bye, Grogu,” you spoke softly, your voice light as you waved your own hand to show him, Grogu immediately waving to him and the display made his gut clench, “see you after work.”

I, uh- yeah,” he nodded once, and held out the froggy backpack to you before he forgot and walked off still holding it. You took it with a small ‘thank you’ and he grunted in response.

He offered you a simple nod of thanks before tucking tail; turning to make his way back to the nosy group standing around the gate, his cheeks flushing hotter when he grabbed his helmet from Cara and pointedly ignored her smirk.

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one admiring you ass,” she teased with a clap to the back of his shoulder, and he knew he would never hear the end of it.

Two weeks later, standing outside the gates of the same day-care, they still hadn’t let it go and he was beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of murdering his colleagues.

Maybe then he could go back to cycling in peace again.

Randomly tagging my Stitches darlings but feel free to let me know if you want me to stop tagging you!

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @the-scandalorian @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @ladyjenny19 @justanotherblonde23 @alliterative-albatross

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorin fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin

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pedrosbish · 3 years

Text

the king

summary: the new ruler of Mand’alor, Din Djarin, needs to marry in order to be fully accepted as the king and you happen to catch his eye (*fem!reader)

warnings: maybe a lil angsty, slight nudity

word count: 1.2k

CHAPTER ONE

His head lulled to the side, the helmet covering his face feeling heavier than usual ever since he had taken it off in front of others, something that no true Mandalorian should ever do unless in the presence of his clan. Eyes fluttering as the advisor discussed what the next steps were since Din Djarin was now the king of Mand’alor, after accidentally winning the Dark Saber in the fight against Moff Gideon.

The buzzing weapon heavy in his hand as he tried to give it to Bo-Katan, the rightful ruler of the throne in his eyes, Gideon’s cruel laugh ringing throughout the silent room and Din’s head as he told everyone that he was now the king.

He didn't want it. Not when he was about to risk his life, risk everything, for the little green child that was slumped over at the switch board for the doors, eyes drooping in tiredness after fighting against the bonds trapping his hands and his powers, but still bright as he looked up at him.

His predicament had been completely forgotten, pushed to the back of his head as the fists pounding on the door ceased and the Child sat up with new energy, ears perking as a small hand was placed on the screen showing the Jedi entering the ship, green lightsaber at his side, whizzing through the air as it cut through the Dark Troopers.

Din remembers the heaviness of his heart as the Jedi managed to get through Gideon’s defences, stood in front of him and beckoned for Grogu to come with him.

He doesn't remember taking off his helmet and the consequences that could arise after it but he does remember the lump in his throat as a green hand was placed on his face, comforting words leaving his lips. He remembers watching as the Child was picked up by the Jedi who smiled sadly at Din, leaving him behind, Grogu watching with those wide eyes and ears perked as the doors closed.

He always thought that when the time came to say goodbye, he would be able to. But watching his son leave had been the most difficult thing that he had ever experienced, holding himself back as he saw the Starfighter go past and trying to hold back the tears as he curled his hand tightly around Gideon’s arm, ignoring the cry of pain as he lead him to Fett’s ship.

The others had been silent as Din went to his room, Cara patting his shoulder as he nodded stiffly at her, his helmet and the Dark Saber in either hand. As soon as the door had slid shut behind him, he had fallen to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks as the visor of his helmet stared back.

It hadn't taken long for Bo-Katan to knock on his door, announcing that they were heading for Mand’alor, warning him of the things to expect. After all, he wasn't the ruler they were expecting or wanted.

The advisor coughs and Din’s head snaps up at the sound, nodding his head at the expectant look on her face. A sigh leaves her but she bows slightly, something that he still hasn't gotten used to, and leaves, stepping to the side as Paz Vizsla, his newly appointed al’verde of the army, steps in, his large frame taking up most of the doorway.

“King,” he says as he bows his head, visor turned to the floor, before he stands up straight. “The girls are here.”

Din’s sigh is clipped, irritation coursing through his veins as his hand curls into a tight fist on his thigh before nodding his head, motioning at the door for them to be brought in.

A large part of the Mand’alor religion revolved around the importance of aliits and raising foundlings and as king, Din was expected to find a queen, his riduur, to sit on the vacant throne next to his, a lot smaller than his but covered with more intricate patterns. It was seen as part of his duty to the people of Mand’alor to find a wife to rule by his side and their child to take over the throne after his death.

He had only been king for around a week when the news had been broken to him and he still hasn't been able to fully accept it, his mind too focused on trying to be a good ruler to his people. His advisors has been gathering and preparing some of the best women in the tribes for him to meet and ultimately pick one (his advisor had whispered to him that it would be viewed as perfectly acceptable if he wanted another riduur, the idea making Din scowl at him under his helmet).

He watches as Paz nods stiffly, calling for the girls to be brought in and his eyes track them as they file in, lining up next to each other, the flimsy robes barely covering them. A few of them are brave enough to look up at him in his throne, a few glance nervously at each other and a few barely take their eyes off of the ground.

“Please remove the robes.”

This part always has Din’s cheeks heating underneath his helmet and his heart plummeting as the girls drop the robes from their shoulders, goosebumps spreading across their skin in the chilly room and at the embarrassment they must feel. He never lets it carry out for long, pretending to look over them all before nodding his head and averting his gaze as they cover themselves again, bow, and exit the throne room.

“I need to clear my head.” He announces and Paz bows, watching as he stands from the throne. “I heard that they have put the market up again this week.”

~~~

Din allows a smile to spread across his lips as he walks through the market place even though Paz follows closely behind and helmets turn in his direction, each bowing as he passes. The buzz continues, however, and in that moment he feels elated that they continue even in the presence of their king.

The laughter of foundlings has his head turning to the side and he watches as a red ball rolls toward him, coming to a stop under his foot. A small boy runs up to him, wide eyes recognising him as he stare upwards before glancing down to the ball. He smiles as Din crouches and picks it up, holding it out to the boy who shyly thanks him before taking it and running back to his friends, laughing the way back.

He stands up and is about to say something to Paz but the words die on his lips as he looks to the group of foundlings huddled closely together as they surround you on the grass. Helmet-less, smile wide and hair shining in the sun as they place flowers into it, the stems obviously stabbing your scalp but you continue to encourage them, bending your head down for the shortest child to put a yellow flower in your hair.

His heart leaps at the interaction before him and he glances at Paz who coughs, head motioning to the other citizens who watch him looking at you. A frown settles on his lips as a hand on his arm drags him away gently, glancing back at you to see you looking at him.

In the safety of the palace, he turns to Paz who looks at him pointedly even behind the helmet, and tells him that he wants the guards to bring you to him in the morning.

He wants you to be his riduur.

~~~

Mando’a words: riduur (spouse/wife or husband/partner), aliits (clan)

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #king!din #mandalor!din

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darthspideys · 3 years

Text

by your side

-- din djarin x jedi! reader

-- the reader I use in this is the same as the one in my din series antithesis (it’s the pinned post on my blog if you want to read it) but you don’t have to read it to understand this one

-- SPOILERS FOR THIS WEEKS EPISODE, like tons of spoilers, the whole thing is a spoiler

-- summary: you help Din complete his mission to get the coordinates to find the child, but when he comes back you can tell something is wrong

When everyone else has given up their very good reasons for not being able to get past the scanner, Din looks at you. You don’t say anything at first, because you think he’s just looking at you until he can think of another option, but when he keeps looking you realize he thinks that you are a viable option. For starters, you don’t want to do it, because seeing stormtroopers of any kind fills you with a sudden urge to bash their heads in which would not be helpful in scenario and secondly, you are definitely not making it past the scanner. Suddenly, as the staring from Din continues, everyone else starts to look at you too. “I can’t do it either,” You make eye contact with every person in the group as you say it, “I killed the emperor, I am definitely in the system.”

All eyes turn away from you at the same time except for Mayfield who narrows his eyes and takes a posture you are not happy with. “I thought Luke Skywalker killed the emperor.”

Short answer: he did. Long answer: “I was there,” You cross your arms over your chest, “I helped.” He looks like he doesn’t believe you and suddenly it’s not just the stormtroopers head you're getting the urge to bash in. He opens his mouth to say something else, but you pull your lightsaber and ignite it suddenly, holding it in your hand absentmindedly just to remind him who he’s talking to.

Din puts his hand out in front of you, the armor brushing against your chest. “Okay,” He says, looking pointedly at you in the way that he does the child when it eats something it shouldn’t. “I’ll go.”

Now everyone’s looking at him, including you. Mayfield speaks up again, “I’m a smooth talker but I don’t think they’ll let in a Mandalorian in full armor-”

“-good thing I won’t be wearing it then.”

And so the plan emerges: Mayfield and Din go and hijack the transport with help from Cara and you, then get into the refinery and get the coordinates you need. Easier said than done, as always but the little team that Din has managed to put together since you left Tython is actually impressive in it’s own way. You’re used to working in groups, but this is something completely different more like a mashing together of a lot of different people than a melded unit. Of course you know that this is the best you're gonna get to a team to take down Gideon and get the baby back, which is what you're going to need if you even want to stand a chance.

Taking the transport is easy, and surprisingly nothing even comes close to blowing up. Din changes into the stormtrooper armor as Mayfield babbles on about something from the back of the vehicle. Din comes out from around the corner, decked in that protective stormtrooper armor and you can tell how uncomfortable he is just by watching. The way he walks shows that he’s used to the heaviness of beskar, and probably the security that comes from wearing it. He’s exposed, even if his face isn’t.

He looks at you for a long time when he hands you the bag that contains his armor. You take it into your arms, think for a little too long about how heavy it is, and then reach over to squeeze his hand. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you, and you want to know what he’s thinking but all you can feel is that determination to get the child back. That’s all you’ve been able to feel from him since Gideon took the child, that determination to get it back, not any grief, not any fear just the determination masking all of it, and that worries you. “We’re going to finish this,” You tell him, “You’re gonna get the coordinates and then we’re going to make Gideon eat fucking concrete.”

He laughs, “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, I mean like slam his face into a wall or something,” You try to stop yourself from smiling, “I am trying to be supportive here, this is a very serious situation and I am being supportive.”

“I don’t think that you're physically capable of being serious in any situation.”

You roll your eyes, “I fought in a war, Mando.” You use the nickname you used to call him to make your point. “I am capable of a lot of things you’re not keenly aware of.”

“Are you lovebirds done yet?” Mayfield says, “We’re still on the clock here.”

You flip him off without even looking in his direction. He laughs from behind you, and Din shakes his head before walking off to join the other man. You stand by Cara’s side as they take off in the transport, and then head off to join Fennec at the next position. You both walk through the brush in silence, until suddenly a feeling jolts through your body. You freeze, and almost keep walking but then suddenly it hits you: Din.

Something is wrong. You look out over the edge of the small cliff you’re standing next to, and see something small zoom off in the direction of the transport, and then something else of similar size at the same speed. You don’t wait before you start running, Cara calls your name but suddenly you are just rushing to get to the transport as fast as you can. You’re trying to get down the cliff without falling on a large rock when you hear the first explosion. It stops you in your tracks, and almost makes you fall down a very steep incline. You stand there for a moment consumed with the feeling of independent doom that’s been guiding your decision making thus far. A couple of seconds pass and another explosion sounds out and shakes the ground beneath your feet. You start off again.

Finally you can see the transport to your left off the side of the cliff, and you can see what it’s fighting against. There are two hovercrafts full of pirates trying to get onto the top of the transport, trying to get to the substance inside to blow it up most likely. You can make out a small figure on the top of the transport, and you know it’s Din. Somehow you have to get down there, or both of them and the mission might be a goner.

You take a couple of steps back, and repeat a mantra in your head: rock, tree, transport. Rock, tree, transport, and if you mess up on any of those then you’ll be dead which is something you're trying your best not to think about as you run and jump off the edge of the cliff. You make it onto the rock, and then use the force to guide you to the top of the transport.

As soon as you land a pirate takes a swing at your head. You duck, fast as lightning, and then stand up and kick him off the side of the transport and onto the ground below. For some reason that only makes the rest of the pirates angerier, one charges at you and you duck again, rolling right under him. This inadvertently causes that one to pick Din as his new target, a fact which you realize a little too late.

“I got it!” Din yells over the sound of the vehicle and the pirates growling.

You turn your attention to the pirate in front of you, readying his spear to attack. Your hand reaches down for your lightsaber but you decide against it, suddenly remembering that you’re dangerously close to an empire base and fighting with a lightsaber could very easily tip them off. You’re going to have to rely on hand to hand combat, which you haven’t had to in many years, but there’s no other option. You suck underneath the spear, trying to get in hits while not getting skewered. Eventually you have the position to rip the spear from his hands and throw him off the back of the transport. That also clears another pirate out of the way and for a moment you think that the danger has been averted.

That doesn’t last long.

More pirates jump onto the transport, overwhelming you and Din for the time and suddenly a few of them make it to the compartment where the substance is being held. You and Din both see it, and he screams something at Mayfield that you can’t quite make out. You try and get the pirate off of your ass as soon as you can. Then you hear the sound of a thermal detonator being attached to one of the canisters. You and Din look at eachother with a renewed sense of urgency, and you throw the pirate off the side and run over to the canister.

You stare at the detonators, unsure of what to do.

“What are you doing?” Din yells.

“What the fuck do I do?”

“Just pull it off and throw it as far away as you can!” He shouts.

You use the force to pull the detonators off the canisters and throw them off towards the rest of the pirates a few feet back from the transport. It blows them out of the air, and you turn around to see Din still struggling to get rid of the last one. You throw the pirate right into the cliffside and fall onto the top of the transport.

Din walks over and brushes himself off before holding out his hand to help you up. “How did you know?” He asks.

“Just had a feeling,” You blow a piece of your hair out of your face. “I love you, okay? You can do this.”

He squeezes your hand quickly, “I love you too.”

You wait until you see an opening and hop off the transport and into the tree line. You head back to the meeting place with Fennec and Cara, finally free of the feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong. The rest of the mission goes in a blur, Fennec, Cara and you manage to keep enough imperials away for Boba to pick up Din and Mayfield off the roof. When all is said and done, Mayfield is released into the wild, and you're off to gather up your plan to get the child back from Gideon, you get a feeling again.

This one isn’t one of impending doom, it’s of conflict, you can feel the turmoil and you can feel that something terrible has happened. The feeling is coming right from Din, but he seems to be avoiding you. When you settle down on Nevarro, and the various members of your team are out completing tasks for the eventual mission to get onto Gideons cruiser, you finally corner him.

“You seem upset,” You tell him, “What happened?” He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look at you, just keeps his eyes on the floor. You put your hands on the sides of his helmet, not to take it off, because you know not to do that unless he does, but to try and let him know that you're here no matter what.

“The coordinates required a facial scan, and I had to do it,” He says, and though you're surprised you don’t flinch. He pauses, “And then this commander insisted that me and Mayfield get a drink with him. I don’t even know how many people saw my face.”

“Love,” You say, so many questions burning in your mind.

He pulls away from you and shakes his head, looking down at the floor again. “I shouldn’t have even put this back on, I don’t deserve to wear this helmet to wear any of this armor.”

“You did it for the kid, Din. That kid is your family, and you have to do everything that you can for your family. It doesn't make you less of a Mandalorian, it makes you a human being, we all have to do things we’re not proud of. We do them, and then we try to move on and do better.”

He sighs, and starts back towards you. “I feel like a fraud.”

“Love,” You say again, “You are so strong, caring and smart and everything. You are not a fraud, and you’re not a traitor. You are a person, a human being who's allowed to make mistakes, and who will do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves.” You lean your head against his, “And you are everything to me.”

“I love you,” He half whispers.

“I love you too.”

#I wrote this in like an hour #idk where it came from and why its so long but here??#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin imagine #din djarin one shot #gabby writes

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

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Request: Doppellganger (Caius Volturi x Reader)

You knocked on the door. “Come in.” You heard your immediate response. You entered the room to find Caius standing whilst seemingly looking for something in the very heavy book his eyes were glued to. “Hey, are you busy?” “Cara mia, you know that is a ridiculous question, but I believe what you want to know is if I have a moment to spare for you. As to which I have one minute before i must go to the throne room. Is something the matter?” Caius asked not tearing his eyes from the book. “Oh no, everything is fine! I just found something and thought you’d like to know about it.” You answered. This made Caius look at you. “Does it have anything to do with Felix? He has been oddly quiet and that’s never a good sign.” You giggled. “No, i promise it’s not about Felix and its nothing that will torment you.” “Might I convince you to come with me to the throne room then, my dear?” Caius responded. “I’ll meet you there, I better go get it. I just wanted to make sure i wasn’t bothering you.” “Very well.” You hurried out the room, returning to your shared room to grab your phone. You arrived in the throne room to find all three leaders on their thrones.

“Ah, our dear (Y/N)!” Aro smiled as Caius reached out for your hand. His cool thumb immediately rubbing circles into your palm as he pulled you to his side. “Might i have the honour?” Aro reached out to immediately be blocked by Caius who scowled. “No you may not.” He said coldly. “Brother-” “You don’t need to know every little thing that goes through my mates head. Let them have some boundaries!” “Oh brother, all this theatrics for jealousy?” Aro sighed. “Jealous!?” Caius shouted in disbelief. “What else could it be? You do fear that I know more about your mate than you do. Not to mention the possibility of all those secrets.” Aro grinned, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers. “I would know.” “Secrets!?” Caius gaze darted between you and Aro. “What secrets!?” “He’s teasing you, brother.” Marcus suddenly broke his silence. Aro grinned as though reigning victorious after a battle. “Brother,” Caius began icily. “You are not to use my mate for entertainment! You do not need to read their thoughts because you just saw their thoughts barely twenty four hours ago!” You moved to step away but you were quickly tugged back to Caius’ side. “Caius, any secrets I have, you know.” You chuckled, lightly squeezing his hand. “Besides, it’s probably better Aro doesn’t know about...you know, what happened last night.” You looked at Caius pointedly, raising your eyebrows. He furrowed his brow at you before catching on. “Oh..last night.”

This time, Aro was the one who nearly fell out of their throne in alarm. “Last night!? What happened last night!?” You knew it nearly killed Aro inside to not know what was happening around him. “Nothing you need to know about, Aro.” Caius said in annoyance. Aro’s hand darted out for you at inhuman speed, almost immediately Caius blocked him from you once again. “No!” Caius yelled. Marcus sighed. “Are you two children? Aro, they’re teasing you.” “I imagine your visit to us was for a reason, (Y/N).” Aro said slyly. “So, why don’t you let me find out.” Aro reached out for you again and was block once again by Caius. “Aro, you reach for my mate one more time and I will rip off your hand!” Caius snapped. Marcus sighed once again as Aro pulled back. “Yeah, it was to show Caius something.” You said as you revealed your phone in your other hand and Caius sighed. “I will break that thing.” You turned to Caius. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Oh I wouldn’t?” Caius challenged you with an eyebrow raised, reminding you just who you were talking to. "If you love me, you won't." You retorted. "That's manipulation, my dear and that won't work with me. In fact it may show how much I love you that I break your unhealthy obsession with that thing." Caius said smoothly. "Right, here." You hurried in front of Caius' who guided you to his lap, his head watching from over your shoulder. "Tell me that doesn't look like you." You showed Caius the man in your screen. "He doesn't look like me." Caius said simply. "No hang on, look at him! He's identical. Imagine if you were human! You can't convince me this isn't what you'd look like!" Caius sighed, giving more focus to the image. Slowly, Caius' expression turned to one of bewilderment. "What on earth...?" "Let me see!" Aro said loudly. You held out the phone to show Aro.

Aro looked at the screen before laughing. "That is Caius! Marcus, come look at this!" Marcus leaned forward, looking over Aro's shoulder. Marcus hummed. "Yes, that is oddly correct. He looks just like you." He confirmed. "Wait a moment!" Caius said hurriedly snatching the phone out of your hand to look closer. "Hey! Don't snatch!" You whined.

Caius had a tendency on snatching things from you. It was an accident due to his strength and he did his best to work on it. However sometimes he got so over excited that he'd forget to be gentle. Your whines went ignored as Caius stared into the screen. "Who is this!?" "He's an actor called Jamie Campbell Bower." You grinned. "How is this- where did he go?" Caius' eyes widened and you leaned over to find the screen had went black. You giggled, pressing a button and the actors face returned.

Once again you pointed it at Caius. "He's human!?" "Yeah!" You giggled. "So very handsome." You sighed. Caius' glared at you. "I'm much better looking." "Yeah, but he's human!" You sang with a grin. "But you won't be human for much lo- that's it! Give me that!"

Suddenly the phone was taken from you once more. "What are you doing!?" You cried, trying to grab the phone back. However Caius kept waving it out of your reach due to his longer arm span. "I'm breaking it!" "No!" You cried out, struggling even more to get it from him. "Please don't!" "I won't have you looking at someone else like that! A human of all people!" "What do you mean!? You two look the same!? It's a problem if I didn't find him attractive!" You were very confused on how to win Caius over. "I will not lose my mate to a human! To anyone!" He declared. "You're not, Caius! Please give it back!" "No!" "I'll give you a kiss if you give it back!" "No!" "Two kisses!?" "You can't win me over with affection!" Caius snapped but you could hear the slight panic in his tone. Even he knew that wasn't quite correct. "Yes, I can! It works every time! Take it or lose it! Kisses or none!" "Fine!" He huffed. "I get more than two kisses though. Make it at least worth my while." "How many do you want?" "I'll decide later." Caius grumbled, handing back the phone.

That night, Caius got so many kisses you lost count. Whilst Caius' method was to get as many kisses as possible until he had decided he had enough...which was a while.

#twilight #volturi #the volturi #caius volturi #reader #one shot #oneshot

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Aliit ori'shya tal'din - Rogue, Chapter 11| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: Following on from the argument and the hot and heavy moment on Nevarro, you and Mando return to the ship, where you manage to have a conversation without ripping each others throats out.

Warnings: 18+ because there are mentions of sex but nothing overly explicit or directly happening, weapons, swearing, Fllllluuuuffffyy times~

AN: Short and sweet for this chapter as the next one will be longer and have a lot more detail – things are really gonna start kicking off from here. Drama, powers, feels, it’ll aaallll be going on.

Also, the next chapter might be uploaded a little later, as I’m waiting on a replacement charger for my laptop and Apple are taking forever.

Word count: 4k+

Rogue Taglist:

@snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew

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

Mando’a Translation: Aliit ori'shya tal'din – family is more than blood

He knew he had her from the moment she saw the sword.

Curiosity had bloomed in her eyes, fighting with the wariness and in the end – winning.

If he was honest, he hadn’t planned on telling her he knew about her powers yet.

But she had been as hesitant and defensive as he expected, and the moment seemed to fit.

Why else did he put the sword across the table?

They said she had no recollection of the powers – or rather blocked them out entirely. And again, they had been wrong.

The symbols had called to her and she had recognised that pull, she just didn’t know why.

And he was more than happy to aid her on her journey.

The Mandalorian showing up did somewhat complicate things. He was a key player that would ultimately determine the path she chose. And if she was as headstrong and stubborn as he believed her to be, there was only so much he could do to edge her along and keep the Mandalorian from messing up his plans.

But, she had instantly fired up, even going as far as to defend him to the shiny bodyguard.

That’s why he sought the Marshal out afterwards, to ask Cara to pass along his comms code.

If she didn’t use it straight away, that was more than fine. He would wait. And so would Gideon.

All she needed was a little time, to process what he had told her.

And then, when it had cleared through her mind, maybe when she realised she would never be able to tell the Mandalorian the truth… then she would come back to him, seeking out the help he had promised.

And then he would have her…

Forever.

~~~~~

“So, how long?”

The Mandalorian looked at Cara as she sat back down at her desk, “How long what?” The frown of confusion he wore was evident in his voice.

Cara raised an eyebrow at him, as she leant back in her chair, “How long are you two going to keep dancing around each other?”

Mando scoffed, turning away and wandering across the room, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We are not dancing around each other.”

Cara laughed from behind him, “No? So that whole… whatever that was out there, that was nothing? If I hadn’t shown up, you’d probably still be going at it against a torn down building.”

Heat prickled along his skin, reminding him of the tightness of his trousers that hadn’t long since loosened. If he closed his eyes, he was back against that building with you, his hand over your mouth, to stop the utter filth you were spitting out at him. He’d wanted to deny it, but as always, you were right.

Of course, he was terrified for your life but… He had been jealous. Completely jealous.

And… maybe a small part of him did believe that Haran and you had… done those things.

The images your words created in his mind were so vivid, so crystal clear that he was nearly on his knees before you.

Only stubborn pride had kept him upright – pride and the urge to get you back, to see if you felt even an ounce of the same need that plagued him, that patrolled his sleeping and his waking hours.

Part of him was terrified you were all talk, all vicious teasing but then he’d pressed into you and you’d made that soft, earth-shatteringly beautiful moan, and he thought he might explode.

He saw it in the way your eyes clouded over and rolled back into your head.

Maybe you did want him just as much, maybe that tension between you was as electric and hypnotic as he thought.

If only you hadn’t been interrupted… What would have happened?

Would you have done anything?

Would he have taken off his gloves and felt your skin again but this time, facing you so he could see just what his touch did.

Maybe you would have shredded each other’s clothes off, and he would have lifted you up, wrapped your legs around his waist and sunk into you, like you had spoken about.

Would the heat of you have felt like home? Just like he imagined in his darkest, guiltiest dreams?

You would have ravaged each other against that wall, until you were clawing at his back and he was gripping you tightly as the galaxy crumbled around you, until you were the only two left. The beginning and the end of everything, joined together in both body and soul-

Ping!

Something bouncing off his helmet brought him out of his lusting thoughts, along with Cara’s amused voice. “Anyone in there? Do you want me to leave so you can continue with your little daydreams?”

Mando cleared his throat, turning back to Cara and he shook his head, even if his voice did come out a little husky, “There’s nothing between us, really. We drive each other insane half the time. She never listens to me. And she’s reckless.”

Cara crossed her arms, kicking her feet up onto her desk, “So are you.”

The Mandalorian rested a hand on his waist, “She runs headlong into danger before. Can even take one step and doesn’t think about the consequences, or the risk to her own life.”

Cara raised both eyebrows this time, looking pointedly at Grogu and then back at him, “Do carry on.”

He made a noise, “Look, I still don’t even know why she has such a high bounty on her head. I’ve never asked her, and she hasn’t ever brought it up.”

Cara examined her gloves, “Does it matter? Surely, if it did, you would have found out by now. You wouldn’t have let that one go so easily.”

She had him there.

“I… No. It doesn’t matter. Of course it doesn’t. If she doesn’t want to tell me then that’s understandable. And I wouldn’t force it out of her. She’s… She has a dark past. It troubles her… There were times when I would her hear her awake and screaming on the ship but…” He trailed off, thinking.

Cara looked up and tilted her head, “But what?”

The Mandalorian leant against the wall, “Despite all of that, the fear and the nightmares… it doesn’t consume her. She still blazes through life and see’s the good in everything. Even if its hard, she still tries. We were talking about our favourite planets once… she was telling me about Hoth being one of hers.”

Cara looked surprised and amused, “Hoth? Really?” She shook her head, something affectionate about the gesture, “Why does that not surprise me.”

Mando couldn’t help the soft laugh, “I know.. but she was describing the snow and the ice in a way I’ve never heard before and… I just thought… She just looks at the world so differently. She wants to absorb it all, every little thing, Whether it’s this new fruit in a market or flying a certain way past a cluster of stars…” He looked off into the corner, staring absently through the visor. “There’s a word for it in Mando’a… Shereshoy. It means a lust for life. I thought that about her for a while now…”

“Would you take off your helmet for her?”

Mando snapped his head back to look at her, his body going rigid with shock, “What?”

Cara was watching him with an unreadable expression, “Would you take off your helmet?” Her voice was soft as she repeated the question, as if she knew what his response would be.

He blinked at her, even though she couldn’t see it, “What kind of question is that? You know I can’t take this off, not for anyone. Mandalorian’s only take their helmets off after saying their vows to each other. You don’t just.. I can’t-“ He was flushed, his heart pounding uncomfortably even at the mere mention of removing his helmet.

Cara shook her head slightly, “I don’t mean like that… But…” She seemed to be phrasing her words carefully, “If.. there were things you wanted to do.. there are ways round the Creed… no?”

He said nothing.

Again, she had hit it right on the head without even trying. The words she was saying were ridiculous but…

He had already thought about it.

In those quiet moments, where he granted himself a reprieve and let the thoughts wash over him, he had stared into the darkness and worked all the ways in which he could remove his helmet without breaking the Creed.

You couldn’t see his true face… which was more than easy enough to work around.

A blindfold, the lights off in the ship so it was pitch black, your back to his chest…

All he would need to do is trust you. Trust that you wouldn’t turn around or reach for the lights.

Did he trust you?

The answer to that question had plagued him as much as the dreams.

Of course he trusted you. He left his life in your hands back in that alleyway.

But that was before. Before this… tension between you.

And now he was certain he could trust you, to an extent but… to give over a part of himself, even if it wasn’t fully him…

That opened him up to a lot of things.

A lot of danger and a level of vulnerability he had never shared with anyone.

Cara sat up slowly, perhaps somehow reading everything going on in his head, “Maybe you should think about how you feel about her. What she means to you…. And what your answer to that question might be.” She rose from her chair, looking at him with that same unreadable expression, “Don’t let it slip past, Mando… Don’t let her slip past.”

~~~

You spent the next couple days in Nevarro, before bidding farewell to Greef and Cara.

You promised to come back soon and that you’d all take care of yourselves.

As you had walked up the ramp, you’d noticed Cara give Mando a certain look and mutter something to him, something you couldn’t hear or place.

Upon seeing you eyeing her suspicious, she simply gave you an innocent smile and waved.

You had a pretty good idea what it was about, and you didn’t – couldn’t – unpack that right now. So, you mentally tucked it away in that same box that the moment with Mando resided in and hurried up the ramp.

That was a couple hours ago, and you spent that time mooching about the ship, avoiding the cockpit. You weren’t sure that a confined space was necessarily the best place to be after earlier.

Especially since Mando had sought you out before you took off, informing you that you could have his sleeping quarters back if you’d like them. You had tried to refuse, but he’d simply taken your bag, placed it on the cot, and left.

So that was another room to avoid, full of the scent of him – and the knowledge that he had laid in here and… thought about you at night?

Unfortunately, you could avoid it no longer.

Walking to the ladder, you told yourself to grow up. It was just a bit of sexual tension from an argument. That’s all. It’s nothing different to what hung around you both all the time.

Besides… you’d missed him and Grogu.

There was little noise in the cockpit as you ascended the ladder. There was the usual soft beeping of the instruments, the dim whir of the engines and Grogu’s occasional coo.

The familiar expanse of stars swept past lazily beyond the glass, a sight that you had been missing for weeks.

The sight bought a smile to your lips as you walked across and took your usual seat, scooping Grogu into your lap.

The seat creaked reassuringly under you as you settled, and you realised that these were all little things that had come to mean comfort to you.

A chuckle escaped your lips when you saw Duru asleep on the panel in front of the Mandalorian, her tail swooping down over the buttons and occasionally getting his way.

She was definitely the same as you – made her spot and stood her ground, no matter if it got in anyone’s way. She was comfy, and that was that.

Mando startled just slightly at your chuckle, not turning round but you almost felt his attention rest on you, “Hey, settled back in?”

Stars, you had missed that too. The soft, easy rasp of his voice in the gentle quietness. It danced along your bones, soothing them and any anxiety you had about the mood between the pair of you. “Yeah, I am, thanks… It’ll be like I was never gone soon.”

It was the Mandalorian’s turn to chuckle this time, “Oh believe me, I knew about it. Not just from how silent it was, but from the little womp rat’s temper tantrum for the entire afternoon after we dropped you off.”

You raised your eyebrows, looking down at the happy green bundle on your lap, “Really? He threw a tantrum?”

Mando nodded, flicking a few switches, “Yep. He kept throwing things at me for hours. I put him in his crib, but he kept crawling out of it. He was really sulking. He missed you.”

Something rose in your chest, warmth and joy, maybe. You hadn’t quite grasped how much you meant to the little creature, “Well, I missed him too. I kept looking around for him, to see if he was getting into trouble and eating frogs again.”

Grogu tilted his head backwards to look at you, innocence radiating from his glossy black eyes and he lifted his cheeks into a matching smile that had your heart melting.

You grinned, tilting your head down and you pressed a kiss to his wrinkly forehead, between his eyes, “I’m here now, you tiny troublemaker.”

He gurgled softly, holding your thumb in his three miniature fingers.

The Mandalorian had turned to watch you, and he was silent for a few moments before saying even softer, “I missed you as well...” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, “A lot, actually.”

You lifted your eyes to him, unaware that betrayed just how much those words meant to you, the way they made your heart melt and a wave of delight sweep through your belly.

You felt a different kind of smile curl your lips, gentler and almost shy, “I missed you too… It was too quiet at night. No screaming or tantrums, no running up and down the ship after escaping their bed and having to be sung back to sleep...” You blinked, “Oh, and I missed Grogu too.” You laughed, leaning back in your chair and hugging Grogu closer.

Mando shook his head, even if his breathing did turn a little funny at the way your eyes crinkled a little at the edges when you laughed, and joy burst in your eyes in such a way that was far more breath-taking than the stars that surrounded you. “Like we discussed before, I’m not the one who’s noisy in the middle of the night.” He remained looking at you, his head slightly tilted, and he sighed softly.

Without realising, you mimicked his head tilt, an action that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Cara back on Nevarro, “What is it?”

He looked away and fiddled with the edge of his vambrace, the nervous gesture you had noticed when you first met. He seemed be toying with the words in his mind and for some reason, it made you a little nervous.

You swallowed, a smile still on your lips and humour still in your voice though, “Credit for your thoughts?”

It was still a few more seconds before he spoke again, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it through the helmet. “I shouldn’t have sent you away.”

You blinked. There was no way you heard that correctly. “What?”

He lifted his head to look at you, “I said, I shouldn’t have sent you away.” There was no mistaking it, his voice was stronger this time and full of conviction.

Well, shit. What do you say to that?

You gazed back at him, words fumbling through your mind but none of them seeming right – or rather, none of them words you should say. So, instead, you opted for sarcasm and humour.

A look of mock shock stretched your features and you gasped, “By the stars.” You looked down at Grogu with wide eyes, “Did you hear that?”

Grogu cooed in similar astonishment, his ears pricking up.

You nodded quickly, “I know! He just admitted he was wrong! I’m as shocked about it as you are.”

Mando sighed again softly, but it wasn’t his usual playful exasperated sigh, “I’m being serious.”

The laughter died in your throat, and you carefully lifted your gaze back to him. You bit your lip for a moment, just reading the emotion in his posture, “I know… But… like you said, it wasn’t safe for me here. You did the right thing.”

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head and he leaned closer to you, “No, please don’t. Please don’t repeat my words back to me. It was a mistake. I… I was running from my own problems.” His hand twitched, like he was going to reach for yours but then he hesitated.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, this conversation one of those deep ones that the pair of you only seemed to have after a near death experience, or whilst you were at each other’s throats. You let go of Grogu, letting your hand rest on the edge of the armrest, a silent encouragement, a plea. “What do you mean…?”

The Mandalorian took a soft breath, reaching out and he slid his hand under yours, enclosing his fingers around your own. “I thought I could keep you safer, if you weren’t with me. The price on mine and the kids head was as much a siren call for hunters as yours was.” He shook his head, “No, that sounds like I’m blaming you.” He blew out a breath, pausing to reassemble his words, “On your own, you might stand a better chance of hiding. I mean, look how well you did before I came along. It took me a month to find you. You were a ghost.” Something like pride lined his voice. “Throw me and the kid into the mix, and we were broadcasting you to the entire galaxy.”

You said nothing, holding your tongue for once. This was the most you’d ever heard him speak, topping the other day. This was… big. He was building up to something.

He began to gently massage your palm, almost an absent motion like he didn’t realise he was doing it, “That night in the kitchen…”

The delicious pressure of his hands and the friction of the leather simultaneously soothed you, even as your blood heated at the mere mention of that night.

“That night in the kitchen, I began to realise. How much… I had come to value you being here. And not just because you help with the kid but the other things. When we go on hunts, you watch my back. You see things that I miss. It feels.. not fun but… something more, with you. I don’t often have anyone to watch my back. A partner, someone to rely on. And that terrified me. That I had come to look forward to our evenings, the drag of being in hyperspace. Both of us liked having you here… I liked to have you here, princess. You’re the first true friend I’ve had in years. The others are my friends of course but… with you, it’s different.” He didn’t lift his head, focused on your hand but you had the feeling he wanted to.

“It terrified me because caring about something, about having a friend like that… it means it’ll get hurt. Or taken away. And I couldn’t beat the idea that I signed your death warrant. Not because of the guilt, but because you have such a joy, such a way of viewing the world that it would be devasting for that to be ripped away. So, I thought sending you to Nevarro, putting you under the protection of Greef and Cara… I thought it would make you safer. I thought… that I could handle it.” His hands stilled momentarily, before tracing over your knuckles. “And I couldn’t.”

He seemed to be finished for the moment, so you jumped in softly, “I couldn’t stand it either. I haven’t slept properly since the last time I was here. Everything is too quiet. The bed was too soft… I missed looking out of the window and seeing the stars go past, or hearing you talk to Grogu.” You watched him trace down your fingers, “I was scared too. And I still am. Every single friend or companion I’ve had ends up being murdered. And it’s my fault.” There was no anguish in your voice this time. It was fact, after all. “And I still wake up screaming, seeing you and the kid on the floor and your blood on my hands. I taste it. “ You took a slow breath, “But… I want to stay. I want to stay here with you both, and we can hunt down whoever is after all of us.”

Mando chuckled a little at something, merely a huff of breath, “You always know exactly what I’m thinking.” He straightened, gently letting go of your hand to rummage behind him for something. “Here…” He held out his hand, something resting in his palm.

Heart in your mouth, you looked down at his hand.

And nearly stopped breathing.

Nestled against the leather, lay a necklace. A small charm, attached to a thin leather cord. But the charm itself…

It was the sigil of Mythosaur, gleaming softly in dull metal.

Your breath was still caught in your throat, and your fingers trembled as you carefully reached out lifting the charm, “Lori…”

He watched you intently, drawing his hand back to his body. “It’s a Mythosaur… They are said to have run wild over the lands of Mandalore long ago… I was given one myself when I was a foundling..”

Grogu made a soft noise from your lap, and he clumsily tugged something from his tunic. It was a matching necklace, and you surmised that this was the one the Mandalorian had received.

You were at a loss for words.

Truly.

When the threads of your lives had entangled back on Sorgan, you never could have pictured this. You never would have pictured yourself now with… a family?

The Mandalorian seemed to know what you were thinking, because he slid from his seat, kneeling down in front of you. He gently took the necklace from your hands and drew it down over your head, letting it rest just between your collarbones, “I know we had a rocky start… I mean, I did knock you out and you did try to kill me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh, even it was a little choked, trembling a little as you beheld the sight of him kneeling before you.

His voice sounded like he was smiling, but it too, was full of emotion as he gently pulled your hair free of the cord, “Aliit ori'shya tal'din.” The rich baritone of his voice melted into honey as he spoke.

The sound of the language in his voice was so beautiful, so oddly comforting that you could have listened to it forever. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your own voice hoarse, “What does that mean?”

The Mandalorian reached for something behind him in a pouch, “It means… family is more than blood.” His hand trembled as he held it out once more in front of him and this time, resting between his fingers was a pin.

A pin representing the Mudhorn.

The very same sigil that was embossed onto his pauldron.

The symbol of his and Grogu’s clan.

Mando watched you, his voice tender, hand still trembling, “Will you stay with me and the kid?”

Tears shone in your eyes, blurring your vision slightly as you looked at the new pin in his hand, and everything it symbolised.

Friendship, hope, a place to call home. No, people to call home. Lori and Grogu.. they were your home. Your new clan. And maybe, in time, you would be able to tell him your secret. Tell him about your powers that called to you stronger and stronger every single day.

You reached out, carefully scooping up the pin, “Yes… It would be an honour.” A teary smile swept across your face, at the same time as Grogu’s happy cry.

The Mandalorian made a breathless noise, and if he had no helmet on, you would have seen the smile on his lips that made the edges of his eyes crinkle. You would have seen the tear that rolled down his cheek and the joy in his eyes, mixed with something else he hadn’t quite acknowledged yet.

“We’ll be a clan of three.”

Previous| Next

(Here is the necklace, and here is the pin)

#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #grogu #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #rogue #this is the way #clan of two

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tonksie-writes · 3 years

Text

Fun and Games||CaraDin

Rating: Explicit

A/N: I have no answers. I was at a block with my Soul Mates fic and mentioned an HC in the CaraDin Server.. this is the result. Ao3 Link

Summary: Cara and Din are very competitive. And one time the game ends up a very different way. Thank you to @wolfy22bookie for the Beta

Cara raked her eyes over the unarmored wonder standing in front of her in her tiny apartment. She had almost no decoration in her house not counting a plastic plant Karga had gotten her to ‘liven up the place’. He said it was her employee of the month award. Din Djarin stood in casual clothes next to a basic table that usually had one chair. Tonight it had two as he’d pulled the chair from her desk in her bedroom. She’d taken off her armor and was walking around in a loose black shirt that went low enough you could barely see the shorts peeking out under it. He himself had chosen to remove his beskar leaving only his helmet and his casual under-armor clothes.

They’d been sitting at the table and pretending to drink for most of the night when the conversation had shifted to this.

“You’re playing a dangerous game Mandalorian.” She warned with a confident smirk.

“We never did get to finish.” he volleyed back. This was the game. The serve and set. Every shot easily volleyed.

“Yeah, it didn’t go so well.”

“We won’t be interrupted this time.”

“Where is the little green guy?” She asked, pouring herself a glass of some local drink or another and one for him, with a straw of course.

“I asked Karga to watch him. Said I had some unfinished business.” He tilted his head in just that way that told her he had a smug, challenging smirk even if she’d never seen it

“I’m unfinished business now?” her teasing smirk pulled at her lips.

A low chuckle rumbled from the helmet that added a heat to places she wasn’t used to needing to ignore “You’re saying you don’t want another go?” He challenged.

Oh if that bucket head only knew how he made her heart flutter she’d never live it down. She paced back over to the table putting down the drinks and looking him over slowly taking in every inch of beskar looking for the man underneath. “Fine. You’re on.” she said and sat down. He took the chair opposite her pulling off his glove. She put her own hand on the table and clasped his looking pointedly into the visor.

“On the count of three?” She suggested.

“One….”

“Two…”

“Three..” and in an instant both of their strengths met in a perfect match. Just like before both strained at full strength aiming to make the other’s hand hit the table. His hand was warm in hers, calloused and strong like a soldier. She was sure hers was just as rough, though somehow his grip almost made her look almost dainty.

She pressed on eyes still locked onto him. Each time one made a small move forward the other rallied and pushed them back to center. Her body was tensed and both had immense amounts of competitive nature lacing every look and move. Just like the last time they’d done this unbidden images flooded her mind.

She pictured yanking him up and shoving him against a wall. Tearing off his under armor and having her way with him both panting for a very different reason than the current exertion. She imagined him all flushed under the armor and panting as she ran her tongue over his chest and bit into a bicep she knew had to be impressive under his pauldron.

She could hear the labored sound of his breathing and felt the trembling of her own arm. “Same place as before. I’m still gonna win.” She insisted pushing herself harder as her arm started to move.

“Not yet.” He insisted and pressed harder himself pushing her back to center. She shifted slightly and her foot brushed his calf causing him to tense in a whole new way. She took that in not letting up on the match and neither did he though he had faltered slightly. Suddenly her earlier thoughts didn’t seem so far fetched.

She narrowed her eyes and moved her foot to inch up his calf carefully to avoid the plates of armor and hit the softer fabric. “Cara.” He grit a grunt of warning, his hand once again falters. She nearly gets him to the table when he manages to push her back to center and a new game is suddenly set into motion.

“What’s wrong Mando?” She asked somehow, mixing innocent and flirting. She heard a grunt and suddenly his knee was on the inside of hers and she wobbled as her fluttering stomach went wild and her eyes flashed. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth to keep herself controlled which seemed to get him distracted for a moment. She heard a grunt and instantly went “Kriff this.”

She let go of his hand and pulled him up by the collar pressing him against the wall. “Tell me to stop.” she rasped and she could hear him swallow under his helmet.

“I---”

“Tell me to stop.” She rasped again at the long pause.

“Don’t stop.” He rasped and there it was. She pulled open the belt and pulled him in by it. In an instant his other glove flew to the floor and his hands were on her. She pulled off his belt and threw it to the side and the forehead of his visor gently pressed to hers. She’s heard of Mandalorians doing this as a greeting, the Keldabe kiss, and she hadn’t understood it then. Now it made perfect sense. She desperately wanted to kiss him, to taste his lips and feel his jaw, but that movement soothed her lust a little.

At least it had until his hands snuck from her hips to her ass and squeezed and suddenly there was a whole new life to the fire in her. She easily opened the pants he wore under his armor and pushed up his shirt running hands over his thin stomach and getting a flash of caramel skin and a little bit of dark curling hair. She subconsciously bit her lip as she ran her eyes over the skin and her fingers teased the thin layer of hair. She pulled the shirt up even more to see a tanned but hairless chest and the lips slowly pulled from her teeth as she smiled at the image. His hands seemed to be frozen in place and she could feel his eyes glued to her and taking her reactions in. She looked up at the visor and smiled. “You're wearing too many clothes.” she flirted and that seemed to start him.

In seconds his hands flew down on her thighs and she was being lifted to wrap her legs around his hips. Her arms circled around his shoulders and she pulled at the turtleneck type shirt just enough to get it free of his helmet and pull it down to get to skin. She kissed his neck feeling stubble under her tongue. So he had some kind of facial hair. Little hints and tidbits were starting to form in her mind of this man and she was piecing them together creating a very sexy image in her mind.

Her teeth skimmed the tiny patch of skin she had to work with and she heard a grunt as his grip on her tightened and she couldn’t fight a self satisfied smirk as he walked them with surprising grace into her bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. She pushed back so she was up against the pillows and quickly deposited her shirt to the floor which seemed to stop him for a moment. He just stood there still staring at her and she would have started to feel shy if she hadn’t seen a clear visible reaction tenting his opened pants.

“Close your eyes.” Din rasped and she arched a brow.

“Am I keeping them closed? Because if I’m doing the rest of this blindfolded, those pants are coming off first.” She insisted with a playful smile. She heard a frustrated groan come from the helmet and couldn’t help a laugh.

“You’re going to kill me.” He groused to her and she shrugged leaning back in a way that very clearly accentuated her cleavage in the thin bra she had on. The bra didn’t do much for shape and it wasn’t meant to be sexy, it was meant to work under armor and be sensible, but he didn’t seem to mind with the way she could see his head tilt just enough to tell her where his eyes were.

“Not yet, I have things I’d rather do first.” she assured and he laughed a sexy low laugh that sent shockwaves of heat all over her body, all seemingly aiming for the spot between her legs.

“Just close your eyes.” He said with a huff. She loved that, the frustration. They were never going to have a sweet or gentle first time. They met in a fight and they hadn’t stopped fighting since. She wouldn’t want them to either. That competition, that heat, that connection on the battlefield, that was real! That was far more real to her than flowers or candy or any of that other crap. This right here was the most honest they could get.

She stared at him challengingly for a moment, but finally sighed and closed her eyes leaning back on her elbows to wait. If he really expected her to keep her eyes closed this entire time she was going to kill him. She’d do it, but she had more she wanted to see first. She heard the disengage of the helmet and the clunk of it being put down. She heard the shuffle of fabric and the clink of him picking it up, but not putting it back on.

She was surprised at how much just the sounds and images in her mind were affecting her. The image of him completely trusting her as he walked around her apartment with his dark hair bared to the world. She could construct an image in her mind even as she was missing the features of his face only having the hints she’d learned from the flashes she’d gotten of skin she’d uncovered.

She heard his shirt flop to the floor right next to hers and a sigh right over her. He was looking down at her and she had to press her legs together to try and fight some of the pressure and need building between them at the anticipation. Suddenly his hand fell on her stomach. It was nearly scorchingly hot and she felt him smoothe his hand over the skin stroking gently at it. His other hand cupped her jaw and suddenly lips were on hers.

A moan ripped from her throat as her hand shot up and she was pleased with her assessment as she felt loose curls she could grab onto and run her hands in. She felt the slight rub of stubble against her chin and cheeks as she dragged him closer arching up for more. Her mouth was demanding on his as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, which he was happy to accept and return with equal demand.

He pulled back way too soon and she tried to yank him back closer, her eyes staying closed tightly out of sheer force of will. She heard a groan from him, deep and needy and she laughed a little. “I got you now Mando.” she parroted her words from their last armwrestling match.

His laugh at that ran through her making her pull on his hair again wanting more, needing more of him. “I thought you wanted me to put my helmet back on.” He pointed out.

“Kriff the helmet.” she cursed. Did she want to see him, absolutely, but damn if kissing him wasn’t addicting. She could spend the whole damn night doing that, or at least she would if the promise of more weren’t right there.

His lips crashed into hers again and she moaned moving a hand to his hips and grabbing him by the slight gap in his pants making him fall forward his hands flying from their places on her body to catch himself and pulling a laugh from both of them. “Next time.” He whispered to her his mouth kissing down her neck making her moan and arch to give him room. His hand came up to hers, which was firmly threaded in his hair and not moving and he gently pulled himself free. “I promise.” A promise of next time.

That felt heavy on her mind, that meant this wasn’t just one time of the two of them lost in passion. That meant he’d thought about it too. That meant he wanted to do it again. She refused to let panic or fear chase away her excitement. She wasn’t sure what they could have but at least having a round two was something she wasn’t going to turn down.

She let her grip go with a huff and let him stand up and put his helmet back on. “You can open your eyes.” He offered and she did. There before her was a very disheveled mandalorian with a helmet that looked far too big with every other piece of his armor removed and his pants hanging open and barely able to contain his erection that was pushing hard at the gap. She couldn’t help but laugh at the image in front of her. He looked precious, sexy for certain, but somehow so open and bared to her and she was never good at dealing with emotions. “Great that’s exactly what every guy dreams of when a gorgeous woman sees him shirtless.” He grumbled sounding like he was pouting which just drove her deeper to giggles.

“No no, I’m sorry. That’s not it. Trust me you’re very sexy.” she attempted to assure him as she pushed herself to her knees and laced her arms around his shoulder pressing her forehead to his visor and pulling a gasp from him. “You just look…. Well it’s an image let me put it that way.” She explained her hand trailing lightly over his chest and she flicked his nipple making him groan as his hands fell to her hips drawing her closer.

“Not helping.” He grunted and she felt his hands clench on her hips.

“Here maybe this will help.” She offered and pulled back just enough to quickly and effectively pull off her bra over her head. “Better?” she asked.

He closely observed her movements and she could clearly see the downward tilt and her own breasts mirrored to her in the shiny beskar. She didn’t even have to guess as to where his eyes were and she smirked extremely confident at his reaction. “Much.” He added and she rolled her eyes.

“Get down here.” She used a quick combat move and flipped him onto the bed making him let out an oomph of air as his back hit the mattress and in seconds she was straddling his hips looming over him both shirtless. Her hands once again trailed over his shoulders and down his chest to his stomach and she lowered her lips to kiss down his neck then to his shoulder and she lightly bit at his bicep eliciting a few groans as he ground his hips up to her.

His hands had stayed pretty still through most of this. With a few notable exceptions, they had stayed firmly on her hips. That didn’t last long once he was on his back. As soon as he was looking up at her his hands trailed up her sides and one of his hands cupped her breast drawing a curse from her as his thumb lazily circled around her nipple. Her hips rocked against his and she knew she needed to get them both out of the remainder of her clothing because hers were already well into unsalvageable territory. Just as that thought entered her mind the hand that wasn’t on her breast snuck into her knickers and shorts. She felt his finger move up her slick opening and moaned arching her back.

“Phwoar” he hissed moving his finger up and down her slick folds again pressing ever so lightly over her clit working her up as her hips rocked against his hand making her bite down into his shoulder and suck to hold back the wonton noises that clawed at the back of her throat.

“It’s been a while.” She admitted to try and brush off just how wet she was. It wasn’t a lie, she hadn’t really been with anyone since she’d settled here. At first she’d told herself it was just that she didn’t find anyone here attractive but that had very clearly not been the case the more time she spent here. It was just that no one was quite as attractive to her as the man beneath her now.

His only response to her explanation was to slip two fingers deep inside of her and she moaned pushing herself up on his chest to get a better angle biting onto her lip as she rocked her hips against his hand and his fingers pumped a maddeningly slow rhythm in and out of her. “More.” She breathed an almost plea and he was happy to answer. She could feel his eyes drinking her like a man in a desert at an oasis. She tried to get a good place, but every time she moved her shorts seemed to get in the way and she cursed under her breath. She kissed his chest one last time, pleased to see a mark already forming on his shoulder before gently pulling his hand from her and lifting her leg to fully pull off her shorts. “That’s much better.” She smirked. “Now where were we?” She asked and in an instant he moved like a bullet. This time he was on top of her. Resting between her legs his hand instantly going back to her center sliding three fingers easily inside. “Din.” She moaned at the sudden rush of pleasure that hit her body with his movement.

He paused his movements hearing his name from her lips and she panicked for a moment, her hands clenched on his shoulders looking up at him, his fingers still buried deep. “Was that ok?”

“Yeah.” Was all he said for a moment that felt like forever as he looked at her. Normally she could read every emotion on him. They spoke without words or facial expressions so often Karga had accused her of being force sensitive enough to read minds. She wasn't; she just knew him. Right now he was unreadable though and just as she was about to open her mouth and tell him they could stop he started his slow rhythm of his fingers up his thumb going to circle and tease her clit bringing more pleasure as his fingers curled. “Say it again.” The request was surprisingly gentle. It wasn’t a demand, it was more of a plea that struck deep inside of her.

“Din.” She breathed. “Harder.” he was more than happy to oblige. He increased the speed his fingers went and he pressed the head of his helmet against her shoulder making her moan at the feel of cool metal against her hot skin. She hadn’t expected that to feel as good as it did. Her nails raked down his back clawing to bring him closer to her and she could feel the coil of a climax in her stomach. “So close. Please.” she panted.

“I wish I could rip off my helmet and taste you.” He muttered quietly. “I can smell you from here.” he added and damn if that didn’t do it. Those words mixing with everything else shoved her over the edge with a cry of his name. “You’re beautiful Cara.” he whispered to her and worked her through her climax. She fell back on the bed panting and sweaty and thoroughly pleased.

She coaxed him higher and kissed his shoulder and chest her hand slipping into his pants ready to return the favor. She wrapped her hand around his velvet length straining hard against the prison his pants created. She gently moved up and down over it eliciting a low guttural moan as his head once again fell to her shoulder. “Those are some talented hands you have there, Mandalorian.” She murmured to him. “Can’t wait to test that mouth of yours.” She added and flipped them over so she was again on top. Somehow she knew he was about to object but she stopped him with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Nope my turn now.” She flirted pulling down his pants slowly.

He laid back watching her and if a helmet could look cocky he absolutely did. She could see smugness in his body language and he had good reason to be smug. He was not a small man that was clear from looking down and she was certain he was pleased with having made her cum already. She was competitive though, and that look made this a competition. She arched a brow at his look and leaned down gently trailing the tips of her hair over his stomach as she moved. “Cara what are you--” He was cut off by the loud groan that ripped through his throat as she wrapped her mouth around the very tip of his cock and gently sucked.

That had gotten the smug look off of him and she was very pleased with herself as she lowered down slightly taking more of him in her hand directly below her mouth to extend the feeling. She ran the tip of her tongue over the ridge at the bottom of his head drawing another low moan that went right to her already dripping core and sent goosebumps all over her body. She took more of him in sucking as she did, taking as much as she could before moving back up and swirling her tongue around the head of his cock. She drank in every grunt and moan as she moved. She flicked her eyes up to him seeing the reflection of what she was doing at locked eyes with him in the way only she could.

Keeping complete eye contact she once again slowly took his cock into her mouth as far as she could sucking and massaging with her tongue. Her hand slipped to her own center to tease her fingers over her dripping folds. She could feel the pressure of need building all over again and she needed some relief. She watched as his helmet moved enough to see her hand then back to her eyes and his head fell back with a string of mandalorian curses and some in another language she didn’t know. “Cara I need you.” He grunted out and she could hear how his teeth were clenched.

She let his erection fall out of her mouth with a pop and smirked “You have me.” She pointed out. “I’m right here.” She added lightly trailing the tips of her teeth over the edge of the head bringing out another grunt.

“You know what I mean.” he growled his hands going to her shoulders making her pause.

“Do I?” she flirted, taking him into her mouth again and sucking.

With a string of curse words she was yanked up by the shoulders and flipped to the bed with force, her hand ripped from her center and held firmly next to her head. He’d gotten the drop on her in her surprise and she tried to flip them again but he held firm his entire weight on her. “Tell me to stop.” he mirrored her words at the very start pulling a laugh from her as she looked up at him. She instantly wrapped her legs around him pulling him in by her heels on his ass.

“Not a Wampa’s chance on Tattooine.” She smirked up at him, eyes locked to his and somehow she just knew he was smiling under that helmet and a smile broke out on hers. He placed the forehead of his helmet to hers and she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck holding him there with her eyes closed just drinking in the gentle moment. While she held him in place he positioned himself at her entrance and slid inside of her with ease. Both tensed at the flood of pleasure that just being like that seemed to bring.

There was an exquisite stretch of feeling filled that had her clinging to him, her legs tightening their hold. One hand held the back of his neck the other rested on his biceps as he held himself over her muscles straining. She rocked her hips with a quiet barely breathed “Please.” and he started to move in earnest. There was no slow or gentle starting pace. He was plunging deep into her with abandon and she angled herself so it hit just the right place inside of her every time.

Their voices joined together in a string of moans and breathing as she coaxed him on every time with variations on “Yes, please, more yes.” The hand that wasn’t holding him up moved from her thigh down to her hip and up her side to massage her breast pulling out another long moan from her. She bucked up against him using her legs to angle them both.

All too soon his hand soon moved down her stomach to tease her clit and she could feel herself tightening again. “Close Cara please.” He growled in her ear so close she could hear his raw voice under the voice modulator.

It was enough to send her spiraling over the edge, her head thrown back and nails digging into his shoulder and arm as she shouted his name to her small, bare apartment. He tumbled over the cliff after her, spurting hot seed deep inside of her with a rasp of her name parading from his lips like a prayer. He managed to fall to the side as he collapsed under the exhaustion of his climax and she instantly turned to press close to him, her nose to his chest and her hand gently playing with the small line of hair she felt on his stomach.

“How long can you stay?” she asked her voice low. She didn’t expect him to stay the night. She was sure he would be gone as soon as he could regain his breath. Normally she would be fine with that, but for some reason with him she hated the thought of him leaving. She swallowed against the feeling in her throat. She hated that he made her so damn weak that she didn’t want him to go.

She felt his arms wrap around her and pull her closer. She heard a sigh and felt the tickle of his breath on her hair under the helmet that wasn’t quite as locked down without all the other parts of his armor. “Don’t know yet. It’s dangerous for the kid to stay in one place too long.” He admitted. She closed her eyes as a smile pulled at her lips unable to believe the man holding her in his arms. How did he know so much and still miss everything sometimes.

“I meant tonight.” she pointed out with a laugh and she pressed a light kiss to his chest nuzzling into his neck as her leg slipped between his. “How long can you stay tonight?” She explained.

“Oh.” He laughed a bit and pulled her even closer. “I think Karga can handle the kid for one night. I made sure he was sound asleep before I came.” He explained. “A few frogs and a bowl of warm soup and that kid can hibernate.” he added.

“Frogs?” She asked looking up at the helmet she knew as well as any face her hand going up to run along the line she saw.

“Yeah it’s weird I know but he loves them.” he said looking down at her and both laughed. She bit her lip looking up thinking the situation over and rolled away from him. She shivered as soon as the air hit her skin and he made a sort of grunting noise of displeasure as she moved but she opened the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out the sash she’d used to cover her tattoo the first time they’d come here before rolling back.

“Can you tie this for me?” She asked instantly, seeing confusion in his body language. Though a part of his looked a little excited and she had to laugh. “That too if you want but I was just thinking you shouldn’t have to sleep in your helmet.” She pointed out holding it out to him and turning her back. She heard him shift and crawl closer and press his chest to her back as he gently wrapped the black band around her eyes. He was careful and slow in his movements sure to get all of her hair out of the way. It was sweet, methodical and so terribly him. She hadn’t heard him take his helmet off, but he must have because she felt a pair of lips and a layer of stubble come into contact with her shoulder making her tilt her head to the side to give him space.

“Thank you.” he breathed into her ear kissing her neck. “No one has ever done that for me before.” He explained making a smile bloom on her lips and she turned around pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Careful or I might demand a round three.” she warned, making him laugh and pull her in flopping back so she was pressed to his chest as they shifted and wrapped around each other.

“Give me ten minutes and I’m all yours.” He said with a rumbling laugh, kissing her again deeply, his hand cupping her cheek.

“I like the sound of that.” she flirted nuzzling his neck and taking a deep breath of the smell of metal and leather and spice and him. Her entire body relaxed. He smelled like home. “We never did figure out who would win in an arm wrestle.”

#Caradin #Cara Dune #Din Djarin #Smut... seriously I'm not kidding... unrepentant smut #nothing but smut #thanks to the CaraDin server for the suggestion.

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b0n-chann · 4 years

Note

I love your writing!! If you're still doing requests from that prompt list, maybe 200 for mando?

Okay, first of all, I’m so sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for FOREVER. But also, I had moved this over into my drafts before I somehow lost all my asks and I’m so glad this one was saved!!

Also if you’re not following @spookyold-saintjm PLEASE DO IT NOW AND READ THROUGH HER MASTERLIST AND SEND HER THE LOVEEEE. 🥰

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.”

——————

Cara stares uncomfortably between the couple before her as they argued back and forth. Err....they were still a couple, right?

“If you think you can stop me from going, Mando, you are absolutely out of your mind,” you seethed. You could see Din flinch when you refused to call him by name, knowing he takes it as a sign of agitation at him. But while you know he’s gotten used to you calling him by his real name, you still wanted to respect his privacy with Cara around. Either way, it worked to your favor.

“I’m out of my mind....I’m out of MY mind?!” He scoffs. You were going to be the death of him. “Infuriating woman,” he says under his breath. Unfortunately, you hear him.

“The child is sick. I need to into the city go get supplies for him.” You repeat for what feels like the hundredth time today, tears biting at the edges of your eyes. “And between the three of us, I don’t see a Mandalorian or ex-shock trooper getting in and out of there without causing a scene.”

“You do realize you forgot to mention the part where it’s a city filled with Imps?”

You don’t respond, but give him a look of defiance. Din quickly flexes and unflexes his fist in irritation, a tick that you’ve noticed in your time with him. If Din was completely honest with himself, your fiery spirit is one of the many things that attracts you to him. Your personality complements his in almost the opposite sense but it attracts him like a moth to a flame.

Irritated cries come from the cockpit and the Mandalorian sighs. “We’re not done here,” he says before stepping up on the ladder to check on the child.

“Well, that was explosive. You guys always that...passionate?” Cara says, quirking here eyebrows at you suggestively.

You let out a sound somewhere between and snort and a scoff. Cara puts her hands up in mock defense. “I’m just saying...I can only imagine what you guys are like in the bedroom...”

“CARA!” You exclaim as she breaks down in laughter. You can help but let a smile crack your features. “He’s been getting worse lately,” you trail off thinking about how Din’s demeanor has changed over the last few weeks. “His protectiveness, I mean.” You add hastily before Cara can twist your words as she has been known to do. You drop down into one of the seats at the small table dramatically and sigh, suddenly exhausted.

“Hey,” Cara says, sitting across from you. “You okay? You look kinda pale.”

You hesitate. You didn’t want to say anything until you had some sort of confirmation but Cara has always been a trusted friend. “I, uh...there’s another reason why I need to go into the city. Alone, preferably,” you drop your voice and shift your eyes to the ladder leading to the cockpit. “My cycle. It’s late.”

Cara’s eyes widen and she grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’re pregnant?” She whispers hastily.

“I can’t be entirely sure, but the evidence is damning,” you say, trying to keep your emotions in check.

“Well that explains the screaming match earlier.” You whimper and put your head to the table. Cara places a comforting hand on your head, stroking your hair in a way that reminds you of how your mother used to comfort you as a child. Your heart clenches when you realize you could be doing the same to your own child soon. “Shh,” she soothes. “I know the tin can is infuriating, but he loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. He’s never going to let you go though, especially if he finds out what you’re hiding.”

“What is it you’re hiding?” Din asks in a clipped tone, descending the ladder. He sees Cara tending to you and immediately worries. “What’s wrong?”

You squeeze Cara’s hand in worry. She gives yours a light squeeze back, trying to reassure you. “Ahh, your girl here isn’t feeling so hot either. I think she might have caught what the kid has. And stubborn as she always is, she was trying to get out of here to try and keep us from catching it, too.” Din sits down on his haunches in front of you and notices your glassy eyes. You had been crying. He places a hand gently on your knee.

“Tin can, you stay here and take care of your family. I’ll make the run.” You and Din both snap your heads to Cara’s direction and her emphasis on the word family is not lost on you. “I’ll be quick,” she says as she stands and begins to cover her tattoos. “I’ll be discreet too, I promise.”

“You sure?” Din asks her as he stands as well.

“Yeah, I might need to borrow some stuff though.” She says as she quirks her head towards his weapons cases. He nods and walks over to get her what she needs, but not before he gives your shoulder a light squeeze, telling you he’s not too mad.

You both wait for Din to be out of earshot. “Cara, you didn’t need to do that,” you tell her but she just waves you off.

“Don’t worry about it. Gives me a chance to walk around, and gives you guys a chance to talk,” she says pointedly. “Besides, you better remember this when my little niece or nephew is born and in need a godmother.” You both laugh as you make your way over to Din.

Cara picks what she needs before you and Din see her off the Crest. “Shouldn’t be too long,” she says as she walks down the ramp. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

“Thanks again, Cara,” Din calls after her. She salutes him in response. Din then looks down at you. “You okay?” He asks as he takes your hand, playing with your fingers.

You look back up at him and smile, realizing just how okay you are.

Tag list:

@momc95 @electricprincess888 @maia-hocane @lamnothome @highonsoundwaves @tedpicklez @renreypoe @mabelleen @cryptkeepersoul @holamor @mando-vibes @lustriix @katialvi @spookyold-saintjm @sarcasm-n-insomnia @awesomefandomsunited @sentimental-ghost @mrsparknuts @oloreaa

#the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #dyn jarren #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #send asks #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #star wars imagine

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cuuno-moved · 3 years

Text

amanita phalloides

a very convoluted c!dream centric high school/foster family/magic au.

@the-gay-is-back

Dream stared stubbornly out the car window, ignoring the man in the driver’s seat carefully, ignoring the way he turned to them at the next red light, leaning forward to try and get a better look at their face. They ignored him so hard, they almost jumped when the man sighed.

“Dream…”

“Mph.”

Bad started to continue, but the light turned green and the car behind them immediately let out a honk, and he frowned in the rear-view mirror in annoyance before moving the car, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“Dream, I’m sorry the last family wasn’t… wasn’t a good fit,” Dream snorted at that, and Bad scowled at them before continuing. “But this next one is different.”

“How?”

“...What?”

“You always say they’re different, but there’s never anything that actually sets them apart.”

“...Yes, but I swear these ones… Um.”

“What do they do for a living?”

There was a silence, and Dream raised an eyebrow at their social worker.

“She’s ex-military. Oh don’t look at me like that! Have a little faith, I spoke to her son a few weeks ago, he seems very happy.”

“She’s a single mother, with a background in the military and she has a kid?”

Bad threw them a sideways glance. “Yes?”

Dream smiled, drily. “Cool. I’ll be seeing you in a week, maybe two.”

“Dreeeeaaammm…”

Truth be told, Dream felt bad for being so rude to Bad. The man was- despite his nickname- a kind hearted guy, with a genuine affection for the kids he worked with. He did his best, but unfortunately, his best wasn’t always enough. Especially for Dream.

“Look, I just don’t understand why you can’t give her a chance.”

“You know my track record, Bad. You know this is going to go poorly. We both do. So why even bother? Right? Why get my hopes up.”

Bad frowned at them, but just shook his head. “We’re here.”

The house was pretty, with white siding and a bright red door. There were flowers in the garden that lined the path from the driveway to the front door, and windchimes hung on the porch. Two stories, not too big, but not small by any stretch of the word.

Bad opened the passenger door, shaking Dream out of their head, and led them to the front door, taking a deep breath before he rang the doorbell. Dream wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like he was the one who was going to be living here or anything.

As the sound of a doorbell echoed through the house, Dream heard another sound. Skittering, slamming. Someone was running around. They blinked as the noises approached the door before very abruptly stopping, leaving silence in its stead.

They turned to Bad with a question on their lips, but they were cut off by the door slamming open, and a red faced woman staring at them.

They took a step backwards, trying to hide behind Bad, who happily stepped forward. “Cara! Hello, how are you?”

She grinned at him, reaching out to shake his hand. “Hey! You’re the worker, right?”

Bad nodded cheerily. “Call me Bad! Mind if we come in?”

“No, please, come on in,” She beamed at them happily. “Take off your shoes please?”

Dream followed Bad in, but didn’t take off their shoes, watching Cara carefully for her reaction. She didn’t bat an eye, just smiling sweetly at them and gesturing for them to follow her.

She was short, they noticed, only coming up to their chin or so, with tan skin and light brown curly hair that bounced around her shoulders. She was dressed in a loose white blouse and tight brown pants with a thick leather belt, like some sort of pirate.

The three of them sat down at the table, which was way too big for three people, and Bad started to explain Dream’s file to her. The teenager zoned out, staring out the window at the birds that fluttered around the trees.

“-Clay? What do you think?”

They blinked at her, trying not to look too clueless. “Ok.”

She looked amused, but nodded. “Alright, shopping tomorrow.”

Bad huffed, giving Dream a Look that the sixteen year old very pointedly ignored, instead fiddling with the sleeves on their hoodie.

Bad left after that, giving Dream one last squeeze, leaning down to look them in the eye. “Call me if you need to.”

Dream nodded, knowing they wouldn’t, and watched the man leave. Cara moved to stand beside them, and neither of them said anything for a while, until she quietly turned to them.

“You want to see your room?”

“Sure.”

She led them upstairs, down a hallway, opening a door. The room was…

It was perfect. Dark green walls and a thick grey rug and a loft bed, a loft bed. They felt their eyes widen, before snapping back to Cara, who smiled at them slightly.

“You like it?” They nodded carefully, and she continued. “Ok, good. Your file said that you like green and climbing things, so I figured, ‘hey, might as well give him something to climb,’ and here we are.”

They hesitated, looking around. “You really didn’t need to spend this much money on me.”

“No, I didn’t, but I wanted to. Oh! Another thing: your file said you have a habit of running off and hiding from people, so I put a lock on your door.”

They nodded, sighing a bit. “Ok, makes sense. Will you lock it every night?”

She hesitated, blinking at them, before her eyes widened. “Oh! No, Clay, the lock’s for you. It’s on the inside, so if you ever need a break from people, feel free to lock it. Noah and I usually knock before walking into bedrooms, but just to be safe…”

“You…” They blinked. “You put that there… so I can lock myself in?”

“No, it’s so you can lock us out,” She smiled happily. “It’s a different lock than the one on Noah’s door, too, so he’s got no way to get in.”

“Is… is Noah your son?”

“Yup! He’s 17, so only a year older than you. He should be home soon, he had cross country after school and then he was going to hitch a ride from a friend, but he’ll be so excited to meet you!”

They nodded, slowly. They knew what it meant that she had a kid. A bio kid, nonetheless. He’d grown up fed off a silver platter, and as soon as he said they were out…

They’d have to be careful with him.

She left them to unpack, after that, and their hand hovered over the lock on the door before dropping to their side. If this was a test, they didn’t want to fail on the first day.

With a shock, they realised she hadn’t given them any rules, hadn’t told them what she expected of them. That in itself was terrifying in a way.

They didn’t have much to unpack, just a backpack of clothes, and even that was just tossed in the bottom of their closet haphazardly. They would be leaving soon anyway.

They did climb up onto their bed, though, noticing with no small amount of satisfaction that if they huddled in the back corner, they were completely hidden from view of the door.

Noah came home an hour or so later, slamming the door open and calling for his mom. Dream tucked themself between the dresser and the wall, waiting for someone to come up.

No one did.

After another two hours, they heard quiet footsteps in the hallway, and jerked themself from the trance-like daze they’d been in, tensing up. The footsteps stopped outside their door, and they took a deep breath.

“Clay? Are you awake?” They didn’t respond, and Cara continued. “Ok, well, if you can hear me, dinner’s done. You can come down if you want, or I could bring some food up later.”

They stayed silent, listening to the silence before she turned away, walking to the stairs. Finally, they stood, walking toward the door, placing their ear against the wood. They could hear laughing, downstairs, the giddy, familiar type that only came from bio families when they weren’t around.

Their stomach grumbled, and they hesitated.

They would be forced to come down eventually.

Might as well get it over with.

The stairs were narrow, almost uncomfortably so, and they had to remind themselves to breathe.

The laughter got louder. Finally, they entered the dining room, where Cara and Noah were sitting. They didn’t look up, didn’t meet their eyes, just stood there as the laughter died.

“Clay, I didn’t think- Ok, ok, hang on, let me grab you a bowl, you can sit across from Noah.”

They did, slouching a bit, eyes fixed on the table. Noah didn’t seem to mind, sticking out a hand. “Hi, I’m Noah.”

“I know.”

Dream didn’t take the hand, leaving the poor guy to awkwardly clear his throat and lower his hand. Finally Dream glanced at him. His hair was dark, swept over his forehead in a neat style, and his eyes were an impossibly bright emerald, with dark lashes. He had dimples, and broad shoulders, and then he glanced back at them and they looked away.

He didn’t look how they’d expected, that was for sure.

Cara came in with a bowl, setting it in front of them. “Serve yourself, kiddo.”

They hesitated, before taking a single scoop of macaroni. Cara and Noah went back to their conversation, and they half-heartedly listened in. Something about someone named Ponk? And a pumpkin? They didn’t care enough to really try to decode it. His voice was cheerful, childlike, almost, and hers was a bit sharper, a bit louder, and together, they blended together, in an orchestra of voices.

Dream ate quickly, too quickly, meaning they ended up sitting in silence for a good few minutes, trying to figure out the next step.

“You want more?” Cara asked. “You didn’t get much.”

They hesitated. They were very hungry, but… they weren’t sure they wanted to be labeled as greedy. They shook their head firmly, crossing their arms over their chest, carefully. Cara eyed them, but nodded. Noah was still happily eating away, on his third bowl already, and Dream did their best not to glare at the much bigger boy.

Finally, dinner was over, and the table was cleared, and Dream started towards the stairs, but was stopped by Cara’s gentle voice.

“Can you stick around for a bit, Clay? Just for a chat?”

Immediately, they ran the day through their head, trying to figure out what they’d done wrong. They couldn’t think of anything, but they sat down, holding themselves tightly. To their surprise, Noah sat down across from them, smiling reassuringly.

“So,” Cara began, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “We need to talk about rules and boundaries, if that’s okay.”

They shrugged, not really understanding why she was asking them. Did they really have a choice here?

“Rules are simple,” She continued, “Don’t get into fights, especially not with each other; if you’re going to be out late, make sure I know; if you invite someone over, I need to know if they’re staying for the night-” At that, she cast a look at Noah, who grinned sheepishly. “Don’t do drugs inside the house, if you need we can put you in rehab; I’ll give you a key to the front door, please don’t make copies…” She squinted a bit. “Am I missing anything?”

“Yeah,” Noah’s voice was cheery as ever, his grin coming back full force. “No Jack Manifold.”

Cara snapped, pointing at Dream. “No Jack Manifold.”

“... What’s Jack Manifold?” They finally asked, and she laughed.

“Who. Who is Jack Manifold,” She grinned. “Jack’s one of Noah’s friends. He’s not allowed in this household for morality reasons.”

Noah leaned in conspiratorially. “He shaved his head, and she thinks it looks bad.”

Cara made a noise of protest. “That is not true! Well, ok, no, it is, but! He also tried to run over a fifth grader last year.”

Dream blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Noah said, smiling a little too happily. “I was in the car. He swerved all the way around a pole to get him.”

“Is… is the kid alright?”

Cara scoffed, waving her hand. “Oh, yeah, sure. It’s Tommy, the kid’s basically immortal.”

“His brother is Technoblade,” Noah explained, and Dream nodded like they knew what that meant.

“Ok, so, there’s the rules. No fighting, tell me before you hang out with friends too late, no drugs, no Manifold. Pretty easy. Next question: is there anything you need? Weighted blankets?”

They blinked at her, trying to gauge how serious she was. “I… no, I’m-” They froze. What the hell were they doing? Why were they considering this?

“Yes?” Cara prompted.

“Can I… Can I go on runs? After school, or in the morning, just to… burn energy?”

She grinned. “Yeah, no problem! That reminds me: it’s Thursday today. Would you be comfortable starting school on Monday?”

They hesitated, once again. Did they really have a choice? If they said no, would she force them? Would she get mad at them? What would the consequences be?

“Sure?”

“Alright, good! Do you have anything to add, Clay?”

Dream jolted a bit. They hadn’t been expecting to get asked in return. “Um… I go by Dream.”

Cara beamed at them. “Ok, cool. We'll keep that in mind."

They smiled thinly back, glancing towards the stairs. She must have noticed because she nodded to them, and they immediately stood, rushing up the stairs.

This was all too much.

They locked their bedroom door, sinking to the floor almost immediately, feeling the too soft carpet beneath them.

They let out a shuddering breath.

Cara and Noah were too loud, too happy, too docile. It was like something from a bad movie, one of the ones that came on when they couldn't be bothered to turn off the tv. So picturesque, so homely.

It was going to be hell.

They woke up to hunger pangs wracking their body. They tried to ignore the pain, but eventually, they gave out.

They hadn’t eaten in a couple days, and the little bowl of macaroni hadn’t been enough.

They slipped out the door, creeping down the hall. One of the floorboards creaked, and they froze, waiting for the sound of a door cracking open, or angry footsteps, but there was nothing.

They crept down the stairs, into the kitchen, barely daring to breathe.

The fridge door opened nearly silently, luckily, and they sighed in relief, before carefully looking through the contents.

They knew what they were doing, when it came to sneaking food.

Never take anything with a loud wrapper, or something that they would notice missing. Don't take from last night's dinner, don't take anything that requires plates or bowls.

They settled on a tub of baked beans, using their fingers to scoop the cold mush into their mouth.

They didn't notice the figure watching silently from the doorway.

Noah turned back to the stairs, a soft scowl on his face. He wasn't much a fan of demons, but this one... he wasn't sure what to think.

#dream smp #mcyt #dreamwastaken #badboyhalo #captain puffy #foolish gamers #toby writes shit

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luidiwrites · 3 years

Text

a simple child, what should it know of death?

A Mandalorian fic

- Din Djarin & Grogu

- Word count: 1.3k

- Summary: Din Djarin doesn't know why this child is already so wrapped up in the cruelty of the world. Is wanted dead or alive. But he's trying his best to stop these thoughts, and just finish the damn job.

- AO3 link: check notes

----------

A simple child,

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

----------

Din Djarin connected the floating capsule to his own controller, and began to manoeuvre the asset close to him. He felt a lingering phantom touch of this child’s small hand on his finger, as the mandalorian had had to pull his hand free from the tiny grip to begin their journey back.

As he moved through the ravaged encampment, towards his borrowed blurrg, Din sighed at the thought of how complicated a child job will be.

What could possibly make this being so wanted?

He hoped it would be fine to eat the simple rations he had on board.

What could The Client need a child, a baby, for?

No.

These were not questions the mandalorian should be contemplating. He just needed to keep it alive for the journey back to Nevarro. Though it didn’t seem to be complaining at its new situation, and even chirped and cooed on the walk back to the Ugnaught’s residence, its eyes wide and continually searching, its ears fluttering.

...It could almost be a foundling.

No.

It was a job.

It was not the way of the guild to ask questions.

But maybe he should enquire to Greef what they want the asset for.

Covertly.

-----------

He wasn’t an ally for this child, and yet, as the mudhorn beated her giant front leg, and lowered her body downward, the child raised his small arm and used a kind of impossible sorcery, suspending the giant beast midair, in a feat only seen in holos and the like. The child was saving the mandalorian. His job, this asset, was saving him.

Well, kriff.

Moments later, Din Djarin sat up next to a still mudhorn, covered in putrid slush, with his chest heaving. He sat, and stared across to the crib, a heavy pit settling deep in his stomach. Rationally, he was an enemy to this child, and yet, this child had done something that should be impossible to save him .

It did not know better. Could not know better.

Din slogged to his feet and went over to it, he saw that the asset had fallen back into his crib, bright eyes now closed over - he would think him only sleeping - if he had not witnessed the inconceivable actions that must have been the child. Rather, Din gathered the child must have exhausted himself with such a display. How could something so small do so much.

Din was just grateful the child was not dead.

The promised beskar was needed for the covert.

-----------

The child woke up on the way back, apparently able to overcome it’s tiring contest with the mudhorn. He chided the kid, as he began to turn the mandalorian’s ship into his own playthings.

Later, Din would wonder if the child had ever owned a toy - owned a possession that was not his oversized robe that swaddled his small body.

Instead, in that moment, he spared what little time he had reflecting on how he had gotten into this mayhem of a job.

He had to give the child over.

He did.

That was the mission.

He would hand over the asset and return to Greef Karga for the furthest bounty possible.

The ship would no longer carry the child’s quiet coos, he would no longer have to restrain an asset in his lap, feeling that small moving weight on his legs. The tiny life would no longer be under his care.

Things would return to normal, and he would gain the beskar that had been taken from Mandalore. The amount promised to him would provide much for the foundlings. The future. This was the way.

Din Djarin, the bounty hunter, had interacted with the foundlings less and less over the years, as his work for the guild kept him out of the covert more often than not. Yet he could easily recall his time as an older foundling, holding the young toddlers, who were not yet old enough to don the armour, as the elders gathered them for lessons.

And if the small thump of the asset’s foot against his thigh - as it gazed at the stars blurring into streaked lines - reminded Din of a time many years ago, then no one would know but himself.

-----------

Metal striking metal became storage doors banging closed, blasterfire above his head, and his father’s dark eyes finding his for the last time. Din watched as the armourer finished welding two plates together, the clanging reverberating through his skull.

The asset was handed over. The beskar was retrieved. The guild would still welcome him. The covert was secure.

This should feel right.

What use did the Imps have for a baby? The funny looking green species had felt like a foundling whilst nestled in his arms. The asset had saved him, his captor, at great cost to himself. The child had cried out as it had been taken away, causing Din to feel like he could not catch his breath.

He wondered whether the kid had ever owned a real toy rather than a piece of a ship.

The mandalorian returned to his razor crest, but he could not take flight. Instead he retraced his steps down the gangway and set out to recapture a child.

-----------

The child bloomed on Sorgen. It was the perfect world to raise a womp rat like him. Quiet, full of life, greenery, and an abundance of frogs to capture and eat. The kid cooed and trilled constantly, winning hearts, and finding playmates easily in the small village.

He began to show cheek, evading the mandalorian’s clutches at bath-time, and once finally washed and swaddled, running amok again into the muddy banks of the krill ponds.

He would pointedly ignore Din’s sharp words and tilted helmet for a final splashing kick, before being picked up and re-bathed.

Din, whilst often exasperated, could not stay annoyed for long. At first, he did not know much about this child, beyond him being a hunted, small being with strange powers. Now, he seemed to exert his energy into every limb, and every whim.

He would flourish here, in this village, under Omera and her daughter’s care. Din would miss the kid, but he couldn’t provide this life.

A ship wasn’t adequate living conditions for a child.

His care had only brought the child closer to death.

Best to leave him be.

-----------

The bounty hunter was still smouldering by the time a snap decision was made. As much as Din wished otherwise, this child was hunted still, and there appeared to be no end in sight. Cara had managed this one, but they had been found out.

To be constantly on a ship was no place for the kid, but the fate otherwise was unthinkable. It hurt to see how much this child was wrapped up in the cruelty of this universe. That it would be forced to travel with him, or become hunted. Or worse.

The kid was wide-eyed but silent as they trundled away from the village, but when Din brought him onto the ship once more, he let out what could be called a cry and hiccough.

Water seemed to slowly pool at the bottom of his dark eyes, and he let out another quiet cry.

Din placed him on his own bed-space, and crouched down until he could meet those large eyes through his helmet.

“Hey, listen to me kid. I’ve got you. We’ll find somewhere new. We got to keep those big ears safe, mhmm?”

The child kept peering at him intensely, but his small cries seemed to peter out.

Din reached out with both arms and stroked his gloved hands down the large sleeves of the kid, ending on his tiny clawed hands, and squeezing them both between two fingers.

“I know I’m not much, but I will keep you safe. I promise.”

He reached into his bed-space, and grabbed a thin but warm blanket, and hung it in such a way that formed a small hammock hanging over the foot of his own bed.

“How about we start with somewhere to sleep? You can rest just above me.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian oneshot #din djarin #grogu #din djarin fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #i normally just post on ao3 #but maybe i should broaden my horizons

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the-darklings · 4 years

Text

—𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅;

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 7.9k+ (missed 8k by like 20 words welp)

summary: Is it possible to hate and miss someone in the same breath?

warnings: swearing, violence/blood, angst.

notes: Well, we have arrived at canon events soldiers. This is going to be one bumpy ride so fasten your seatbelts ladies, gents and others. And enjoy!

children of ares series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | . . | 07 |

OPEN CONTRACT:

JOHN WICK

2 MILLION USD

BY: VIGGO TARASOV

The light emitting from your phone screen is the only one in your room, and you breathe in and out slowly, thinking.

Of course, the team was going to fail. Five years or not, John is still…

He’s still John Wick.

It almost makes you wonder what exactly Tarasov was thinking sending such an insulting number to his front door. But you wouldn’t have known about the dinner reservation John rang in if it hadn’t been for Winston who shared the information with that accepting, knowing air about him.

There’s a storm coming.

Seems like the Bowery King was right to say such a thing. Because Iosef—that cruel, stupid, petulant moron—has now unleashed hell upon his own family and himself. If there is anything of the old John still left inside, you know that he will tear New York to shreds to uproot the young idiot from his hiding spot. There is no hole left in this city where John will not eventually find him.

You swallow, locking your phone, and run your hand harshly over your face.

This—you don’t need this right now. Not when you have yourself to think about, and especially not when there are clearly individuals out there gunning for you and Santino, too.

John belongs in the past, and it makes you wonder if it’s some cruel joke that life keeps pushing him back into your path.

2 million contract though.

It won’t surprise you if it’s money Tarasov took from Santino for your own job. The sum feels too deliberate and Tarasov knows that the news will reach you soon.

Rising from your seat with a jerk, you grab your jacket and walk towards the door. You can’t focus on work right now less you mess up, and this waiting for the axe to drop is starting to drive you insane.

Winston is out, you know that much, but the bar is always open.

Slumping in the elevator, you close your eyes, trying to imagine what all this could mean.

A war, for one. A bloody one.

John has never given up on anything and you recall the empty look in his eyes the last time you saw him. For Iosef to come into his home and to take that very last shred of peace and hope from him—

The elevator rattles to a stop and you pull the door to one side, stepping out.

“I apologise, Mr. Wick,” Charon’s smooth voice reaches your ears and your head jerks towards the reception desk. “But I cannot give out information about other guests.”

John stands facing the concierge, his back to you, and seeing him in his old suit takes you back five years. It’s both devastating and chilling to see him back here. The lobby may look different but this moment is like watching a memory loop.

“I just need to talk to her.”

He sounds—

Charon’s expression doesn’t ease. “I apologise, sir Wick, but we respect the individual privacy of those that stay with us. Even if you were once…associates.”

The slight edge in Charon’s voice surprises you. It’s not the kind of thing you would expect from him, especially considering that Charon and John have always had an amicable relationship. But that’s in the past, you remind yourself. It’s been five years since they’ve last seen each other.

“It’s okay, Charon,” you interrupt, walking up to the reception table and ignoring the many curious stares that you can feel drilling into you. “I’ve been expecting him.”

John turns upon hearing your voice and you meet his stare evenly.

Scraps and bruises mar his face, and you bite back a sarcastic comment about how he must be losing touch. But the time of teasing and ease between you has long since passed.

John doesn’t say anything to you but you see everything you need to know in his eyes. That, at least, hasn’t changed. He’s only guarded when he wants to be.

“Only Winston can reach me,” you remind the concierge without breaking eye contact with John, and incline your head towards the elevator.

You turn without waiting for a reply and start heading back, your eyes sliding over the curious onlookers with a clear warning. Most drop their eyes but a few brave enough still hold your stare, gaping openly. John follows behind you silently and comes to stand at your side, both of you waiting for the elevator to arrive down without a word.

The journey to your room is deafeningly quiet and little by little you keep adding to your armour. This will be a storm to weather, and you need to be ready.

“Same room,” John notes calmly. “Some things don’t change.”

“And some do,” you remark pointedly and invite him inside. “Water?”

He shakes his head, and you gesture for him to sit down, which he does.

John is rigid. As always his features are calm, but an old, familiar tension lines his frame and you drop down on the seat in front of him. The very same chair that Santino sat in only a few days ago. If you inhale deep enough you can still pick up faint traces of his cologne.

John gazes at you for a long moment but you don’t rush ahead. You simply sit there, already knowing what he wants, but hearing it from his mouth is a whole other matter. So you wait, expectant.

“He killed my dog.”

You stare at him flatly, still silent. John, seeing no reaction, leans closer and it’s hard to look into his dark eyes. You’ve spent so much time looking up to him—at him—that it makes you feel caught between two different times in your life. The past with him in it, and the present where there’s just you and a sparse few individuals you consider your own.

“Where is he?”

Your smile is slow coming before you chuckle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair, staring at him through narrowed eyes.

You understand his grief and anger and need for revenge. That’s all perfectly fine with you. Those things are familiar, safe. Those emotions embody you both in different ways—always have.

But—

“Do you have any idea what you are asking of me?” you wonder idly, softly, gazing at him pensively.

John’s lips press together and his head lowers for a moment though you don’t miss the flash of guilt there.

So he is aware, at least there’s that.

For a minute, you’re both silent; he with his head bowed as if repentant, and you with an icy, hard stare that won’t let him escape now. If he wants this, if he really believes he has any right to ask it of you, you will hear it directly from his mouth.

“I know it’s a lot—”

“No,” you cut him off immediately, rising to your feet and your hands clench into fists as you round the seat, not looking at him. That bitter, cold hurt floods your veins once again and your teeth grit harshly. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me. Even if I knew where the hell Iosef Tarasov spends his time—which I sure as hell don’t—do you have any idea what happens to me if I tell you?”

John looks up at you, but his voice is calm as always when he speaks. “No one will ever know that it was you—”

“You are asking me to throw away seven years of hard work,” you whisper but the quietness of your words slices through the room like a scream. Your eyes meet John’s and you wonder if your wariness and disappointment are as clear to him as they are inside your chest. “Seven years of murdering in that man’s name, and now that I am a breath away from freedom, you ask this of me? Tarasov will know that it was me because he knows you would go to me first. Even if he doesn’t get to me himself, you already know what the High Table will do to me for such a betrayal.”

“After Helen—” he begins and his voice catches, his low baritone trembling. He blinks, his head lowering and you swallow weakly, turning your head away from him. His pain is too raw and you don’t want it to soften your heart, to drive you to him again. It’s no longer your job to comfort him. “After she died. That dog is all I had, (Name). My only hope. I was no longer alone. I know you understand that better than anyone.”

You do. You did.

Once you would have waded through a river of blood for him with a smile on your face. Once you thought you understood him better than anyone, and him you.

“We were close once, John,” you admit even though it sounds like a hilarious understatement of what you had. “But that door closed a long time ago. I can’t help you.”

John’s lips part to reply but the shrill ring of your phone fills the air and your eyes flutter closed before you pull it from your pocket.

Your heartbeat jumps at the name reflecting back at you.

Santi.

Not looking at John, you answer, lifting the device to your ear. It’s an effort to force your voice into neutrality. “Hey, grumpy,” you greet with a slight smile. “How is Vancouver treating you?”

A chuckle sounds on the other side and your smile widens. “Ah, cara mia. Rather cold,” he notes pleasantly though still manages to sound petulant about it. “And very boring without you here to keep me company. Business is good though.”

“Good,” you say, and stare at your dark carpet with dread coiling your stomach. “Listen, can I call you back later? I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“I’ve heard about John. I assume you have as well.”

You go still. For a second, you think even your heart skips a beat. Except it’s the exact opposite of a happy sensation.

“Yes.”

There is a pause. In the distance, you think you can hear the sound of rushing water. Santino likes being near water. It reminds him of home—of his childhood and his mother. For a moment, you almost wish you were there with him instead of here. Here in this room with the personification of your heartache and lost love sharing your breathing space.

“Have you talked to him?”

Even though it pains you to do so, you can’t force yourself to lie to him. “Yes.”

You know he gleans as much from your tone and answer as you do from his silence. The suffocating, dreadful silence that is so unlike him—especially with you.

“Is he with you right now?”

His voice is quiet, his accent heavier as if the words take substantial effort to get out, and you work your jaw restlessly.

“Yes.”

The silence on the other side is an endless, ugly thing and you feel oddly helpless. You don’t like how this is making you feel. You don’t like the fact that you are forced into this situation in the first place.

“I see,” he says, at last, his voice stilted. You don’t miss the switch to Italian either. “Do look after yourself, cara.”

“Santino—”

From the corner of your eye, you spot John’s head snap in your direction, his eyes full of surprise.

But the line goes dead. Your hand lowers and you stare at the phone for a second, your fingers tightening around it. It doesn’t ring again.

“Santino?” John wonders and his quiet voice is loaded with things unsaid.

You don’t look at him when you answer. “He’s my friend.”

It feels hollow saying it. Because he is that but—

I am a patient man. I can wait.

“Santino doesn’t have friends,” John points out neutrally, and you feel your head slowly turn in his direction. Whatever he sees on your face seems to give him a pause.

“He does now.”

This time the silence between you is different. For the first time since your reunion at the cemetery, John seems to be looking at you with different eyes. Fresh eyes that finally understand the passage of time. Eyes that note the difference in the way you hold yourself. In the way you no longer lean into his shadow hoping to make it your home.

You are your own shadow now.

“What I said earlier still stands,” you tell him flatly, finally putting your phone away even though it sits like a heavy weight in your pocket. “I can’t help you. I understand, I do. But I’m not going to forfeit my life for this.”

John stands, coming closer. “(Name)—”

You turn away from him, heading towards the door. “But I’m not the only individual residing in this building with the power to help you.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you see him straighten, understanding shining in his eyes.

The bar is a buzz.

It’s Friday night so you suppose that should not surprise you that much.

The stares that follow you and John even more so.

For most, seeing you together is either a novelty or a call from the past. You’re unsure how it makes you feel. It’s as simple, as comfortable, by John’s side as it's always been. But you lack the ease you once carried around him. Back then your trust in him was so absolute but now only pieces of it remain.

Perkins spots you, her pretty lips twisting into a sneer when you wink at her, her expression relaxing only when she sees John next to you. She salutes him with her drink and it makes you smirk.

Aiming high as always.

Envy and jealousy have always been easy for her. She’s never been able to let go of the knowledge that she’s in your shadow; her accomplishments always being compared to what you have achieved in the past. You’ve never intended for there to be bad blood between you but it seems that you both carry a natural dislike for one another.

After Santino, however, she no longer approaches you as brazenly as she once did.

Remembering that confrontation still makes you grin.

Winston sits in his booth as per usual when you approach him, working; a drink and a cigarette in front of him. You smile despite yourself.

“Martini kind of night, is it?” you call as you come to a stop before him, and his head lifts at the sound of your voice. He registers the sight in front of him and leans back slowly, taking you both in while you stand side-by-side. “Brought you a guest.”

“Winston,” John greets, and the warmth in his voice is genuine. It doesn’t surprise you though. These two men were friends once. Perhaps not the same level of friendship as you and John but there’s still enough history between them. “Good to see you.”

“Well, well,” Winston begins, pleased, a smile lingering on his face. “This is a sight I never thought I’ll get to see again. The Boogeyman and the Viper, together again. Reunion of the century, if I do say so myself. Sit down, Johnathan. You as well, dear,” he adds when he notices you eyeing the bar.

You hesitate but sit down after both men fix you with an expectant stare.

Your eyes track the people inside the room, most either openly staring or whispering under their breaths when they look towards your booth.

“Have you really thought this through?” Winston’s question brings you back to the present, and his voice carries a note of something almost patronising. Like John is already in too deep and has no idea how much worse it can get. “I mean really chewed it down to the bone. You put so much as a pinky back into this pond, and you may find that something latches on and drags you back to its depths.”

“I just want his son.”

You click your tongue before Winston can answer and give John a sideways look. “Let me tell you something interesting about Viggo and Iosef, John,” you say, your voice forcefully calm as your fingers drum against the pocket where your phone sits. “Iosef is a spoiled, rotten little bastard who’s going to run his father’s empire to the ground because he lacks the drive and the spine to carry his work through. Viggo knows this too. That being said, make no mistakes. If you go after his son, Viggo will unleash hell upon you. Do you really think he will let his only son’s killer live on in peace? You know what kind of man he is.”

A man like us.

Tarasov is a different side to the violence and the hardship that has forged you and John. He’s the power, the influence, the order. You and John are the cruxes, the foundation, the bricks he used to achieve those things with.

Winston takes a small sip of his Martini, his gaze both amused and pointed. “She speaks the truth. And I would encourage you to listen.”

You blink, shooting a brief look of surprise Winston’s way but the man only smiles faintly.

John looks unhappy but knows better than to argue. Despite his silence, you know that he will not drop this. He can’t. He doesn’t have it in him; the capacity to let this go.

John Wick is only a hurricane you can weather and hope for the best.

“You are amongst friends here, Johnathan,” the manager states and you know from his tone that he means you specifically. Old, sly bastard. “Now might be the perfect time to sit down, have a drink, and relax. Work through old problems to gain fresh…perspectives.”

It’s an endeavour to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“I need a drink,” you mutter instead, rising from your seat and wandering towards the bar.

Then, somewhere between the booth and the bar, it hits you. Like a brick to the face and you practically collapse onto the small chair.

John is back.

Back here in your atmosphere again. Till now it’s been like some surreal illusion with the added benefit of his presence never fully sinking in.

But he’s back.

Your muscles tense when he comes to a stop behind you, hesitating, before slowly lowering himself down beside you.

He’s come back to this world, just like the Bowery King said that he might, but not for the reason you might have hoped.

When the King said he might come back, there had been a tiny hope in your chest that if—if—he really did come back that it would be for you. Because, perhaps, if nothing else, he wants to be with you as a partner if not a lover. That perhaps he wants to try and mend the deep-running hurt between you.

But no.

John is not sitting beside you because he wants to be with you. Not even because he wants to be back in this world.

He’s back because he wants revenge. Because his wife’s dog was killed—his last connection to her—and now he has nothing.

Perhaps, it could have been different if you’ve stayed that night of the funeral when he asked you to.

But, perhaps, you would have also lost whatever little of your old self still remained if you did.

I will never abandon you.

Your heart clenches at the sudden, unbidden memory. Santino.

“You really have changed,” John speaks up suddenly, glancing your way. His eyes focus on your hands and he visibly hesitates. “You don’t wear it anymore.”

Your fingers curl loosely at his observation and you stare at the bar blankly. It’s true that his viper ring no longer lives on your hand but you wish it were that simple.

“I survived,” is all you offer in reply; an echo of his words from seemingly a lifetime ago now. “I survived.”

Without you, goes on unsaid but you know he gets your deeper meaning by the way he looks away from you. As if ashamed.

Addy brings your usual and you observe her open delight at seeing John again.

“Hell, it’s so good to see you both together again,” she exclaims with a bright grin. “Just like old times, huh?”

John dips his head in a nod with a discreet look in your direction. You don’t say anything.

“Compliments of the house,” she announces as she places a drink in front of him as well.

Something scribbled on the napkin catches your eye and you suck in a sharp breath.

Red Circle.

You both turn around almost immediately, looking towards Winston’s booth. The man smiles slightly, enigmatic as always, and raises his glass to you in a silent cheer.

John’s heavy stare moves to rest on you, but you keep eye contact with Winston for a moment longer. You’re not sure what exactly the look in his eyes means, but when you finally do look towards John what you see there surprises you.

He looks hopeful.

So hopeful that for a moment it clenches your stomach and heart like an unyielding fist.

In that look, you see years of partnership, of protecting each other, of being a team. A lethal, harmonious duet of death.

But you’re not that anymore.

You are you, and John is John. A grieving husband.

Not yours—never yours—and you’ve accepted that a long time ago.

And yet.

He still calls to you.

Even through the pain and the rage, there’s still an ember of something.

But even so.

Your head turns back towards the bar, your drink, and you force out a choked, “Happy hunting.”

He lingers for a breath, his disappointment palpable before he walks away without another word.

You don’t look back at him as he leaves.

Your steps cut a tight line. Back and forth, back and forth. Agitated.

“I’m surprised.”

“Don’t be. Playing coy doesn’t suit you.”

A laugh. Amused. “Then I shall exercise patience.”

“You do that.”

You don’t wait for an answer.

The line crackles on the sixth ring. Not that you expect anything else. He likes to keep you waiting.

Silence greets you.

“I need your help.”

“You,” is the soft disbelieving murmur. “Need my help?”

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

You hear a sigh on the other side, reluctant but open, and don’t bother holding back your victorious smile.

By the time you stagger out of the bar, you have come to two conclusions.

One, you did the right thing by not getting involved.

Despite the feeling of guilt that has tried to drag you from your seat and after John, you’re glad that you stayed in your spot and chatted with Addy for hours instead. You might have felt Winston’s stare burn into the back of your head a few times but he didn’t call for you and you certainly didn’t go to him either.

The second conclusion is that you need to talk to Santino. As soon as possible.

Address everything from start to finish. Plan your next step. Find whoever knows about Chicago. That’s where your priorities now lay. Tarasov can ring the dinner bell for the last job whenever he feels ready to do so, but as of right now, there are more pressing issues on your plate.

John’s appearance may have caught you off guard but your life doesn’t just stop.

If Iosef is not dead yet, he soon will be and you can’t imagine John coming back. Properly this time.

You certainly can’t imagine him coming back and actually staying. Not for you, at least.

“(Name).”

“Jesus!”

“Not quite,” is the wry, laboured reply.

John staggers on his feet and you move on instinct, wrapping your arms around him. He looks like he’s just been through a war zone, covered in blood and clothes ripped. His raven hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and he gasps when you press too hard on his no doubt many bruises.

“What the hell John?”

“He’s gone,” he breathes harshly, not answering you. The look in his eyes is difficult to pinpoint but it’s not happy that’s for sure. He leans into you willingly when you help him walk towards the reception desk though. “I didn’t get to him in time.”

Iosef.

Unease coils your insides.

You had hoped that John would succeed on his first attempt. Now, there’s no telling what’s coming. Or where the brat is, for that matter.

“Miss Vipress,” Charon greets, his expression vacant before his eyes move towards John and his eyebrow cocks slightly. “Mr. Wick.”

“Call Doc, please,” you request, awkwardly fishing out a golden coin and dropping it on the counter. “Tell him I have first aid covered.”

“Certainly,” the concierge answers, nodding his head. “Anything else? Some bourbon, perhaps?”

He directs the last part towards John who grunts and nods, making you roll your eyes. Shooting a grateful look at the man, you half walk, half-stumble John towards the elevator. The ride up consists of you mostly poking holes in his clothes and checking his vitals.

John, as always, stays upright by sheer will alone. Some things, perhaps, really don’t change after all.

His room lacks the lived-in touch your own has when you enter. It’s cold and clinical. You spot his bag neatly placed in the corner but otherwise, not a single particle of dust seems to be out of place. When compared to your own room full of vials, notes, and odd-smelling plants and herbs, this place is like a hospital.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you grunt without thinking as you help him sit down, huffing from the strain of his weight. “Sincerely hope you know that.”

John glances up at you, his eyes brighter than they were moments before, and a slight smile twitches his lips. The first you’ve seen since your reunion.

“I know,” he replies and there’s that wry humour to be found in his tone that makes you glare at him in annoyance. “You’ve told me plenty of times in the past.”

Your lips part to reply—a jab ready to go—but there’s a knock on the door and you move towards it, your hand hovering over one of your blades.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice calls out and your hand drops down as you pull the door open.

“Doc,” you greet the elderly man with a nod. “Good to see you. You were quick.”

The older man shuffles into the room right away, his bag in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in another. He places the drink on the coffee table, his disapproval clear, but starts setting out his tools without commenting.

“I was in the area,” he shoots back, casting a look at John and then back at you. “You did not work together?”

The silence his question births is an awkward one, and you pointedly look away when Doc asks John to start removing his clothes.

“No, we didn’t,” you confirm calmly, carefully so, and grab an empty glass to use. “Got my new shipment yet?”

The older man looks up at you with a shake of his head and you dip your head in understanding. John observes the exchange, seemingly confused, and it’s yet another reminder that he has no idea how your relationships have changed in the past five years. Because he hasn’t been a part of your world for five years.

“You could have done this yourself,” the man comments lightly, shooting you a quick look. “I passed my knowledge on for more than poison making.”

You walk up to them, offering the glass to John who takes it with a grateful nod but don’t miss the way he focuses on your exchange with Doc. Curious and more than a little confused.

“Yes, but poison making is so much simpler,” you shoot back with a slight smile. “And you’re better at stitching than I am. Your hands are steadier.”

The old man shakes his head, clicking his tongue, and gives you a reproachful look over his shoulder. “Your hands are plenty steady, girl,” he notes, and you don’t miss the slightly chiding note in his words. Your eyes lock with John’s and you bob your head from side to side mimicking Doc’s words, a joking smile on your face. “What you lack is the belief that those hands are good for something other than bloodshed.”

Perhaps.

No, definitely, but neither of them needs to know that.

“Whatever you say, Doc,” you mutter, passing him some bandages without looking.

A tiny, barely-there smile lingers across John’s face, and despite being half undressed and bruised from head to toe, he looks more at ease now than he has in a while.

You know why.

Because despite everything unsaid and things long since passed, this is familiar. This is safety. This has been your bread and butter for years, and you feel the warmth of this simplicity sink back into your bones with every inhale.

It makes you as happy as it makes you sad.

John peers at you over Doc’s shoulder, and you at him, neither of you speaking while the man between you works. He’s methodical and always takes his time but his hands are the best you can hope for in New York.

“Just like the old times,” Doc hums under his breath after a lull of silence between you. “Hopefully better fortune will follow you from now on, Mr. Wick.”

It does feel like before. When it was just the two of you against the world.

You rise to your feet abruptly, making both men look over in your direction.

“I’m going to get you something for the pain,” you inform them hurriedly, and you can see the worry in John’s dark eyes, and attempt to smile convincingly. “The Doc is almost done anyway. Try resting.”

“But you are coming back?” he checks and you offer him a tight smile.

“Of course.”

Your words sound faint, almost distant in your ears, and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to keep your composure.

It’s an effort to keep your steps steady and slow before you close the door behind you.

It takes you longer than necessary to get the vial of pain remedy you’ve made for yourself a while back.

That’s because the journey back to your room is a blur, and when you do get inside the familiar walls, it takes you several moments to pull yourself together.

Is it possible to hate and miss someone in the same breath?

Is it possible to turn a blind eye to years of struggling and pain just for the sake of having something good back?

Rubbing your forehead harshly, you stare at the vial in your hand, a heavy throb quaking your heart.

Everything has a price as Santino is so fond of reminding you, and it makes you wonder what price this will demand of you.

Locking the door to your room, you approach the elevator, ignoring the buzzing of the phone in your pocket. Frankly, you’re not in the mood to talk to the Pope himself right now—much less anyone else.

The elevator grinds to a halt and you push the partition to the side but the moment you do, a crash greets your ears. A cool blade slips into your palm and you tense. Across the corridor, John’s room door is wide open and you spot Perkins of all people crawling closer towards you.

She looks bruised and bloodied as she tries to get away and you move towards her.

The blade almost takes off her ring finger as it sinks into the carpet in front of her face and she freezes.

“Now whatever are you doing here?” you question coldly, grabbing your gun from underneath your jacket. “Late night tryst?”

Perkins glares up at you, her expression livid before she tries to grab the blade in front of her but you react faster by stomping on her hand and levelling the gun in front of her face. “Please try,” you state lightly, almost pleasant.

John staggers out of the door, looking in an even rougher shape than before. His side is dark with fresh blood, the stitches Doc has so meticulously sown clearly torn, and he leans heavily against the door for a second. Your eyes meet and you finally understand exactly what has happened.

Perkins has tried to complete a hit on John inside the Continental. Tarasov is scared enough to allow such a thing to be associated with his name, regardless of the consequences. Scared enough to allow for one of the unbreakable rules of your world to be broken in his name.

John stalks closer towards you and you move back, still keeping the gun on Perkins. She’s a slippery one and you would rather not take any chances.

“You okay?” you ask, not dropping your eyes from the furious woman on the ground.

The assassin grunts with a nod and grabs Perkins, pulling her up till the muzzle of his gun presses into her cheek. The woman squirms but John’s grip only tightens. He’s done playing games and you can tell this will not end well for Perkins unless she gives him what he wants.

“Where is Iosef?”

Perkins snarls, twisting inside his hold, but still winces when John pushes the gun deeper into her skin; a silent warning. To her credit, she doesn’t falter, which is not something you can say about many. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“Please don’t,” you input with a mocking little smile that you’ve seen Santino use so many times in the past, effectively catching her attention. A perfect trick to heat someone’s blood and get them to slip up. “I have means by which to make you talk.”

The woman grunts under her breath, more blood smudging across her lips, and shoots you a venomous look. “Fuck you. You know what will happen to you—”

John jerks her to the side roughly, silencing her, and your arm lowers at his chilly whisper, “Give me something, Perkins. This is not worth dying for.”

She swallows, a flicker of healthy fear twitching her pinched expression at last. You step closer, the silent threat obvious, and her glare sharpens.

“He’s going to hunt you both down like dogs,” she spits instead, meeting your stare with a wide grin. Her bloodstained teeth make for a gory sight and you feel your expression harden at her words. “He will get this entire city searching for you. He—”

“The church,” you interrupt her little rant, and her mouth snaps shut at your blunt statement. “Tarasov keeps his personal stash of blackmail there. As well as a lot of money. You want him? Take him through that.”

Both Perkins and John stare at you. One in disbelief and one in silent understanding. John knows what this means but, predictably, it’s Perkins that reacts outwardly.

“You traitorous bitch!” she snarls, her eyes wide as she trashes again. “When Viggo learns about this he will destroy you—”

John drives the butt of the gun against her temple and she slumps to the floor, unconscious. For a moment it’s so still that your breathing seems like the loudest sound in New York City.

“Do I know you?”

You jerk to the side, your gun flying up as you point it at the man standing in the doorway of one of the rooms. But your arms lower a moment later when the familiar features register.

“I think so,” John speaks slowly, carefully twisting around to look at the newcomer too.

“Harry,” you greet the older man and he nods at you with a smile. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Better,” he answers and his attention goes back to your old partner. “John. Good to see you again. For a moment I thought you were getting into trouble with D’Antonio again, V.”

Purposely turning your head away from them, you slot your gun back in its original place, giving them a clipped, “Not this time.”

You feel John’s focus on you for a moment before his scrutiny lets up and he stands.

“You still up for earning a coin, Harry?”

The church looks peaceful in the early morning light.

John stands beside you, his warmth a faint brush in the chilly New York air, and you find yourself shivering despite your best effort not to.

The silence between you is—despite what you first assumed would be the case—heavy. John wants to ask you, and you don’t want him to. When faced with the question of why you are doing this, placing yourself in danger for him yet again, it always comes back to a simple fact.

For yourself.

Not for him. At least, that’s what you have to convince yourself of.

You and Tarasov have your own unfinished business.

Things always come full circle. Finally, after all these years, you are starting to understand Santino’s philosophy. Things always have a way of following you, never allowing you a moment of peace. You can run from them, but ghosts have a way of clawing their way back into your life.

You will always make the same mistakes, viper.

You shiver at the memory, shoving it away harshly.

“He has a vault under the church,” you break the silence between you, and feel his head turn in your direction. “The security is minimal because not many go to a church with intention of breaking into it, and he doesn’t want to draw attention. That’s its genius. But if you want Tarasov’s attention this is the way to get it.”

“You don’t have to come,” he states mildly, though sounds almost reluctant to do so. You don’t look at him, still focused on the building before you. It seems to loom now; a tall, frightening skeleton of your past. “I know the risk you’re taking right now. I—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, and finally look towards him. “This is not the time for this conversation. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me.”

John hesitates and turns to face you fully. His eyes catch the light and you’re unsurprised to find that they still reflect amber in direct sunlight. The brightness strips away at his dark demeanour and leaves only a man behind. A good man, despite his flaws—despite his grief and thirst for vengeance.

“If this goes badly,” he begins softly and pauses for a second as if searching for the right words. “I want you to run. Promise me you will.”

Even though your hands are buried in your jacket pockets, your fingers still clench tightly at his words. It’s impossible not to miss his concern for your wellbeing.

“Run,” you repeat slowly, rolling the word on your tongue, tasting it. “You know I did a lot of that in the beginning. Running. It’s all I did. Just to stay alive. But then I realised that I shouldn’t be the one doing the running. So I don’t anymore.”

He knows what you’re referring to. Those five years are splitting you apart like a bottomless chasm even though there’s less than a footstep between you. The five years in which you had to defend yourself while he lived his happy life with his beautiful wife.

“Let’s do this, shall we?”

You take a step forward but John’s hand halts you, resting against the crook of your elbow. On instinct, your own arm snaps out, striking his wrist to get rid of his touch. You suck in a sharp breath when you realise what you’ve just done, heartbeat galloping, and John’s expression creases with worry, sadness, understanding.

“Don’t touch me,” you force out because it hurts. His touch burns and it’s not the kind of pleasant warmth that once soothed you. “Just—don’t.”

Pivoting, you march towards the church, your jaw set and lips pressed in a tight line. Your heartbeat still betrays you though; a fluttering, tiny bird trying to escape its own cage of bones.

Despite your exchange only moments prior, you still wait by the door for John who catches up with you quickly. He falls to your side—an old, familiar routine you’ve done dozens of times even if it’s been years—and sharing a glance, move inside on his signal.

The door creaks open and you note the usual suspects sitting in their pews as you stroll inside.

Much like you predicted, and told John earlier, the priest falters upon seeing your face. There’s a moment of fleeting panic there, and you know that he’s wondering if Tarasov himself is a step behind you. You only ever come to the church if the man demands it of you, and it effectively sows doubt and confusion when you notice more eyes look towards you. But the priest doesn’t know who John is so, as per instruction, he plays the role assigned to him.

“My children, can I help you?”

“Yes,” you state amiably and pull out your gun, pointing it at him. “You can.”

You then shoot him in the leg.

It’s a flurry of who can pull the trigger faster. The guards, caught unaware and panicked, are nowhere near quick enough. You count four that drop to the ground dead, and John shoulders his machine gun calmly, looking unruffled. The old lady continues sitting inside the pew, staring at you wide-eyed, and you give her a small wave when you pass her by.

“I always wanted to do that,” you comment offhandedly, tilting your head to observe the squirming man. “He’s a shit priest.”

John nods his head a little, considering, and the priest shoots you an enraged glare.

“Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?” he splutters, clutching onto his bleeding leg. “You traitorous trash! Viggo will—”

You kick him in the leg. The man lets out a strangled little yell, curling in on himself. John gives you a look as if to say he understands what you meant earlier, and grabs the priest by the scruff of his neck.

“Yeah, we do actually,” he replies dryly in Russian and shoves the priest ahead of you. “Take us to the vault.”

“N-No.”

You pull out a blade, twisting it between your fingers. “Do disagree with him again. Then I get my hands on you.”

The priest stumbles back, his frantic stare switching from you to John, clearly trying to find a way out of his predicament. The assassin gestures with the barrel of his gun and the priest swallows, stumbling in the direction of the staircase.

Just as you recall, there are two more guards downstairs, and disposing of them is easy; a bullet each. Tarasov’s vault stands like an indestructible gate between you and the women inside who scream upon seeing you. The destructive sound of gunshots split the air and then it’s quiet again.

“Open it,” you demand, gesturing at the keypad. “I know Tarasov gave you the code.”

The priest lays on the floor, shivering, as beads of sweat cling to his brow. Though his lips are trembling from both pain and terror, he still musters up a half-hearted glare.

“But not you,” he hisses in Russian, knowing and accusatory. “Viggo must have always known that you will try to betray him.”

You chuckle, and lean closer, patting him on the shoulder with a patronising smile. This, too, is a familiar motion. The priest cringes back and you see the naked fear in his eyes. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you admit coolly with a faint hum as you glance towards the trembling women inside the vault. “Guess I’m just done playing nice. Open it, or I’m going spill your guts all over this shiny, reflective floor that Tarasov gets you to scrub every night.”

The priest shudders, staring at you in dismay, but still moves to do as you told him. Ignoring John’s burning, silent stare you wait for the code to be input.

John enters the moment the beep sounds and you stay silent as he dismisses the women inside—ever the gentleman—and starts tearing the vault apart. You watch him do so, and it gives you a wicked surge of satisfaction, knowing just how much this all means to Tarasov. A lot of it is your own work; different blackmail that you have painstakingly collected for him over the years. Despite that knowledge, it doesn’t upset you to see it go up in smoke.

The flame rages, angry and hot, and you linger for a moment, observing years of servitude disappearing in front of your eyes. It makes you feel strangely empty, almost numb.

You’re dead to the world, Kishi’s voice reminds you and you feel your eyes lower to the floor.

John doesn’t try to ask you questions while you wait for Tarasov’s arrival and you’re grateful for it. Right now, you don’t think you’re capable of any kindness. Right now, you think you would tell him everything, and if there’s anything of his heart still left, it would simply break all over again.

With the priest alive, the news reaches Tarasov quickly, and his familiar black SUV pulls into the churchyard only ten minutes later. The priest, predictably, doesn’t survive past telling his side of the story in choked, weak stutters.

“Let’s finish this,” John tells you calmly, deadly so, but your gaze lingers on Tarasov who is like a caged animal moving with clear fury in his every step. “After today we’re both free.”

Your head snaps in his direction but he’s already walking away and you peer at his back for a moment.

Free.

Shooting one last glance towards that churchyard, you follow after him.

Coming to a stop beside him, you both wait, silent and focused as you hear Tarasov and his party approaching. John looks up at you, serious as always, and you simply peer at him for a moment. All this time, hoping that he will be back and he finally is. He’s a step away, a hand reach away but—

John opens fire first. He always believed in best defence being a strong offence and the guards scatter, replying in kind with their own weapons drawn. Exhaling slowly, you steel yourself for what’s about to happen, and round the corner, opening fire yourself.

As always, you work as a seamless machine. With John at your back, there are no blind spots, no ways to get caught off guard. You cover each other perfectly, a well-oiled death machine that churns out bodies left and right.

John reloads, and you cover him. You duck to do the same a moment later, and John takes your place, covering you with his back to you. Your eyes flicker over him and towards the car behind which Tarasov is hiding. From this far, you can just barely make out his hat as he rises to peek at the situation.

You rise to your feet smoothly and slam the back of your gun against John’s head.

The bullets cut out immediately and John staggers, turning around hurriedly, but you spray fine mist—one of your fastest, most viciously effective formulas—in his face, kicking at his shins for good measure.

He stumbles to the ground, looking up at you wildly, gasping, “(Name)—”

His stare is lost, frantic. Almost like what he’s seeing and what has just happened are two things not connecting just yet, leaving blind confusion in their wake.

“I told you,” you remind him gently, coldly, as you approach him. “I’m doing this for me.”

You don’t wait for the paralyser to kick in.

Your gun slams against his temple one last time and he drops to the side, unconscious.

The churchyard is once again peacefully tranquil.

. . .

an: *shocked Pikachu. jpg*

I feel like the first half of the chapter was Team John going “Yay!” and Team Santino going “Boo!” and then by the end that switched lol.

Loved it? Hated it? Any predictions? Let me know and, as always, I love you all. I’ve had a rough week but all your COA messages just brighten my day guys ;-; thank you so much!!!!

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fic #santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio #keanu reeves #riccardo scamarcio #winston #fic: children of ares

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